Bologna. Casteldebole Training Ground.August 15th. Pre-Season.
Summer in Italy was suffocating. The air was thick with humidity, and the grass at the training center smelled of fertilizer and intense effort.
Rio Valdes stepped onto the pitch. He looked different. His shoulders were broader, his legs more defined. The grueling Serie A season had hardened him from a fragile boy into a kinetic athlete. But the biggest change wasn't his physique; it was the number on his back.
The Number 27 was gone. He now wore the Number 10. The number of the Playmaker. The number of the Leader. The number previously worn by legends like Roberto Baggio and Giuseppe Signori.
"Look at him," the new signings whispered near the water cooler. "That's the guy who rejected Manchester City."
Rio ignored the whispers. He was looking for someone. He glanced toward the center circle, instinctively expecting to see a Japanese midfielder with a calm smile and precise passing range. But the circle was empty. Kenjiro Tanaka was currently in a rehabilitation clinic in Switzerland, learning how to walk again after his knee reconstruction surgery.
Rio felt a phantom pain in his chest. Without Kenjiro, the pitch felt twice as big. Tyler Stone had spent millions on replacements—a technical Croatian midfielder and a physical Frenchman—but they weren't Kenjiro. They didn't understand the concept of The Ghost.
Rio touched his chest. 660 Days remained on his counter, nine days having already been consumed by the high-intensity pre-season training camps. He needed to be stronger. If he had to carry this team alone in Europe, he needed weapons that didn't rely on teammates.
Rio's Apartment.That Night.
Rio sat in front of the System Interface. It had evolved. The calming blue theme was now aggressive, accented with neon red lines that pulsed like veins.
The Global Gacha was ready. The cost had inflated to 50 Days per Spin. The pool was no longer historical legends; it now drew from Players from the Future (2025 - 2035).
Rio hesitated. Fifty days was almost two months of life. In the previous arc, a spin cost a fraction of that. But the description was seductive. Football in 2035 would be faster, sharper, and more robotic. The players of the future were bred for efficiency.
"I need to be independent," Rio muttered to the empty room. "I need a skill that allows me to create my own goals."
He pressed the button.
The wheel didn't spin like a roulette. Instead, it flashed binary codes. Data streams poured down the screen like a digital waterfall.
[PROCESSING...][Timeline: 2032][Player Identity: Unknown (The False Nine Prototype)][Skill Extracted...]
A card materialized. It wasn't Gold or Silver. It was a shimmering Holographic Platinum. The skill was called [The Omniscient Trap].
The description flooded Rio's mind. It was an S-Grade skill derived from a future where AI-assisted training created players with perfect spatial geometry. The skill possessed two distinct states. The Passive ability automatically positioned the ball away from the nearest pressure radius upon the first touch, ensuring Rio never trapped the ball into a tackle. The Active ability, nicknamed "The Magnet," came with a cost of 2 Days per use. It allowed him to kill any ball—no matter the speed, height, or spin—dead at his feet instantly, resetting the tempo of the game.
Rio gasped as the muscle memory downloaded into his brain. It wasn't a dribbling skill. It wasn't a shooting skill. It was a Control skill. With Kenjiro gone, Rio couldn't rely on perfect passes. He would receive bad passes, hard passes, and desperate clearances. With The Omniscient Trap, he could turn a garbage pass into a perfect assist for himself.
Monte Carlo, Monaco.UEFA Champions League Draw Ceremony.August 30th.
Rio watched the ceremony on TV with Adrian. Tyler Stone was there in person, wearing a tuxedo, looking like a Bond villain among the European elite.
The format was brutal. Thirty-two teams. Eight groups. Only the top two would advance. Despite winning the Coppa Italia, Bologna was placed in Pot 4 (the lowest seed) because of their historically low European coefficient. This meant they were mathematically guaranteed to face giants.
"Here we go," Adrian said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Pot 1."
The legend on stage drew a ball. Group F. The first team drawn was Real Madrid. The Kings of Europe. Fifteen-time winners.
Rio's heart skipped a beat as a System Alert flashed: [Rival Detected in Group F].
Then came Pot 2. The ball revealed Liverpool. The heavy metal football of Anfield.
"Oh god," Adrian buried his face in his hands. "Madrid and Liverpool. We are dead."
Then Pot 3. Bayer Leverkusen. The German juggernauts who had terrorized the Bundesliga with their high-intensity pressing.
"This isn't a group," Adrian whispered, horrified. "This is an execution squad."
Then Pot 4. The camera zoomed in on the paper inside the plastic ball. Bologna FC.
Rio stared at the screen. The final composition of Group F read like a funeral notice: Real Madrid, Liverpool, Bayer Leverkusen, and Bologna. It was the definition of a "Group of Death."
But Rio wasn't scared. He felt a strange vibration in his veins. The System text appeared, burning red across his vision.
[Objective Updated: Survive the Group of Death.][Cost of Failure: Elimination equals -100 Days Penalty.][Reason: Disappointing the Algorithm.]
Madrid, Spain.Real Madrid Training Complex (Valdebebas).Same Time.
In a state-of-the-art gym, a young man was running on a treadmill. He wasn't sweating. He was hooked up to machines monitoring his vitals. His physique was terrifying—perfect symmetry, zero body fat, muscles dense like steel cables.
A coach walked in. "We got the draw, Noah."
"Who is it?" the young man asked. He didn't stop running. The treadmill was set to 25 km/h, a sprinting pace for most, but a jog for him.
"Liverpool, Leverkusen... and a small Italian team. Bologna."
The machine beeped. The young man stopped. He stepped off the treadmill without panting. His name was Noah Lami. The System identified him as "The Perfect Human". He was Real Madrid's new secret weapon, a 19-year-old product of genetic potential and ruthless science.
"Bologna," Noah said, picking up a towel. "That's where the Glitch is playing. Rio Valdes."
"You know him?"
"The Algorithm told me," Noah smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the smile of a predator recognizing another predator. "He trades life for skills. How inefficient."
Noah flexed his hand. "I don't need to trade anything. I was born with everything."
Bologna.September 18th.Matchday 1: Real Madrid vs Bologna.Location: Santiago Bernabéu.
The day had arrived. Rio stood in the tunnel of the Santiago Bernabéu. The stadium was a cathedral of football. 85,000 people. The walls seemed to go up forever, closing in on the pitch. The air smelled of money, history, and intimidation.
Rio looked at the Real Madrid line-up. Vinicius Jr. Bellingham. Valverde. Courtois. And there, making his Champions League debut, was the new Number 9, Noah Lami.
Noah looked at Rio. Rio looked at Noah.
[Opponent Scan: Noah Lami] The scan revealed terrifying stats. His Role was listed as The Perfect Human. His Pace, Strength, and Technique were all rated at 99. Under the Lifespan category, it simply read: N/A (Natural Genius).
Noah walked past Rio. He didn't say a word. He just emitted a pressure so heavy it made Rio's Bionic Heart stutter.
Tyler Stone's words echoed in Rio's mind: "The Champions League is a different beast. They don't just tackle. They hunt."
Rio touched the Number 10 on his chest. He remembered Kenjiro's broken leg. He remembered the 5 Days cost for this match. He remembered the contract.
The Champions League Anthem started playing. Die Meister... Die Besten... Les Grandes Équipes...THE CHAAAAAMPIONS!
Rio closed his eyes and opened them again. The fear was gone. Only the hunger remained.
"Let's dance," Rio whispered.