Sant'Orsola Hospital, Bologna.Monday Morning. 11:00 AM.Day 4 of Recovery.
The itching was worse than the pain.
For the last three days, Rio Valdes had felt like a colony of termites was building a fortress inside his right hip. The Phoenix Bone Elixir was doing exactly what the description promised: stimulating osteoblasts at 500% speed. It was a reconstruction project happening at a molecular level, a violent knitting of calcium and marrow that kept him awake through the nights.
Rio sat up in his hospital bed. The TV on the wall was tuned to the UEFA Headquarters in Nyon, Switzerland. It was the day of the Round of 16 Draw.
Beside him, Kenjiro Tanaka was eating an apple, his leg still suspended in traction. "You look pale," Kenjiro commented, chewing slowly. "Does it still hurt?"
"No," Rio lied. The pain was gone. What remained was a strange sensation of density. His right hip felt heavy, cold, and solid, as if the bone had been replaced with a rod of lead.
On the TV screen, the UEFA official swirled the plastic balls in the glass bowl. The atmosphere in the room was tense. Adrian Vance, who had visited every day, sat in the corner, his eyes glued to the screen.
"Bologna is in Pot 1," Adrian muttered, tapping his chin. "We avoid Bayern, City, and Barcelona. But we can still draw PSG."
The official pulled out a ball. He unscrewed it, revealing the slip of paper inside.
"SL Benfica."
A collective breath was held. Benfica was the Runner-up of Group D. They were the opponents for the next Group Winner drawn. The official reached into the second bowl. He pulled out another ball.
"Bologna FC."
Kenjiro let out a whistle. "Benfica. Lisbon. The Eagles. Could be worse. Could be Mbappe."
But Adrian didn't look relieved. He looked disturbed. He started typing furiously on his tablet. "This is bad. This is statistically the worst possible matchup for us."
Rio swung his legs off the bed. The movement was fluid, almost robotic. There was no catch, no friction, no pain. Just smooth mechanical rotation.
"Why?" Rio asked. "They are a selling club. They sold Enzo, they sold Darwin. Who do they have left?"
"They have a System," Adrian said, looking up with grim eyes. "Not a supernatural one like yours, Rio. A tactical one. They are playing 'Moneyball' on steroids. Their average age is twenty-one. Their pressing intensity is higher than Liverpool's. And they haven't conceded a goal in open play for three months."
Adrian turned the screen to Rio. "And their striker... Gonçalo Ramos. He has scored 18 goals in 12 games. His conversion rate is 45%. That is mathematically impossible for a human."
Rio stared at the stats. Mathematically impossible.
The phrase reminded him of Noah Lami's text. Was Gonçalo Ramos another "Player from the Future"? Or just a freak of nature?
"It doesn't matter," Rio said, standing up fully.
Kenjiro dropped his apple. It rolled across the floor. Adrian stopped typing.
Rio stood by the side of the bed. He didn't hold the railing. He didn't wobble. He shifted his weight onto his right leg—the leg that, according to medical science, was supposed to be fractured in half.
He bounced on it. Once. Twice. The sound of his bare foot hitting the linoleum was solid. He performed a high knee raise, bringing the "broken" leg up to his chest.
"Rio..." Kenjiro whispered, his eyes wide. "What are you doing? Dr. Ricci said six weeks without weight-bearing!"
"Dr. Ricci was looking at an old map," Rio said, walking toward the wardrobe to grab his clothes. "The terrain has changed."
Dr. Ricci's Office.Monday Afternoon.
The sound of the X-ray film snapping onto the lightbox was like a gunshot.
Dr. Marco Ricci stared at the image. He took off his glasses. He wiped them with his lab coat. He put them back on. He squinted until his eyes watered.
"This is the wrong patient," Ricci muttered. "Nurse! You brought me the wrong file!"
"It's my file, Doc," Rio said. He was sitting on the examination table, swinging his legs casually like a child waiting for a lollipop.
Ricci grabbed the folder. "Name: Rio Valdes. Date: Today. This..." Ricci pointed a trembling finger at the hip joint on the image. "This shows a fully fused acetabulum. The fracture line is... gone. It's not just healed. The bone density in this area is higher than your left hip. It looks like marble."
Ricci turned to Rio, his face a mask of scientific terror. "This is impossible. Biology doesn't work this way. Even with high-grade steroids and growth hormones, this would take three months. It's been four days."
"Maybe I drink a lot of milk," Rio shrugged.
Ricci didn't laugh. He walked over to Rio and started prodding the hip joint with aggressive force. He rotated the leg inward, outward, flexed it to the chest. He was looking for a scream of pain. He found nothing.
"Genetic mutation," Ricci whispered to himself, pacing the room. "Hyper-calcification. Accelerated cellular regeneration. I need to write a paper. I need to send blood samples to Zurich."
"No papers," Rio said sharply. His tone stopped the doctor in his tracks. "And no blood samples. You clear me to play. That's it."
"Clear you? You are a medical anomaly! You should be in a lab, not on a pitch!"
"We have Benfica in February," Rio said, standing up and towering over the doctor. "And we have a Serie A title race to maintain. If you report this as an anomaly, the Federation will suspend me for investigation. Do you want to explain to the fans why their captain is banned because he healed too fast?"
Ricci opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the X-ray again—the undeniable proof of a miracle. He was a man of science, but he was also a lifelong fan of Bologna.
"Fine," Ricci sighed, collapsing into his chair. "I will write it down as a 'misdiagnosis'. I will say the initial scan showed a shadow, not a fracture. Just a severe bone bruise."
"Good choice, Doc," Rio smiled. "I'll see you at training tomorrow."
Casteldebole Training Ground.Tuesday Morning.
The mood in the locker room was somber. The players moved sluggishly. The victory against Liverpool felt distant now that they knew their captain was out for months. Without Rio, and with Kenjiro in the hospital, the spine of the team was broken.
"Alright, listen up!" Coach Italiano shouted, trying to inject some energy. "We have Lecce highlights to review. I know we are missing key players, but—"
The door slammed open.
Heads turned. Jaws dropped.
Rio Valdes walked in. He was wearing his training kit. His boots were tied. He carried a ball under his arm. He didn't limp. He strode.
"You're late, Captain," Orsolini stammered, his eyes bulging. "Wait, aren't you... broken?"
Rio tossed the ball into the air and caught it on his chest. He juggled it twice with his right knee—the "broken" knee—and volleyed it into the laundry basket in the corner of the room.
Swish.
"Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated," Rio announced, scanning the room. "The doctor made a mistake. It was just a bruise. A bad one, but I'm fine."
Silence.
Sam Beukema looked at Ferguson. Ferguson looked at Zirkzee. They all knew Dr. Ricci didn't make mistakes. They had seen Rio carried off on a stretcher, screaming in silence. But the evidence was right in front of them. Their captain was standing there, radiating an aura of invincibility.
"Well?" Rio clapped his hands. "Are we going to train, or are we going to stare at me all day? We have a league to win."
A roar erupted in the locker room. The depression evaporated instantly, replaced by a surge of electric hope. If Rio was back, anything was possible.
The Manager's Office.10 Minutes Later.
While the team warmed up, Coach Italiano watched from his window. Beside him stood Tyler Stone, Rio's agent.
"You knew?" Italiano asked.
"I suspected," Stone replied, checking his Rolex. "The kid is... different. He has an investment in his own longevity."
"He traded something," Italiano whispered, his eyes narrowed as he watched Rio sprint across the grass. "I don't know what, and I don't want to know. But nobody heals like that. He looks different. He moves heavier."
"Heavier?"
"Stronger," Italiano corrected. "Before, he was like a feather—agile, quick. Now... look at how he plants his foot. He looks like he's made of iron."
Italiano turned to Stone. "Benfica is next. The press is calling them the 'Perfect Machine'. They say their striker, Ramos, is unstoppable."
Stone chuckled. "Perfect Machine? Let me tell you something about machines, Vincenzo. They are predictable. Rio Valdes is chaos. And chaos always beats order."
Rio's POV.On the Pitch.
Rio ran. The wind brushed against his face.
His new hip felt strange. The Phoenix Bone Elixir had done more than just heal him. He summoned the System Interface while jogging. The holographic text confirmed his Lifespan was now 230 Days. More importantly, his Physique had officially upgraded to Grade B-.
He felt the ground differently. When he planted his foot, there was zero give. The recoil from the ground was instant.
A new line of text appeared under his skills. The Mirage Strike was officially UNLOCKED. The usage limit had increased: he could now use it 3 times per match safely, with the risk of injury only appearing after the fifth usage.
He had 230 days. The Round of 16 was in February. That was two months away. Between now and then, he had Serie A matches. Every match would cost 1 Day of lifespan to play, plus the natural passing of time.
He did the math. If he played every game until the final, and lived normally... He would have roughly 150 Days left by the time of the Champions League Final.
It was tight. Too tight. He needed more days. He needed to farm lifespan.
A gold-bordered notification popped up, answering his desperate thought.
New Side Quest Available: The Domestic King. The objective was simple but grueling: Win the Serie A Title. The reward was the lifeline he desperately needed: an additional 100 Days of Lifespan. The condition: Maintain the top spot until the end of the season.
Rio smiled. 100 Days. That was the buffer he needed.
He looked at the ball at his feet. He wound up his leg. He didn't engage his core. He didn't worry about the "tell". He just smashed it.
BOOM.
The ball flew like a cannonball, hitting the crossbar from forty meters out. The metal frame shook violently, the sound echoing across the training ground.
The team stopped and stared. Rio Valdes was back. And he was upgraded.