Casteldebole Training Center, Bologna.Friday Morning. 11:30 CET.30 Minutes Before the Champions League Draw.
The air in the common room was thick, a suffocating blend of stale espresso and the sharp tang of nervous sweat.
The entire Bologna squad huddled around the massive 85-inch television. Usually, this space echoed with the sounds of FIFA matches or raucous laughter, but today, the silence was heavy enough to crush a lung.
Rio Valdes sat in the back row, absently spinning a euro coin between his fingers. He felt... different.
Since unlocking The Heavy Tank passive skill on Tuesday, his physical existence felt altered. It wasn't that he was heavier on the scale, but his center of gravity felt magnetized to the earth's core. Earlier in training, Nicolás Domínguez had tried to shoulder-barge him during a rondo. Domínguez had bounced off Rio as if he had run into a concrete pillar, while Rio hadn't even spilled his water.
"Body Balance Grade A," Rio whispered to himself. It was a terrifying upgrade. He was no longer just a Ferrari; he was an armored Ferrari.
"Here we go," Lewis Ferguson muttered, pointing a shaking finger at the screen.
The broadcast from Nyon, Switzerland, began. Sleek UEFA graphics flashed across the screen, followed by the appearance of the ceremony host and the special guest who would seal their fate: Patrick Kluivert, the Dutch legend.
Joshua Zirkzee leaned forward, biting his thumbnail. "Please not City. Please not City. Anyone but City."
The camera panned over the representatives of the eight remaining teams, the elite survivors of European football: Real Madrid.Manchester City.Bayern Munich.Paris Saint-Germain.Arsenal.Barcelona.Atlético Madrid.Bologna.
Rio scanned the list. Seven giants and one intruder. Bologna was the anomaly. The glitch in the matrix.
"Statistically," Adrian Vance said from his wheelchair, his eyes glued to his tablet, "the best draw for us is Arsenal or Atlético. We match up well with their styles. The worst draw is..."
"City," the whole room exhaled in unison.
The first ball was drawn. Real Madrid. A collective gasp rippled through the room. The Kings of Europe were out first. Who would be the victim? Kluivert stirred the glass bowl. The plastic balls rattled like bones. He picked the second ball. Manchester City.
"YES!" Zirkzee jumped up, punching the air violently. "They kill each other! The two monsters kill each other!"
The room erupted in relief. The two heavy favorites were off the board. It was the "Final before the Final."
The draw continued relentlessly. Arsenal vs Bayern Munich. Another heavy clash.
Rio stopped spinning the coin. His heart rate spiked against his ribs. There were four teams left. Barcelona. Atlético Madrid. Paris Saint-Germain. And Bologna.
"Give us Atlético," Orsolini prayed, clasping his hands. "We can beat Simeone. We can take them."
Kluivert pulled the next ball. Bologna.
The room went dead silent. Their name was on the board. Now came the opponent. There were three balls left in the pot. One was Atlético (Difficult but manageable). One was Barcelona (A technical nightmare). One was PSG (Pure star power).
Kluivert reached into the glass bowl. He grabbed a ball, let it drop, grabbed another one. He twisted it open with a satisfying crack. He showed the paper to the camera.
Paris Saint-Germain.
A mixed groan filled the room. "Mbappé," Ferguson whispered, his face draining of color. "We have to defend against Kylian Mbappé."
Coach Italiano rubbed his temples, already calculating. "It could have been worse. But their attack is lethal. Dembélé, Kolo Muani, Mbappé. It's a track meet."
Rio stared at the screen. The camera cut to a pre-recorded highlight reel of PSG's star player. Kylian Mbappé was shown sprinting past defenders, his speed blurring the frame, his movements defying logic.
Suddenly, reality fractured.
It wasn't the usual smooth blue holographic text of his System. A violent, static-filled red distortion jagged across his vision like a tear in the fabric of the world. Rio blinked hard, rubbing his eyes, thinking a migraine had struck. But the text didn't disappear. It locked onto the image of Mbappé on the TV screen.
[WARNING][High-Energy Signal Detected.][Scanning Target: Kylian Mbappé...][Scan Complete.]
[Target Identity: SYSTEM HOST NO. 04][System Type: The Speed King System (Speed-Oriented).][Threat Level: EXTREME.]
Rio stopped breathing. The coin slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly onto the floor.
Everyone looked at him, but Rio was frozen in place. System Host No. 04?
For months, Rio thought he was alone. He believed the Lifespan Gacha was a unique curse, a singular anomaly in the universe. But the text was clear. Mbappé wasn't just a talented human. He was a User. And if he was No. 04... that meant there were at least two others out there besides them.
"Rio?" Adrian asked, noticing his captain's pale face. "You okay? It's just PSG. We can handle them."
Rio stood up slowly. His legs felt strangely numb, despite the immense strength hidden within them. "It's not just PSG," Rio said, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.
He looked at the screen again. The image of Mbappé seemed to stare back at him, a knowing smirk on the Frenchman's face.
"Adrian," Rio asked, "what's Mbappé's top speed this season?"
Adrian checked his data instantly. "Official records say 36.5 km/h. But there are rumors he hit 38 km/h in private training sessions. Why?"
Rio clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His own top speed, with The Speedster (Grade S), was around 36 km/h. If he pushed his body to the breaking point, maybe 36.5. But Mbappé had a dedicated "Speed King System".
A new notification appeared, confirming his worst fears.
[New Main Mission: Predator vs Predator][Context: Two System Users cannot coexist on the same stage.][Objective: Eliminate Host No. 04 from the Champions League.][Winning Condition: Bologna qualifies for Semi-Finals.][Defeat Condition: Elimination.][Victory Reward: Ability to 'Steal' one Skill from the Loser.][Failure Penalty: -50% of Remaining Lifespan.]
Rio felt cold. Penalty: -50% Lifespan. He had 238 days. If he lost, he would drop to 119 days. He would lose four months of life in a single night. This wasn't just a football match anymore. It was a duel to the death.
"Coach," Rio said, turning to Italiano. His voice was steady, but intense. "I need every video clip of Mbappé you have. Not just the goals. Every sprint. Every movement. Everything."
Italiano nodded, sensing the shift in Rio's demeanor. "We start analysis immediately."
Rio walked out of the room. He needed fresh air. He stepped out onto the training pitch. The Italian sun was warm, but he couldn't stop shivering.
He wasn't the only one cheating reality. Mbappé was one of them. And Mbappé had been doing this longer.
"Host Number 4," Rio whispered to the wind. "Speed King."
He pulled up his own status screen. [Rio Valdes (Host No. ???)][System: Lifespan Gacha.][Core Stats: Balance (A), Speed (S), Shot (S).]
Rio realized something terrifying. Mbappé's System was specialized. Speed King. That meant Mbappé likely possessed SSS-Grade Speed. Rio's System was random. Gacha. It gave him versatility—Chaos—but it didn't guarantee dominance in one specific area.
"Chaos against Speed," Rio muttered. "If I can't outrun him... I have to break him."
Parc des Princes, Paris.The Same Time.
Kylian Mbappé sat in his private lounge, watching the draw on a massive projector. When the name "Bologna" was drawn, his entourage cheered. It was the easiest draw on paper.
But Kylian didn't cheer. A blue holographic screen flickered in front of his eyes, invisible to his bodyguards.
[Rival System Detected.][Target: Rio Valdes (Bologna).][System Type: Chaos/Gacha.][Mission: Crush the Anomaly.]
Kylian leaned back in his leather chair, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Finally," he said in French, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I was getting bored racing against normal humans."
He picked up his phone and sent a text to his manager. "Prepare the jet. We're going to Italy."