Chapter 17: The Kinetic Prototype
The midnight air in North Amsterdam didn't just feel cold; it felt heavy, saturated with the scent of wet salt from the docks and the metallic tang of the nearby shipyards.
Luuk stood in the center of the "Iron Graveyard," his breathing coming in measured, frost-white plumes. He was stripped to a thin compression shirt that clung to his 183.9cm frame, revealing the corded, functional muscle that had begun to override the lanky "stiffness" of his youth.
Around him lay the discarded skeletons of the industrial age—rusted gears, frayed cables, and the massive engine block he had hauled from the corner of the yard.
[Current Time: 01:24 AM]
[Status: Neural Fatigue — Moderate]
[Objective: Force-Calibration of the Physical Hardware]
"Again," Luuk whispered.
He didn't start with a ball. He started with the Forms.
He dropped into a deep Taekwondo Ap-Kubi (front stance), his lead leg at a precise 90-degree angle. In his mind, he wasn't in a junkyard; he was in a "Grid." His 100 Ball Sense was so sensitive that even without a ball, he could feel the "Ghost" of one. He visualized the ball hovering exactly three inches above his trailing heel.
He exploded into a Dwi-Chagi—a spinning back-kick.
In a standard dojang, this was a move to break a board. For Luuk, it was a Bio-Mechanical Trap. He whipped his hip around, his leg extending with the speed of a piston. But halfway through the arc, he didn't follow through. He performed a "Dead-Stop" mid-air, his hamstrings screaming as they fought the momentum.
[Warning: Torque exceeding Muscle Spindle Threshold]
[Flexibility: 58.5 -> 58.7]
He was teaching his body to "cradle" a ball that didn't exist. He was training the God-Touch to function at the end of a high-velocity rotation.
"Too slow," he hissed, his silver-grey eyes narrowing. "The Den Bosch defenders won't wait for the pivot. I have to vanish during the turn."
He moved to the engine block. The frayed tow-rope was already knotted around his waist. He didn't just drag it tonight; he performed Kinetic Bursts. 1. The Coil: He dropped into a sprinter's crouch, the weight of the 100kg block pulling his spine taut.
2. The Snap: He exploded forward for exactly three meters—the distance needed to bypass a defender's "Reach Zone."
3. The Reset: He fought the weight to a standstill, his boots carving deep trenches into the oily dirt.
The System flickered, overlaying a red line over his quadriceps. The formula for Force was simple, but the biological cost was astronomical. To move that mass with his current 64.0 Acceleration, he was redlining his central nervous system.
[Acceleration: 64.0 -> 64.3]
[Strength: 60.8 -> 61.2]
After two hours of "Manual Overclocking," Luuk's body began to "Desync." His 100-rated mind was still sharp, but his legs were starting to lag by half a second. This was the Cage. The Isagi-brain saw the space, but the hardware was failing to deliver.
"Why can't I see the whole thing?" he growled, clutching his head.
He closed his eyes, trying to force the Spatial Awareness (78.8) to expand. He wanted to see the junkyard from above. He wanted to see the wind vectors, the position of the rusted cranes, and the gap between the shipping containers as a single, unified map.
But the map was broken. He only saw Fragments.
Piece 1: The sound of a rat scurrying fifty feet to his left.
Piece 2: The vibration of a truck on the distant highway.
Piece 3: The exact weight of the sweat dripping off his chin.
The fragments wouldn't connect. The "Evolutionary Algorithm" was missing a key ingredient: The Pressure of the Void. Without the life-or-death stakes of a real match, the Isagi-ability remained a dormant seed.
"Fine," Luuk said, his voice cold. "If I can't be the Director yet, I'll be the Weapon."
The 100x Reset
Back in the apartment, the silence was absolute. Hendrik was asleep, his exhaustion a heavy blanket over the small rooms. Luuk moved like a ghost into the bathroom.
The ice bath was waiting.
He stepped into the water. The shock was a physical blow to his lungs, but he didn't flinch. He leaned back, letting his head submerge until only his nose and eyes were above the surface.
"Initiate... Deep... Flush," he commanded.
[Hyper-Recovery: 100x Compression — ENGAGED]
Inside his muscles, the chaos was being organized. The micro-tears from the engine block were being filled with dense new fibers. The lactic acid was being purged at a rate that made his skin feel like it was buzzing with electricity.
This was the "Cheating" phase. While the Jong AZ pros were sleeping, their bodies slowly repairing at a 1x rate, Luuk was "loading" three days of training into forty minutes.
[Bone Density: +0.2%]
[Neural Lag: 7.5% -> 6.8% (Stabilizing)]
He looked at his hands under the water. They were steady. He felt "different" than he had on Monday. The "Stiffness" was still there, but it was being replaced by a Heavy Readiness. He was no longer a lanky kid; he was a prototype being forged in a cold bath.
Friday Morning: The Eve of the Meat Grinder
The sun rose over Amsterdam with a pale, watery light. Luuk stood by the window, dressed in his AZ training gear. He had spent the last four days in a cycle of "Break and Reset."
He picked up his bag. Inside was his scuffed football—the one that had been his only friend in the "Cage." He felt the surface of the ball through the fabric of the bag.
[Ball Sense: 100 — Tactile Synchronization 100%]
He didn't need to look at it. He knew exactly where the valve was. He knew the exact PSI of the air inside.
"Luuk?"
Hendrik was standing in the hallway, holding a thermos of coffee. He looked at his son and stopped. There was something different about the way Luuk was standing. He wasn't leaning against the wall; he was Anchored. "You're going?" Hendrik asked.
"Den Bosch," Luuk replied.
"Visser told me they're a 'rough' team. Old-school. They don't like kids who play pretty football."
Luuk adjusted the strap of his bag. His silver-grey eyes met his father's. For the first time, Hendrik saw a flicker of something terrifying in those eyes. It wasn't confidence. It was Predatory Hunger.
"I don't play pretty football, Dad," Luuk said. "I play efficient football. If they try to break me, they're going to find out I'm made of something harder than they are."
He walked out the door.
As the truck pulled onto the highway toward Alkmaar, the Status Screen flickered one last time before entering "Match Standby."
[Final Calibration Complete]
[Strength: 62.5 (+1.7)]
[Acceleration: 65.2 (+1.2)]
[Flexibility: 59.8 (+1.3)]
[Spatial Synchronization: 19.2/100]
[System Note: The 'Adaptive Algorithm' is primed. Awakening Probability: 4.5% (Requires High-Stress Trigger).]
Luuk watched the green fields of North Holland fly by. He wasn't thinking about the scouts. He wasn't thinking about the fans. He was thinking about the First Touch. The Ghost was about to step into the Meat Grinder. And he was bringing a "Snap" that the professional league wasn't prepared for.