The biting morning chill did little to dull Vihaan's focus. The sky above Gelsenkirchen wore its usual grey, but beneath it, on the far end of the training ground, something different was brewing.
Vihaan.
He was earlier than usual. Even the janitor had barely unlocked the locker rooms when Vihaan stepped in, laced his boots, and walked straight to the pitch with a silent purpose. The artificial grass still glistened with dew. He bounced the ball gently, eyes half-closed, feeling each tap resonate through his foot and ankle.
His body felt… sharper.
More responsive. Quicker. There was strength in his strides now. Confidence in his core. The grind of the last few days—those lung-burning sprints, the positional play sessions, the humiliation, and the silence—was starting to pay off.
[System Notification][SP Balance: 100][Unlock Skill – "First Touch Mastery – Level 1" – Cost: 100 SP][Confirm?]
He didn't even pause. Yes.
A wave of clarity washed over him—not magical, not cinematic. Just… crispness. Like the noise of the world had been turned down a notch, and the ball now belonged to him in a way it hadn't before.
Vihaan took a pass off the rebound wall.
It stuck.
Not bounced, not rolled. Stuck—perfectly, gently.
He smiled to himself. For once, it wasn't forced.
By the time the rest of the team arrived, he was already warmed up. Some boys shot him curious looks. Leon grinned, slapped his back.
"Didn't sleep last night or what?" Leon chuckled.
"Had some things to work on," Vihaan replied, tone cool.
The warm-up rondos began, and Vihaan slipped in easily. His touches were smoother, turns tighter. He wasn't showboating—but he wasn't hiding anymore.
When the ball came to him with pace, he absorbed it like water. He passed quicker than before, anticipated better, and even began to direct others subtly. His voice was quiet but assertive.
"Left shoulder, Niklas."
"Switch, Leon."
A few noticed.
One didn't like it.
Niklas Brandt—midfielder, loudmouth, and a well-established member of the academy system. Stockier than Vihaan, with cropped blond hair and the posture of someone used to being at the center.
When Vihaan received a high ball, controlled it mid-air, and popped it through Niklas' legs to Leon, the snickers from nearby teammates were soft but sharp.
Niklas's face darkened.
The next time the ball came to Vihaan, Niklas didn't try to intercept it—he barged through.
Vihaan stumbled, caught himself, then looked up. Niklas stood over him, expression tight.
"Think you're clever, huh?"
Vihaan stood. "Think you're threatened."
A few boys glanced at Coach Müller, who was watching but didn't intervene.
Niklas stepped forward. "Say that again."
"I said," Vihaan repeated calmly, "you're threatened. Because you know you're not the best anymore."
Niklas shoved him.
Harder this time.
Vihaan didn't fall—but he took a step back, not in fear, but in restraint. His fingers curled, his pulse quickened—but he didn't retaliate.
"That's enough!" Müller's voice cracked across the field. "Brandt, Vihaan—move."
The tension didn't break. It simmered. But Vihaan had made his point. And more importantly—he hadn't flinched.
Training that Week
Coach Müller didn't speak to Vihaan directly about the incident. He didn't need to.
Instead, he watched.
And Vihaan made sure he had something to watch.
In scrimmages, he didn't try to be the hero—but his touches were crisp, his passes clean, and his work rate tireless. He tracked back like a defender and pressed like a striker. He started playing one-touch football with Leon, and slowly, the rest of the team began to adapt to his rhythm.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was influencing.
During video review, Müller paused a clip. Vihaan had dropped deep to intercept a pass, and instantly released a low ball between two defenders to start a counterattack.
"Singh. Good awareness. Good speed. More of that."
That was all he said.
But in an academy like Schalke's, praise was rare. Vihaan noticed the nods. Even Niklas had quieted down.
One Week Later
The announcement came after Friday training. The team was gathered in the common room, sweaty and half-exhausted.
Coach Müller stood at the front, arms folded.
"Next week, we're playing Leverkusen's U-15s. A friendly—but not a soft one. These matches tell us where you stand—not just individually, but as a team."
He scanned the room.
"We've had some reshuffling. Some of you have stepped up. Some haven't."
A pause.
Then his eyes landed on Vihaan.
"Singh. You're in the first team squad."
Silence.
Not disbelief, but surprise. Vihaan wasn't the kid from last week anymore. He was fitter, faster, harder to shake off the ball, and he wasn't afraid to speak. The silence broke with murmurs.
Leon clapped first.
Coach Müller continued. "You've earned this. Make the most of it. You've got one chance to show me this isn't a fluke."
Vihaan nodded slowly, heart hammering in his chest.
"I won't waste it," he said.
He meant it.