The ball struck the back of the net with a dull thump.
Ayodeji froze. For half a second, he didn't breathe. Then, as the echo of impact faded across the empty pitch, his arms shot into the air.
"YES!"
His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, fists clenched, head tilted toward the sky. The training kit stuck to his skin, damp with sweat, but he didn't care. His chest heaved as if he'd just won the Champions League final himself.
He'd scored. He had actually scored.
Behind him, the figure of a mannequin keeper slowly pushed off the ground, its blank white face turning toward him. Its movements were eerily human, mimicking the sluggish recovery of a beaten goalkeeper who had dived the wrong way.
He fell forward, palms sinking into the soft turf as laughter bubbled out of him. His voice carried across the silent field.
The sun above the training ground still shimmered golden. The soft wind brushed against his cheeks, cooling the sweat on his skin.
"Let's gooo!" he gasped, chest heaving. "I finally did it!"
It was just him, the grass, and a ball that kept reappearing whenever he missed. But after kicking the ball into the open net repeatedly; the mannequin keeper had appeared — tall, faceless, and unnervingly human in its movements.
From then on, every time he shot, it dived sometimes left, sometimes right — forcing him to adjust, to aim better, to learn. For long, he had missed. Again and again.
Until now.
He stayed there for a while, on his knees, soaking it in: the smell of grass, the cool breeze, the texture of the kit, the pure realness of it all.
But as his breathing slowed, a small thought began to tug at him.
"…Wait," he murmured, glancing around. "How long have I been here?"
The system's voice answered, calm, precise and feminine. It sounded more of an AI female character than actual female:
[Elapsed Time: 4 hours 37 minutes.]
"Four what?" He blinked, his voice slowly rising with panic. "How have I been here for four hours? Won't they find it suspicious that I've been unconscious for that long?"
[Do not worry, time flows differently here. An hour here equals a second there, so you've approximately spent 4 seconds in reality.]
"Wait, what?" Ayodeji's jaw dropped.
[Your current limit for now is twenty four hours but slowly as you grow, the limit would increase alongside your potential]
[The results of your training would show once you're out of the training ground. Each training has to be completed for the results to show.]
"What do you mean by that?" Ayodeji's brow furrowed.
[The training goes on while you're unconscious, no form of distractions from the real world should disrupt the process.]
[It would nullify the training for the day.]
"So, basically" Ayodeji crossed his arms "log in to the training ground when I know I won't be disturbed. Got it."
[You won't feel the fatigue and exhaustion — both physically and mentally, when you log out]
"Now that feels like a fucking cheat code" He smiled as he stood, wobbling slightly. His legs ached, his shirt clung to his skin, but when he glanced at the glowing interface before him, the exhaustion didn't matter.
[User has repeated penalty exercise 198 times. Success rate: 22%.]
He turned to look at the mannequin keeper again, now standing in front of the net, perfectly still, awaiting the next shot. The ball had respawned neatly at the penalty spot.
He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled weakly. "So you've been watching me miss for four hours straight, huh?".
No response, the mannequin just stared. Ayodeji smiled faintly, his eyes locked on the ball. "Guess I'm really doing this."
He took a step back, readying himself for another shot. The mannequin bent slightly, like a real keeper preparing for a save. Ayodeji grinned. "Alright, robot. Round two."
***
The sun above never set, only shifted in color: bright gold, then soft amber, then silver-white. Sweat had dried and reformed on his skin so many times that his shirt felt like a second, heavier skin.
Ayodeji's legs ached in a way that made him want to stop, made him want to sit and never move again but the glowing arrows on the pitch kept blinking, impatient and exact.
[Dribbling Route: Start → Left → Right → Stop → Sprint → Turn → Finish]
The glowing arrows danced ahead of him, flickering in midair like a PES or FIFA training module. He followed them without thinking, more out of muscle memory than strategy.
The ball kept slipping from under his foot on the harder turns. He'd clip a cone, scuff a touch, and the field would flash red. Each clean sequence rewarded a soft green pulse that felt like a small kindness from the system.
He had been repeating the same dribbling route for what the interface told him were hours — loops nested inside loops, tiny variations the program threw at him until his body stopped arguing and simply moved.
When he missed, the holographic path slowed and rewound, replaying the perfect motion as a ghostly player so he could copy it. He tried copying. He failed. He tried again. He failed again. Each failure tasted the same: hot and metallic with the sourness of tiredness.
The sky above the training ground shifted through fake hours while he kept grinding. Time inside the field was a pressure cooker; the timer in the corner never blinked mercy.
Remaining Time: 00:00:10 — the numbers bled down, every digit a drumbeat in his chest.
He swallowed as he turned at the last route. He forced his knees to spring, shoulders to drop, feet to whisper along the grass. The ball stuck to him like glue. Touch after touch, quicker, tighter. He carved the final turn with the inside of his foot and rolled the ball through the golden finish gate.
The timer hit 00:00:00 and the world exhaled with him. For a second there was nothing but the afterimage of his own breath in the air.
Then the system chimed, soft and exact.
[Training Session Complete.]
The pitch dissolved into light. A faint hum resonated in the air, and a list unfolded before his eyes:
[Basic Movement Drills: Completed]
[Ball Familiarity: Completed]
[Dribbling Basics: Completed]
[Passing & Receiving: Completed]
[Shooting Practice: Completed]
Ayodeji stared at it, lips parting in disbelief. "I actually finished it all?". His legs ached with fatigue, forcing him to lie on the grass.
[Session Duration: 24 Hours.]
[Training Efficiency: 100%.]
[Ping!]
[User has been granted a skill card!]
Ayodeji glanced weakly, straining to raise his head up "A skill....card?". He sat up slowly, despite each muscle groaning with ache.
A light condensed in front of him: five stars, orbiting a single, radiant card.
[Skill granted: ★★★★★ — Stats Multiplier]
[Effect: Greatly multiply base stats, boosting the level at which you improve.]
"Whoa, five stars?" He blinked, any signs of fatigue disappearing immediately "That's basically a cheat code. I'm going to be improving at a fast rate, that's a fucking cheat code!!" His voice slowly faded with disbelief as his fingers locked on his head.
The card hovered closer, its edges pulsing like a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he reached out. The moment his fingers brushed it, the card shattered into light sparks of gold that glittered around him before fading away.
[Skill card integrated!]
The screen flickered once more:
[Rewards granted: [Stamina +20]]
[Body balance +10]
[Speed +10]
[Explosive power +10]
[Dribbling +10]
[Finishing +20]
[Place kicking +20]
He let out a long, shaky exhale. "I can't even explain what this feels like…" He stared at his hands, flexing them slowly, almost afraid to break the moment.
Then, as the golden sky above flickered, the system's voice returned:
[Session limit reached. Logging out in 3… 2… 1—]
The world around him dissolved into light.
——
• if you like the story, please leave a review.
• kindly push the story forward with your power stones.