The cold evening air outside Virtus Lombardia's small training facility carried a strange mix of excitement and disbelief. The team had just won two matches in a row—something that hadn't happened in months. But no one talked about the three points. All anyone could talk about was him.
The boy wearing number 11.
The kid with the calm stare and impossible footwork.
The name on everyone's lips now carried something more than curiosity. It carried awe.
"The Han Effect."
It started as a joke from a commentator after the Fanfulla match. He'd said, "This is becoming a pattern… defenders don't even know how to react. It's like he bends the rhythm of the game. The Han Effect is real."
By the next morning, the phrase was everywhere. Hashtags, videos, short clips, replays—fans shouting it from the stands as if it was a spell.
Jaeven didn't even open the trending tags at first. He already knew what the world was saying.
He'd felt it the moment the ball left his foot and curved into the top corner.
That match had ended 1–0. His goal. His Double Touch—the same move that had sent Fanfulla's defender spinning into the wrong direction. The entire stadium had stood silent for a second before erupting.
Now, Virtus Lombardia sat 9th on the table. Not near glory yet, but far from the shadows.
---
He woke the next day to the sound of his phone vibrating endlessly. Messages. Mentions. Calls.
His locker-room photo had been turned into fan edits, his dribble replayed in slow motion with dramatic music. Sports pages called him Italy's new mystery talent.
One headline stood out to him.
> "THE HAN EFFECT — A NEW DAWN FOR ITALIAN FOOTBALL?"
He stared at it for a long moment, then let out a quiet laugh.
"I just played football," he murmured. "That's all."
Still, the title had a nice ring to it.
---
Training resumed two days later. The rhythm was different now. Reporters stood by the gate, and more fans came to watch than usual. They clapped when he appeared. He wasn't used to that.
Coach Rossi made sure everyone stayed focused.
"Fame's good for the club, but it won't save us if we start losing again," he said in his usual gravelly tone. "Ravenna's next. They're second for a reason."
The players nodded. No one took it lightly.
Ravenna FC wasn't just good—they were a wall. Fast, compact, disciplined. And their star striker, Riccardo Vieri, was the kind of player every magazine loved. Good looks, big mouth, and goals to back it up.
By midweek, the storylines began to form. Media buzzed about it as if it were a title clash:
"Virtus's Han faces off against Ravenna's Vieri — Clash of Styles."
---
The first time Jaeven saw Vieri talk about him was through a teammate's phone.
It was an interview clip that had spread like wildfire.
The reporter had asked Riccardo what he thought about the "Han Effect."
Vieri had laughed, casually leaning back in his designer jacket.
> "The Han Effect? Please. Tricks and flicks don't win against top-tier teams. He's good for YouTube clips, but Ravenna's not Fanfulla. He won't dance past us like that. He'll be lucky to touch the ball."
The teammates snickered or hissed in disbelief. Some cursed under their breath.
But Jaeven? He just smiled, quiet and amused.
"Guess we'll see," he said softly, tying his laces.
That calm tone caught even Rossi's attention. There was no anger, no defensiveness—just certainty.
It wasn't arrogance. It was control.
---
At home that night, he video-called Lucia. Her face popped up immediately—eyes wide, full of mischief.
"Did you see what that clown Vieri said about you?!" she shouted before he could even say hello. "He called you a trickster! I swear if I ever see him, I'll throw a shoe."
Jaeven burst out laughing. "Lulu, calm down. It's just football talk."
"He's jealous," she huffed. "That's all it is. Big ego, small brain. Typical."
Then her tone softened. "But you're trending again, you know. People love you right now. They're saying the Han Effect isn't just about skills—it's about how you change the game."
He blinked slowly, her words settling somewhere deep inside. "Change the game, huh…"
Lucia grinned. "And you better not start acting all mysterious and famous now."
"I won't," he said. "But I might start charging you for autographs."
"Try it," she said, sticking her tongue out before ending the call.
He chuckled and tossed the phone aside, leaning back on his bed.
"Change the game," he whispered again. The phrase lingered like electricity.
---
Training intensified over the next two weeks. Rossi pushed the squad with tactical drills—compact defending, pressing triggers, breaking through high lines.
The players were exhausted, but the atmosphere was alive. Everyone wanted to see if they could truly stand against Ravenna.
Whenever Jaeven got the ball during scrimmages, defenders swarmed him. He welcomed it. It forced him to think faster, to move cleaner.
Every feint, every touch, every pivot started to feel more natural—like his body had become fluent in a language only he could hear.
During one evening practice, after most players had left, he stayed behind for extra touches. The ball bounced between his feet, rhythm sharp and smooth.
Then, the faint shimmer of blue light appeared in front of him.
> [System Notice]
Observation recognized: Consecutive innovation streak detected.
Hint: Blueprint potential — dormant until self-expression manifests in match conditions.
He froze. "Blueprint… potential?"
The phrase echoed inside him. He frowned slightly. The system rarely spoke in riddles like this.
"Self-expression, huh…" He rolled the ball under his foot, thinking. "So I need to show it, not just imagine it."
He didn't push for more. The system never gave too much at once. It wanted him to earn the discovery.
And maybe, he realized, that was the point. He wasn't just playing anymore—he was creating.
---
The first week after Fanfulla's match brought attention. The second week brought pressure.
Sports programs started comparing him to seasoned players—trying to find references that didn't exist. Some called him a prodigy, others said he was lucky.
One famous analyst even claimed he was "reinventing football's foundation," though no one could explain what that meant.
Everywhere he went, people pointed or whispered. In supermarkets, in cafés, outside training. He wasn't invisible anymore.
And yet, through it all, he remained grounded.
Whenever fans asked him about the "Han Effect," he smiled politely.
"It's just football," he'd say. "I'm just learning."
---
The night before Virtus's tactical scrimmage, he watched match tapes of Ravenna. Vieri was everywhere on screen—fast, aggressive, sharp. But he also noticed something else.
Ravenna's backline always pushed too high. Their right-back tended to drift when attacking. That was a weakness.
Coach Rossi had mentioned it too.
It reminded Jaeven of something his father used to say: "Even lions have blind spots."
He paused the video, took a slow breath, and murmured, "Then I'll find theirs."
---
Days blended into each other. The team grew sharper. The chemistry clicked.
During one of the final training sessions, Rossi gathered everyone together.
"Ravenna plays like a machine. We'll beat them only if we stay human—if we read the rhythm, not just chase it," he said. Then he turned to Jaeven. "That includes you. I don't need more highlight reels. I need impact."
Jaeven nodded. "You'll get both."
The players laughed. Rossi smirked. "Confidence. Good. Just make sure it doesn't turn into a meme."
---
That evening, he took a quiet walk near the Lodi canal, the sky painted orange and gold. The air smelled faintly of pine and fresh bread from a nearby bakery.
Kids were kicking a worn-out ball on the street. When they saw him, they froze.
"Wait… are you Han?! The Han Effect guy?"
He smiled. "Something like that."
"Can you teach us the thing you did last match?" one asked eagerly.
He hesitated, then crouched down. "It's not about copying moves. It's about control. Feel the ball like it's part of you. Then it'll listen."
The boys nodded, wide-eyed.
He smiled faintly as he walked away, the sound of laughter following him. Maybe that was what the system meant by Blueprint—not just creating for himself, but inspiring others to imagine more.
---
When he got home, Lucia had sent him another clip—this time a sports segment comparing his last two matches.
They slowed down his Double Touch and Marseille Turn, analyzing them like scientific phenomena.
> "These movements are beyond traditional technique," one analyst said. "They require balance, foresight, and… frankly, courage. We've never seen anything like it in our league."
> "It's almost like he sees football differently," another added. "Maybe this Han Effect isn't a myth after all."
Lucia's message followed:
> "Look at you! People are already saying you changed how players think. You happy now, mister humble?"
He laughed quietly. "Not yet. But soon."
---
As the final days approached, Virtus's focus turned razor-sharp. They were 9th, Ravenna 2nd. The odds were heavy, but no one in that locker room cared.
The morning of the match announcement, his phone buzzed again—this time, a post from Riccardo Vieri.
It was a selfie, captioned:
> "Ready for tomorrow. Let's see if the 'Han Effect' works against men instead of boys."
The comments section exploded.
Some fans defended Jaeven. Others taunted. The rivalry was set.
He simply smiled and turned the phone off. "You'll see soon enough."
---
That night, he lay awake staring at the ceiling. His heart wasn't racing—it was steady. The nervousness that used to eat at him before matches was gone.
In its place was something else: anticipation.
The system hadn't spoken again since that hint, but he could feel it waiting. Almost like it was watching what he would do next.
He thought about the path ahead, the game, the moves he could create—new patterns, new shapes.
"The Blueprint…" he whispered. "Maybe that's what the Han Effect really is. Not what they call it, but what I build with it."
A faint smile curved his lips. He finally understood.
---
Morning sunlight broke through the window as he got dressed for training. His boots were polished, the number 11 shining faintly on the back of his shirt.
The world outside was ready to see the Han Effect again.
But this time, he wasn't just going to perform.
He was going to design.
---