Lying on his bed face up, his head resting on his hands, he stood up and walked toward the fifteen centimeter floor to ceiling curtains. He hissed at the bright orange rising sun, "This is the third day without being able to sleep; the medical staff said my body is just shocked from all the training I have been piling on my body." He murmured to himself while examining his own body. Winston's body physique was now more pronounced even though—he hadn't lifted weights for too long; now his body was shaped like the famous statue David by Michelangelo.
Striding toward the bathroom, glancing over to the other side of the room. Oswin was fast asleep, his face turned upwards. Snoring like a chainsaw. Winston wished he could sleep like that, splashing cold water on his face. He wasn't tired; his stamina was still at full. He looked at his reflection in the mirror for a while; "Today is match day, even though I haven't been able to get much sleep, I don't feel exhausted. I hope my exhaustion doesn't catch up with me during the game," he muttered before hitting the shower.
Ding!
[User daily challenge]
[Call for the ball: 25/0]
[Deadball goals: 2/0]
[Make assists: 5/0]
Deadball goals, even though I haven't mastered the skill. And with my current form, it would be difficult to use it, let alone two—times.
I have to receive the ball twenty-five times; with Oswin on my side, that will be easy. Mmm! The five assistants would present a challenge, with Maximilian being one such example; his brute strength is considerable, but his acceleration is sluggish. And judging by this assist challenge, I should be the only one who passed the ball to him so he can score a goal without passing to another player.
He sat on his bed, the core system open, rubbing his chin and thinking about the greater significance of today's match. Winning guarantees them the second position on the league table, and Winston will receive extra reward points and a skills boost for conquering the daily challenge. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, a familiar voice called out to him. "Why do you wake up so early, bro?" Oswin said, with his arms overhead, with a slow yawn pulling at his jaw.
"What, bro, the time is 08:00 AM. What time do you wake up?"
"Nah, that's still early." Oswin said, slamming his head on the pillow. "You should have pulled up to the upper—floor pool party. They were two beautiful girls," he said, with a squeezing motion with his hands in the air. Then he repositioned to his side, leaning on his arm.
The coach's decision about your place in the starting eleven is still on your mind.
"Yeah, the striker coach has been giving Maximilian private tutoring."
"Yeah, I have been wondering about that; we all thought he was just giving you all one on one private training."
"No, he just gives us basic drill training."
"Dang, bro. Did you do something to the striker coach? Looked like there is a history between you two."
"Believe it or not, I have never met him before. All I know is that they hired him the same day they transferred me.
"His behavior towards you is strange; one would assume he has a grudge," Oswin remarked, heading for the bathroom.
Pondering over what Oswin said, he searched through his memories for an old, grumpy man who smokes like a chimney. It's possible he gave the impression of being offensive—sitting on his bed for a while, nothing came to mind. Without overhearing the two teammates at the club gym, he never would have assumed that the striker coach and Maximilian were planning to keep him benched for the entire season.
Shaking his head today, he just wants to focus on the upcoming match, and he doesn't want any destruction. He found it to be for the best, given the pressure of being near second in the league and the prospect of improving his abilities and potential rating. A player's rating is essential for assessing their potential. Bigger clubs scouts use ratings to scout promising players. Of course, his shooting talent was the reason for his rating being high—though his technique was elementary, he still could hit the goalpost. Granted, he still can't hit the ball inside the net, and the goals he scored in the previous matches convinced him—he was improving. Which was far from it, honestly; those goals were just him hitting the ball, hoping it goes in. And so far it's working, but for how long, only he knows.
The coach, by bringing his hands together with a clap, was attempting to inspire the squad that seemed to be feeling somewhat nervous. "For now, head to the ground and do some warm-ups."
The entire team proceeded through the hotel's ground floor lobby, with their destination being the rear entrance that links to the passageway leading to the football stadium. Near the stairway, Winston's attention was drawn to a scene where a quarrel was taking place, and he noticed the girl from the previous day being bothered by a young man wearing an Arlesey Athletic F.C. uniform. Upon closer inspection, it was apparent that the young man, characterized by his pale complexion and a voluminous, curly ginger hairstyle, appeared to be of the same age as the other youths. Winston's inaction stemmed from his contemplation that perhaps the individuals were romantically involved and merely encountering some difficulties within their relationship.
The persistent conflict between the two individuals was so significant that it became noticeable to everyone present on the hotel grounds.
"Look it Duke, man, and that must his girl. His skilled and has a beautiful girlfriend too. I wish I were this lucky."
"You know you can work hard too; for sure, you won't have the skill he was born with, but you will be like most of us who work hard to achieve something."
"Yeah, but imagine being born with the skills he has, man; I'd just go pro by now."
The conversation between the two youths ahead of him persisted, prompting Winston to shift his attention and look back at Duke, who was now accompanying two other young people.
So that our competition.
As they tread down the stairs, Winston could feel that there was a pair of eyes fixated on him. The chill he got made him whip his head, and two twins were staring at him with an icy stare. Now the game felt like a death match. Ignoring the stares, he analyzed the crowd. He wasn't looking for a familiar face, but his gaze stayed on the figure who was talking to another attendee. The nervousness he was attempting to suppress began to spread throughout his entire body. The passing wind made him shiver until someone called his name.