The Champions League final was reaching its climax, and the entire world seemed to be holding its breath. The floodlights bathed the sprawling stadium in a bright, almost sacred glow. The crowd's roar was deafening, yet inside a small, worn-down apartment miles away, Nico Valen sat utterly still, eyes fixed on the flickering television screen.
Thirty-three years old, worn down, forgotten. The faded poster of a young Nico in his football prime stared down at him from the peeling wall. The boy who once dreamed of stadium glory was now a shadow, crushed beneath years of disappointment and injuries. His hands trembled slightly as the commentator's voice rose in excitement.
"And what a finish! The striker breaks through the defense and scores! The crowd goes wild!"
Nico's gaze locked on the player celebrating on screen. Someone he had once faced in a youth tournament, someone who had made it to the top—the place Nico should have been.
His chest tightened. A wave of bitterness washed over him. "That should've been me," he whispered, voice cracking.
Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. His breath hitched, and his vision blurred. The sounds around him faded like a distant echo until only silence remained.
He felt himself falling into a void — cold, dark, endless.
Then, breaking the blackness, a calm voice spoke.
"Your flame never had the chance to burn. Let it burn now."
Nico's mind rebelled, unwilling to let go. "Please... just one more chance. To prove I'm not done. To prove I'm worth it."
Before his eyes, words glowed faintly in the void:
[Divinus Calcio initializing...]
[Target: Nico Valen.]
[Resetting to designated point.]
A sudden rush of memories overwhelmed him — the games won and lost, the hopes crushed, the endless grind of a life chasing a dream.
Cold rain stung his skin as Nico gasped for air. His body ached, but it was a different ache — one of youth and unfamiliar energy. The rough ground beneath him was damp earth, scattered with gravel and bits of grass. Around him, a handful of teenagers shouted and kicked a battered ball on a dilapidated training pitch.
He blinked, confused, then it hit him like a lightning bolt.
He was sixteen again.
The scent of wet grass, the murmur of rough voices, the sloppy thud of a ball—everything was raw and real. His body felt lighter, more agile, but he knew the truth. He carried the knowledge of years.
Suddenly, a faint glow appeared in his vision, like a heads-up display overlaying the world:
[Welcome back, Nico Valen.]
[Divinus Calcio activated.]
[Quest: Complete your first scrimmage.]
[Reward: System Access Level 1.]
Nico's heart thundered. The pain and regret from the life he'd lost burned away, replaced with a fierce, blazing resolve.
This time, I'm going to make it count.
The scrimmage was chaotic. Mud splattered on legs, voices shouted orders, and boots kicked up clods of wet earth. The team he played for was rough around the edges—a third-division club where dreams were cheap and survival was the real prize.
His old self had been quiet, unsure, often invisible on the pitch. Now, armed with knowledge and a whisper of divine power, Nico moved differently. His eyes caught subtle clues: a gap opening between defenders, a teammate's shift in stance hinting at a run, the flicker of fatigue in an opponent's legs.
The system fed him gentle nudges:
[Passing lane open — 3 seconds]
[Opponent's stamina dropping — 65%]
[Chance to intercept ball if timed correctly]
He played with calm precision, threading passes that cut through the defense and moving into space to receive the ball again. His teammates shot curious glances his way, whispering about his sudden confidence.
The coach's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion mixed with intrigue.
Minutes later, the ball broke loose at the edge of the penalty box. Time seemed to slow.
Nico's muscles coiled, memory and instinct merging. He controlled the ball with a delicate touch, spun away from an onrushing defender, and steadied himself. The rain slicked the turf beneath his boots.
A surge of clarity filled his mind, the system prompting just before he struck:
[Skill Activated: Composed Finishing I]
[Execute Shot: Perfect timing +10% accuracy]
He struck the ball cleanly. It arced beautifully, curling just beyond the goalkeeper's desperate reach.
The net rippled.
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
Then cheers erupted from teammates.
For Nico, it was more than a goal. It was a declaration — a spark reigniting a fire that refused to die.
After the scrimmage, drenched and exhausted, Nico stood alone under the pale streetlights. The rain had stopped, leaving the pitch shining wet and cold.
His heart pounded—not from exertion, but from something far deeper.
This time, I won't be forgotten.
A soft glow shimmered faintly at the edge of his vision — the symbol of Divinus Calcio, a cross-like emblem blazing softly before fading into the night sky.
The game was far from over.