Chapter 5 - The first team
The early morning mist still clung stubbornly to the edges of the training ground as Nathan jogged onto the pitch, the cold air slicing into his lungs with each breath.
He tugged his training jacket tighter and cast a nervous glance around.
The first team.
Not the academy boys. Not the Under-18s.
The real thing.
Premier League players warmed up around him — stars he'd seen on TV, players with thousands of fans chanting their names every weekend. Their movements were crisp, almost mechanical in their precision. No wasted steps. No lazy touches. Even a simple rondo drill looked like a finely-tuned machine.
Haaah...! Nathan exhaled slowly, steadying the storm brewing in his chest.
The session kicked off, and reality hit him like a punch to the gut.
Whap! Crack! Thud!
The speed—ridiculous. The physicality—brutal. The decision-making—instantaneous.
Nathan barely had time to think before the ball zipped past him, before a defender shouldered him off balance, before a midfielder snapped a pass ten yards past his outstretched foot.
Tch. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to adjust. No one was going to slow down for him.
No mercy here.
Coach Grayson barked instructions from the sideline, his sharp eyes dissecting every mistake like a surgeon with a scalpel.
Nathan's breathing grew heavier, his legs beginning to feel the burn.
And then—
Ding!
A familiar prompt blinked in the corner of his vision.
[The Hidden Legend System has detected an extreme challenge.]
[Spend 50 Legend Points to unlock a random legendary skill?]
Nathan didn't hesitate.
Yes.
[Skill Unlocked: Xavi's Short Passing – Lv.1]
A pulse of clarity shot through him—like a new instinct lighting up inside his brain.
Suddenly, the game around him didn't feel quite so fast.
Not slow, but manageable.
He found pockets of space quicker. His feet adjusted their angle before he even realized it. His passes—sharp, crisp, and laser-precise—threaded through the chaos like needles through cloth.
Zip! Zip! Zip!
It started small. A simple wall pass to a midfielder. A neat one-two to break a press.
But then—an opening.
A forward peeled off the backline, hand snapping up.
Nathan didn't think. He felt.
The ball left his foot with a clean snap—Pak!—spinning perfectly into the path of the runner.
Boom!
One touch, a quick shimmy past the keeper, and the ball kissed the back of the net.
Goal.
Gasps and murmurs rippled across the training ground.
Nathan's heart pounded, not from the exertion, but from the rush.
I belong here.
He caught Grayson's gaze from across the pitch.
Still cold. Still unreadable.
But he was watching.
Really watching.
The scrimmage continued, fiercer now.
Nathan knew the substitutes were expected to lose—it was almost scripted. But fueled by the rhythm of his newfound skill, he started to carve spaces out of tight situations, offering little flashes of something that didn't quite fit the academy mold.
There was a moment—a small one, but real—when an older center-back snarled after being wrong-footed by Nathan's quick feet.
"You little—"
Wham!
The defender lunged, clipping Nathan's shin.
Pain bloomed instantly, but Nathan gritted his teeth and stumbled back up.
No complaints. No time.
He just passed the ball off and kept moving.
He was beginning to understand something: in the first team, toughness wasn't a bonus. It was the minimum requirement.
Training finally wound down.
Players filtered toward the benches, some chatting, some wiping sweat from their brows.
Nathan untied his boots slowly, his body heavy but his mind strangely alive.
He was stretching his calves when a shadow fell across him.
Michael Grayson.
Up close, the coach looked even more intimidating—tall, lean, with a permanent scowl carved into his face like granite.
Grayson didn't waste words. He never did.
"You're raw," he said, voice low and rough like gravel. "But... you have something."
Nathan looked up, adrenaline surging all over again.
Grayson's mouth twitched—was that the ghost of a smirk? Hard to tell.
"Come with us for the next friendly match," Grayson said. "See if you survive against real opposition."
He didn't wait for an answer. He just turned and strode off, leaving Nathan staring after him, stunned.
Nathan sat there long after the session ended, boots untied, sweat cooling on his skin.
The friendly match.
An actual game. With the first team. Against pros.
Not a scrimmage. Not a training drill.
The stakes were real now.
He could feel it in the pit of his stomach—a twisting knot of fear and exhilaration, tangled together so tightly it was impossible to separate the two.
He closed his eyes, feeling the bruises blooming along his shins, the soreness coiling through his thighs.
And yet... beneath it all, a spark burned.
A small voice inside him whispered:
You earned this.
Nathan opened his eyes.
The sun had climbed higher, burning away the last of the mist.
Tomorrow, the real test would begin.
And he wasn't planning on letting this chance slip away.