The night was anything but restful for Winston.
He spent hours tossing and turning, never managing to settle. In the end, he barely scraped together two or three hours of sleep. Eventually, he gave up. With a weary sigh, Winston pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of his bed. The conversation he'd had with Haruto the previous day refused to leave his mind. Awakenings—Supernatural powers—Transcending humanity.
Every time he closed his eyes, Haruto's words echoed in his head. I don't want that… I just want to play football.
Letting his feet dangle over the edge of the bed, Winston slowly scanned the dormitory. Rows of youths lay asleep, their rhythmic snores filling the room with a strange sense of peace. His gaze drifted toward the window. The first rays of morning sunlight crept over the horizon, bathing the room in a warm golden glow.
Winston let out another long sigh. I'm overthinking this. Whenever I get frustrated, I always go back to the basics. Training... training always clears my mind.
Resolving himself, Winston climbed down from the bunk bed. He reached underneath it and pulled out his worn sneakers before changing into his old workout clothes from home.
A few moments later, he quietly slipped out of the dormitory and headed downstairs. When he reached the ground floor, he paused in surprise. Several youths were already awake, gathered around a table, laughing and playing cards despite the early hour. Winston quietly made his way to the entrance, slipped out of his sneakers, and laced up his well-worn football boots instead.
Recalling the football field outside Building D, Winston decided to head there. He started with the most basic warm-up imaginable. A few laps around the pitch. Lowering into a runner's stance, Winston pushed off.
The moment he accelerated, he felt thin streams of Nethen Essence instinctively flow from his abdomen into his legs. Again—damn it.
Winston immediately stopped. Annoyed, he slapped his abdomen before taking off once more.
The same thing happened.
Slivers of Nethen Essence seeped into his legs, and his body surged forward with unnatural speed. "Again..." he muttered through gritted teeth.
Frustrated, Winston walked to the edge of the field and dropped onto the grass. The warm morning sunlight washed over him, but it did little to ease his troubled mind.
How am I supposed to run without using this Awakening? From what Haruto told me, I've awakened one of the supernatural human senses. The Nethen Essence enhances my body… He clenched and unclenched his fist.
But I don't feel powerful enough to punch through walls or anything ridiculous like that. Then what exactly is this swirling energy inside me?
Winston opened the core system. His eyes scanned the information. The Nethen Essence... is considered part of my physical attributes
"Urgh..."
Letting out a groan, Winston flopped onto his back and stared at the clear morning sky. "I should ask Haruto about this," he muttered. "Maybe he knows how to help me control these Awakenings instead of letting them activate on their own."
"Hey... you okay?" The unexpected voice made Winston jolt upright.
Turning around, he found Bongani standing a few meters away. "Oh... Bongani."
Winston quickly brushed the grass from his clothes. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He tilted his head. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Bongani chuckled and shook his head. "Not really."
He walked over and sat beside Winston. "I need to keep training if I want to make it into Group A."
Looking around the empty field, he smiled. "Since you're already out here..."
"Want to train together?" He rested his forearms on his knees.
"Everyone else in Building D has already found a training partner."
"How about we team up?"
"Sure, why not? I could use a partner too," Winston replied. Pushing himself to his feet, he extended a hand toward Bongani to help him up.
"By the way, congratulations on placing second in our group,"
"Thanks. What kind of training do you want to do?" Winston asked as he dribbled the ball between his feet.
"Honestly, I was hoping you could decide. After watching you play, it's obvious you're more skilled than I am."
"Okay, I have an idea. Let's work on our ball control," Winston said, passing the ball to Bongani, who immediately began dribbling.
Meanwhile, Winston gathered several cones and scattered them across the field, spacing them at irregular intervals. Furrowing his brows, Bongani studied the random layout before jogging back to Winston.
Without a word, Winston gestured for the ball. Bongani rolled it toward him with a gentle pass.
With a light touch, Winston brought the ball under control and weaved through the cones with smooth, precise movements. His feet danced around each obstacle without grazing a single one. As he dribbled, however, he felt the Nethen Essence flowing into his legs once again.
The energy interfered with his rhythm. His movements weren't as fluid as before, and the subtle disruption irritated him. Now that he had awakened, Winston could clearly sense the Nethen Essence coursing through his body.
Controlling it, however, was another matter entirely. No matter how steadily he breathed or how hard he tried to suppress it, the essence continued seeping into his feet, making it difficult to maintain complete composure with the ball at his feet.
After finishing the course, Winston stopped at the final cone and glanced back at the obstacle layout. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, dissatisfied with his performance. From the opposite end of the course, however, Bongani saw something completely different. To him, Winston's dribbling was flawless. Every touch was controlled, every movement deliberate. He looked less like a first-year academy player and more like someone who had no business training alongside them.
"Wow! Where did you learn to dribble like that?" Bongani exclaimed, motioning for Winston to pass him the ball. "And honestly, why are you in the lower group? You don't belong there."
Still lost in thought, Winston kept his gaze lowered for a moment before looking up and gently rolling the ball toward Bongani. Stepping off to the side, he watched as Bongani eagerly attacked the cone course. His dribbling was average at best, but his pace immediately caught Winston's attention. He had explosive acceleration and covered ground quickly, even if his touches on the ball lacked refinement.
As Bongani weaved through the cones, Winston called out pointers, correcting his foot placement, body posture, and the timing of his touches. They took turns running the drill over and over, each pass through the cones leaving them more exhausted than the last. By the time they finished, both of them collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily as sweat soaked through their training kits.
Their brief rest was cut short when another youth jogged over and called out to them. "Training's starting again. The dome instructor wants everyone back." With weary groans, Winston and Bongani pushed themselves to their feet and made their way toward the dome.
When they arrived at the attacking dome, Winston made his way over and took his place beside Oswin.
"How are you feeling today?" Oswin asked without taking his eyes off the front.
"I've been better," Winston admitted. "But I'll get there. After this training session, I need to visit someone who can help me with something."
Oswin finally glanced at him. "Need me to come with you?"
Winston shook his head. "No. He's a friend of Dumi's. Remember when Dumi and I took that trip after we first met? He introduced me to a skilled physician who treated my legs when I was having problems with them."
As he spoke, Winston stretched his arms over his head before loosening up his legs.
"Since everyone's here," the bald, short instructor announced, "don't expect me to wait for anyone who's late next time."
The youths immediately fell silent. "Today's training will focus on ball control."
Standing before the group, the instructor gestured behind him. A row of football-launching machines had been lined up across the width of the dome, each attended by a staff member dressed in dark training attire.
"Each of you will stand on one of those cones," he said, pointing toward a line of cones positioned directly opposite the machines.
The cones were set approximately sixty meters away from the launchers. Without another word, the youths spread out and walked toward their assigned positions.
"What I'm looking for is well-timed ball control from each of you," the bald, short instructor said, his voice echoing throughout the dome.
"We'll start with chest control. I want you to cushion the ball with your chest, bring it under control, and let it drop in front of your feet—without letting it touch your boots until it's completely under control." He swept his gaze across the line of youths.
No one voiced an objection—satisfied, the instructor slowly raised his hand.
The staff members standing beside the football-launching machines loaded footballs into the chambers and fixed their eyes on him, waiting for the signal.
A wave of nervousness spread through the line of youths. Several exchanged uneasy glances. Winston repeatedly shifted his gaze between the instructor and the staff members, instinctively tensing his body in anticipation.
Sensing the growing tension, the bald instructor smirked. Then, instead of dropping his entire hand, he lowered only his little finger.
Click.
The last football-launching machine in the row roared to life. With a sharp burst of compressed air, the football shot forward like a cannonball.
The youth stationed at the end of the line panicked. He hurriedly puffed out his chest, attempting to cushion the incoming ball. The instant it struck him, a muffled groan escaped his lips. The impact blasted him off his feet, sending him crashing backward onto the turf.
"Gah!"
He writhed on the ground, clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe. His mouth opened and closed in desperate gasps before a violent fit of coughing overtook him.
"There are no rest breaks during my training," the bald, short instructor said coldly, his piercing gaze sweeping across the group. "You'd better get back on your feet."
The youths standing nearby immediately rushed over to help the coughing player stand.
Silence settled over the dome—the sheer speed of the football had stunned everyone.
Even Winston and Oswin instinctively clutched their chests before exchanging uneasy glances.Leaning closer, Winston asked in a low voice, "You scared?"
Oswin snorted. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
A grin spread across Winston's face. "Just don't scream like a girl this time."
Oswin rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back—but before he could, the instructor lowered his hand.
Click!
Every football-launching machine fired at once. The footballs exploded from their chambers like cannonballs.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Groans echoed throughout the dome as youth after youth was blasted backward by the impact—Winston and Oswin were no exception. Both were hurled onto the turf, the air knocked from their lungs.
Only one player remained standing. Sebastian.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he calmly absorbed the impact with his chest, cushioning the ball before letting it drop perfectly in front of him. A murmur of admiration swept through the dome. Still coughing, Winston pushed himself back onto his feet and returned to his designated cone.
The bald, short instructor glanced at him with a faint smirk before raising his hand once more—then he lowered it.
Click!
Another football rocketed toward Winston. He instinctively tensed his core and puffed out his chest.
Thump!
The impact sent a sharp ache through his ribs, but this time he absorbed the force instead of being blown backward. The ball bounced off his chest and dropped neatly in front of his feet. Winston instinctively reached for his aching chest.
"Don't rub it," the bald, short instructor said immediately.