The first exchange had been straightforward.
He'd traded his shooting ability for technical talent. The cause and effect were clear, the results immediately visible. Before, Jin could barely juggle a ball a hundred times. Now, with enough stamina, he could keep it up indefinitely—the ball moved as if it were an extension of his body. He controlled it as naturally as his own right hand.
Except when it came to passing and shooting.
Once the ball left his foot, control became a gamble. Passing was manageable; he'd built a foundation through years of youth camps, the Football Kid program, and stints at Everton, Arsenal, and now Dortmund's training ground. Under normal conditions, his passing met the standard for top-flight European football. High-pressure matches and physical opposition might affect consistency, but most of the time, he could deliver.
And when "Critical Pass" activated, he could deliver something truly exceptional.
Shooting, however, was a lost cause.
No matter how hard Jin tried, the ball went wherever it pleased. Aim left, it curved right. Aim for the top corner, it sailed toward the corner flag. From two meters out, with an empty net in front of him, he could still send the ball into the stands.
Dortmund's coaching staff had been baffled. Frei and the shooting coaches had broken down his mechanics frame by frame—his leg swing, his planting foot, his point of contact, his ankle movement after striking the ball. Nothing was wrong. And yet the results defied football logic.
Eventually, they gave up. As long as Jin could dribble and pass, he could dominate the Bundesliga. Worst case, he'd dribble past the goalkeeper and roll it into an empty net. Unless "Causality Shooting Enhancement" triggered, spectacular goals were the only kind he scored.
That was the first exchange. What he gained and what he lost were brutally clear.
The second exchange was different.
…
Jin hadn't noticed an obvious difference at first. The only immediate sensation came during stoppage time against Bremen, when his exhausted legs had suddenly found a trace of strength. His explosiveness had sharpened. His physicality had improved, just enough to matter.
For the winning goal, he'd split two center-backs. Not with a flashy dribble, but with pure acceleration and contact. In the past, his slight frame would have been bounced aside. Instead, he'd forced his way through, riding their challenges as if he'd always been able to.
At the time, it felt instinctive. Later, replaying it in his head, it felt like something else entirely.
After training, following a fifteen-minute contrast bath to flush out his muscles, Jin found himself alone in the locker room. He stood in front of the mirror, studying his reflection. Biceps. Pectorals. Abs. Back. Legs.
"Just as I thought."
The conclusion settled in his mind with a strange clarity.
The exchange was complete. His physical talent had been elevated to max level—just like his technical ability.
Unlike the technical upgrade, this wasn't an instant mutation. He hadn't woken up with the physique of a Greek statue. Instead, his body's potential had been unlocked, raised to the peak of human athletic possibility. What he had now was a foundation, a starting point. The rest would come through training.
If he were to translate his current state into a video game rating:
Technique: 99 (Potential: 99)Shooting: 1 (Potential: 1)Physical: 65 (Potential: 99)Speed: 75 (Potential: ???)Passing: 72 (Potential: ???)Defense: 61 (Potential: ???)
That was where he stood.
So what was the cost this time?
The question lingered without an answer.
…
After training, Jin walked to school for his afternoon tutoring sessions. He preferred finishing his assignments in the classroom before heading home, and Anna had long since adjusted her schedule to match his. She sat a few desks away, pretending to focus on her own work, waiting until he packed his bag before casually rising.
"Jin, walking together?"
"Sure."
They fell into step on the quiet residential streets near St. Sean's Girls' Middle School. Traffic was sparse. To fill the silence, Jin usually found something to talk about—embarrassing stories from the training ground, strange news he'd come across, or the bizarre dreams he sometimes had.
The dreams, in particular, were oddly vivid. A future where people barely used computers anymore, watching matches on small glowing rectangles they carried everywhere. A national leader shot in the street. Germany winning the World Cup in Brazil, some unknown Dortmund player scoring the winner in stoppage time.
Anna had initially found his attempts to make conversation childish. But somewhere along the way, the walk home had become the part of the day she looked forward to most.
The gloves she'd given him. The photos she'd asked him to take. The way she tracked his every move on the pitch.
It wasn't just football.
Today, though, Jin was quiet. Anna felt the absence of his chatter more than she expected.
"Jin."
"Yeah?"
"Are you… in a bad mood?"
"No. Why?"
He sounded genuinely surprised. Anna looked away.
"Oh. Nothing."
The silence stretched. The walk felt longer than usual. Anna's eyes kept darting toward him, but he seemed lost in his own world, barely noticing anything.
Does he like someone?
Claudia. It has to be Claudia. She kept trying to talk to him today.
Her jaw tightened. That flirt. Fine. Who cares who he likes. Hmph.
She stomped ahead, pace quickening.
Jin was still mentally revising his training plan—how to approach the fitness coach about a more aggressive regimen, how to maximize his new potential as quickly as possible. He looked up to find Anna several steps ahead, moving briskly.
Must really need to use the bathroom.
He shrugged and kept walking at his own pace.
The old Jin might have noticed. Might have read the subtle signals, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands had clenched at her sides. The boy who had arrived in Dortmund with nothing but a system and a dream had spent countless hours trying to understand the girl who kept showing up at his matches, who walked home with him, who looked at him like he mattered.
Now, that awareness seemed to have faded. Or been pushed aside.
Halfway down the street, Anna stopped. She turned, and her expression was complicated—something caught between frustration and something softer.
"What's wrong?" Jin asked.
"Nothing!"
She bit her lip, stomped again, and turned away.
How strange.
Jin watched her retreating figure and filed it under "things to think about later." There was a match against Wolfsburg in two days. That was what mattered. Everything else could wait.
They had to win.