London, January 2039.
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The city was a hyper-kinetic blur, completely trapped in its usual chaotic afternoon frenzy.
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Mike Wager, thirty-two years old, stepped out of his towering glass-and-steel office building.
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The crisp winter air bit sharply at his face, but he barely registered the cold.
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In the cutthroat world of London real estate, Mike was a polarizing force—adored by his allies, loathed by his rivals, and deeply envied by every single soul who knew his name.
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As a second-generation tycoon, he had been drowning in old money since the day he was born.
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He had played the rich playboy card to its absolute limit in his youth, but he was far from just a lazy trust-fund brat.
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Over the years, he had built a massive property empire from scratch, a feat that finally allowed him to step out from his father's gargantuan shadow.
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He signaled his private driver, and his limited-edition Lamborghini Sian FKP 37 pulled up to the curb, its powerful hybrid engine purring like a predatory cat.
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Mike slid into the hand-stitched luxury leather interior.
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"Take me home," he muttered, his eyes already glued to his phone screen as he checked the latest market updates.
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Then, his entire world shattered.
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BOOM!
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One second he was dismissing a business notification; the next, the deafening screech of shredded rubber and twisting metal violently replaced the silence.
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Time seemed to dilate into slow motion.
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The heavy sports car skidded uncontrollably, gravity lost its grip, and a massive wall of steel hurtled toward him with terrifying speed.
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A head-on collision? You have got to be kidding me...
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Absolute darkness followed.
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Mike's eyes snapped open.
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He braced himself for the sterile stench of an ICU and the blinding glare of surgical lights, but the air filling his lungs felt entirely different.
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It smelled faintly of expensive cologne and... home?
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He was not in a hospital bed.
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He was lying in a bedroom.
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His bedroom.
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However, it looked like a ghost of his distant past—a literal shrine to an arrogant, wealthy child.
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The shelves around the room groaned under the heavy weight of die-cast supercars and expensive designer labels.
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With his heart hammering violently against his ribs, he snatched a phone resting on the nightstand.
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It was an outdated iPhone 11.
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He stared blankly at the lock screen for two straight minutes, his breath hitching in his throat.
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06/01/2020.
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Nineteen years.
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He had regressed nineteen years into the past.
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He bolted straight to the bathroom and stared into the mirror, completely paralyzed.
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The weary, hardened thirty-two-year-old mogul was gone.
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In his place stood a thirteen-year-old boy with a refined, noble profile.
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He stood at 5'7"—exceptionally tall for his age group—boasting a lean, athletic frame.
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His eyes and hair were a piercing, obsidian black that seemed to catch the vanity lights like polished gemstones.
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"What the hell... it actually happened!"
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He was not some fictional protagonist in a Chinese cultivation novel; he was a Londoner through and through.
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This supernatural nonsense was not supposed to be his reality.
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It took ten full minutes of splashing freezing cold water on his face just to stop his hands from trembling.
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Calming his racing thoughts, he headed downstairs where his parents were already waiting for him.
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Jane Brown possessed the kind of timeless, elegant beauty that belonged on a high-fashion runway, while Tom Wager was a man whose otherwise average looks were entirely masked by an aura of absolute, crushing authority.
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"Eat up, kid. Holidays are officially over—school starts today," Tom said, his voice a familiar mix of fatherly warmth and stern expectation.
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"Morning, Dad. Mum."
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Mike sat down, forcing his expressions into a flawless mask of calm.
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He ate his breakfast quickly, donned his prestigious Wetherby Senior uniform, and climbed into the family SUV.
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The drive to the elite Chelsea institution took roughly fifteen minutes.
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As he walked through those familiar, hallowed school halls, a cold realization settled deep in his gut.
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In his first life, he had been an absolute disaster in the classroom—a barely passing student who only cared about his elite social circle and the football pitch.
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The pitch... Mike thought, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
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I am currently thirteen years old.
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That means in less than a year, I will hit the exact injury that ends my entire sports career.
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Lunchtime arrived, turning into a high-society ritual at long, polished wooden tables.
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"Yo, Mike! Where have you been hiding all break?" Gim, his best friend, called out from across the table.
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"Training," Mike replied, his tone short and clipped.
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"Mate, drop it," Gim groaned, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
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"Football is a commoner's game. You should be out on the rugby pitch with the rest of us."
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"Don't start, Gim. You already know it is my true passion."
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Mike forced a casual laugh, nodding politely to Anna and Mary as they joined their group.
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"Hey, Gim, still trying to kill his dreams?" a deep, mature voice boomed from behind them.
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It was Cruz Beckham.
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At fifteen years old, he acted as the group's reliable big brother and was the only one who did not look down on Mike's football ambitions.
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"Forget it, Cruz," Gim smirked playing along.
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"I will just wait until you move to Millfield School tomorrow to try convincing him again."
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By 5:30 PM, the casual school atmosphere vanished completely.
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Mike stood at the official Chelsea Academy training ground, feeling a massive spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
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He had not touched a football since the tragic day his knee completely gave out in his previous life.
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He tightly laced up his studs and stepped onto the pristine, emerald turf.
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The exact moment his feet touched the grass, a translucent, glowing digital screen flickered into existence, hovering directly within his field of vision.
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/ THE FOOTBALL GOD SYSTEM /
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Loading: 10%... 60%... 100%
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/ INSTALLATION SUCCESSFUL /
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Welcome, Guest.
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I am the Football God System.
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Would you like an explanation of the core functions?
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[YES] [NO]
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Mike froze in place, his heart slamming wildly against his chest.
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He waited a single heartbeat, then mentally pressed [YES].
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Access the system interface via direct thought.
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Core Categories:
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PLAYER STATS
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SHOP
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OBJECTIVES
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Earn SP (Soccer Points) by completing specific objectives to spend on rewards in the Shop.
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That is all.
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Mike looked at the digital display floating in the air, then glanced down at the football resting at his feet.
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The arrogant playboy was dead.
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The real estate mogul was history.
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This time, that upcoming injury would not be the end of his path.
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This time, he had the System on his side.