Chapter 1: The Heat of July
The air in Surulere didn't just sit; it pushed. It was a thick, humid weight composed of exhaust fumes from yellow danfo buses, the spicy scent of roadside suya, and the relentless, mid-afternoon Nigerian sun.
Olumide Adeyemi gasped, his lungs burning as if he'd just swallowed a coal. His eyes snapped open, but instead of the dim, cracked ceiling of the "Last Chance" bar in 2026, he was staring at a sky so blue it hurt.
"Oya! Mide! Get up! Are you sleeping on the pitch?"
The voice was a jagged rasp, familiar and terrifying. Mide rolled over, his face scraping against dry, hard-packed earth and patches of yellowed grass. He looked up to see Coach Samuel—a man who had been dead for six years in Mide's memory—standing over him, clutching a battered plastic whistle.
Mide's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. This isn't possible. He looked down at his hands. They weren't the calloused, shaky hands of a thirty-five-year-old alcoholic. They were smooth, lean, and dark. He looked at his legs—long, corded with youthful muscle, and most importantly, devoid of the jagged surgical scar on his left knee that had ended his dreams in his first life.
I'm... I'm back?
Suddenly, the world turned cold. The sounds of the other boys shouting and the distant honking of Lagos traffic faded into a dull hum. A flicker of light ignited in the center of his vision.
[Initialization Complete]
[Syncing Soul to Host: Olumide Adeyemi...]
[System Version: The Crown of Oyo 1.0]
"Ah, so you're finally awake," a voice echoed in his head. It wasn't a robotic drone. It sounded like a mischievous, deep-voiced elder—the kind of man who sat under an Iroko tree with a gourd of palm wine. "I was beginning to think I'd picked a dead one. Stand up, Mide. You look like a freshly landed tilapia."
Mide scrambled to his feet, his head spinning. "Who... what are you?" he whispered, drawing a strange look from a teammate passing by.
[System: "I am the Baba of your fate, boy. You died a failure, weeping over a television screen. Now, the ancestors have given you the 'Crown.' You have the body of a seventeen-year-old and the mind of a man who knows the future. Don't waste my time."]
A golden translucent screen hovered in the air, visible only to him.
[Character Status]
Name: Olumide Adeyemi (MA10)
Age: 16 (6 months until 17)
Position: Attacking Midfielder / Winger
Level: 1 (Exp: 0/100)
System Points (SP): 0
[Attributes]
• Pace: 74
• Dribbling: 71
• Shooting: 62
• Passing: 68
• Physical: 59
• Stamina: 55
[Current Trait: 'The Oracle' (Locked)]
[Current Mission: Prove Your Worth]
Objective: Score or Assist in the remaining 15 minutes of this training match.
Reward: 50 SP & Skill Unlock: 'The Cheetah's First Step' (Lvl 1)
"Mide! If you don't move, I'll sub you out for Tunde!" Coach Samuel roared.
Mide shook his head, clearing the fog. The date flashed in his mind: July 12, 2006. Two days after the World Cup final in Germany. The world was still talking about Zidane's headbutt, but in Lagos, the only thing that mattered was the Lagos State Cup trials.
He knew this match. In his past life, he had played "safe." He had passed the ball backward, afraid to make a mistake, and the European scouts in the stands had yawned and walked away. He had spent the next twenty years wondering what if.
Not today, Mide thought. His eyes sharpened. He could see the field differently now. Glowing markers appeared over the players—small green bars indicating their stamina. He noticed the opposing defender, a boy named Segun, had a flashing red bar. He was exhausted.
The ball rolled toward Mide. As his foot touched the leather, a jolt of electricity surged through his veins. The touch was perfect—a velvet trap that deadened the ball instantly.
[System: "That's it. Stop standing there like a statue. Show them why they call this the beautiful game, or I'll send you back to 2026 to finish that beer."]
Mide grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. He didn't look like a scared teenager anymore. He looked like a King reclaiming his throne.
He looked toward the sidelines, where a man in a white linen shirt and a scouting badge sat scribbling in a notebook. Mide knew that man worked for a Belgian feeder club for Manchester United.
"Baba," Mide thought, "watch this."
He flicked the ball over his head, a rainbow flick that left the exhausted Segun staring at the sun, and sprinted into the open space. The journey of MA10 had officially begun.