CHAPTER 49: CHAPTER 49: DEVOUR HIM

Julian stared at the roster sheet.

#9 – Noah Kim (ST)

A single note beside the name stood out:

Injury – Torn ACL (Estimated Recovery: 6–12 months)

Julian’s mind clicked. He’d heard it already—Noah had gone down halfway through last season. It had been a brutal tear. Based on the timeline, he should still be in recovery.

And yet... Julian hadn’t seen him.

Not during training. Not around the field. Not even in the halls.

Was he already back? Was he watching? Or was he waiting to reclaim what once belonged to him?

Julian didn’t feel fear.

No.

What he felt was hunger.

The kind that made his blood run hotter.

The kind that sharpened his senses.

The kind that demanded one thing:

Devour him.

"What are you thinking about?" Cael asked, walking up beside him. "The other striker, right? I heard from the team—he was legit. Some MLS academy even scouted him."

Julian didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. He just replied, low and calm.

"I believe in myself. Even if he’s better now... I’ll devour him. I’ll surpass him—in an instant."

Cael blinked.

There was something in Julian’s eyes—

A cold, unwavering certainty.

The gaze of a predator.

"Alright! Enough chatter!" Coach Owen’s voice cut through the room like a blade. "To the field! Move!"

Boots hit turf.

The team scattered toward the pitch, and training began.

Their drills were endless. Precise. Brutal.

Trapezoid PassingTwo-Touch Transitions1v1s on GoalRondo to Break PressCrossing and FinishingY-Passing PatternsHorse Shoe RunsPassing-to-Shooting Drill3v3 on Tight Goal

Everyone did everything.

No positions. No excuses.

Because modern football demanded warriors who could dribble, pass, shoot, intercept, press, fall back—and rise again.

And in the middle of all this chaos was Coach Owen.

One man.

Yet it felt like a storm.

"That’s wrong—reset the angle! Like this!"

"Leo, you’re too slow! Move! Again!"

"Caleb, you have to watch your opponent’s eyes. Read them before they move!"

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t let up.

And none of them wanted him to.

Because his fire lit theirs.

And all of them—Felix, Tariq, Tyrell, Riku, even Leo—trained like they were already in the playoffs.

...

Friday came.

The night of their first match.

But before that, Julian’s mission continued.

Every morning, before school. Before anyone else stirred.

In that private gym Crest had built for him.

And the numbers showed the truth.

Jogging: 80/ 100 KM (62 miles)

Bench Press: 3700 / 5000 KG (11,023 lbs)

Squats: 2100 / 3000 KG (6,614 lbs)

Stretch & Core: 5 / 7 Sessions

Almost there.

But that wasn’t enough for Julian.

He didn’t just want to complete the mission.

He wanted to crush it.

Because maybe—just maybe—ASHI would reward the excess.

And it did.

[Bonus Attribute Gains]

• Strength: +2

• Agility: +1

• Stamina: +2

• Charisma: +4

His total attribute count climbed to 137, making him—quietly but undeniably—one of the strongest players on the team.

No one said it out loud.

But everyone felt it.

Julian’s aura had changed.

The rough edges of an amateur had vanished.

What remained was sharp. Refined. Dangerous.

Even during the week’s training sessions, he made no mistakes.

His touch was surgical. His positioning uncanny.

His movement—fluid, instinctive, lethal.

Coach Owen didn’t say much about it.

But more than once, Julian caught the man staring at him.

Not with suspicion.

But awe.

Friday afternoon.

Lincoln High’s team gathered outside the school.

Not just in their jerseys—but in full travel gear.

Blue jackets with "Lincoln Football" stitched in gold across the chest.

("Soccer," the jacket said. But Julian refused to call it that.)

It was the first match of the regular season.

The first real battlefield.

Julian adjusted his collar. His #7 patch gleamed beneath the school crest.

Coach Owen stood in front of them with a clipboard and sharp eyes.

"Alright, boys. Before we get on the bus—let’s go over our opponents."

The team quieted.

"Riverside Prep. Same formation as us—4-2-3-1. But they don’t use an attacking mid. They run central midfielders, focusing on possession and control."

"They finished third last year. That’s not luck. Their core is strong."

Coach tapped the board with his pen.

"Key players—Nico Villar and Damian Rowe as CDMs. And their captain—Silas Malik—the central engine."

He looked at all of them—eyes burning.

"Break their midfield, and we win."

"Absorb their pressure. Hit the counter. And we bury them."

He raised one fist, sharp and commanding.

"You copy?"

"YES, COACH!" the team roared.

"Then get on the bus."

One by one, they moved. Boots thudding. Bags swinging.

Julian followed in silence—focused, alert.

His mind wasn’t on the ride.

It was already on the battlefield waiting at the end of it.

...

Thirty minutes.

That’s all it took.

The bus rolled through streets cloaked in winter’s chill, the windows fogged with breath and tension.

Riverside Prep.

A regional titan. Third place last year. Hungry to climb.

Lincoln High had entered enemy territory.

As they stepped off the bus, cold air slapped their faces.

Coach Owen was the first out, greeted by Riverside’s coach with the polite stiffness of rivals about to go to war.

Laura followed, clipboard in hand. Then Leo, bouncing on his heels, already itching to move.

They were led through narrow walkways, past rows of bleachers filling fast.

More people than at the friendlies. More voices. More tension.

Julian didn’t react.

But his senses sharpened.

Every step he took across the asphalt felt heavier.

Every breeze colder.

Every stare from the home fans like invisible pressure.

This wasn’t a friendly anymore.

This was season football.

...

Inside the locker room, the team changed in silence. No need for speeches.

When they stepped out onto the pitch, the cold cut deeper.

Winter football.

The air was dry, sharp, and biting.

Breaths came in fog. Muscles stiffened faster.

But none of it mattered.

They began warmups—trapezoid passes, rondos, dynamic stretches—but Julian barely noticed the drills.

Because the moment he saw the other team—he activated his system.

[Activating Scan Lv.1...]

Riverside Prep entered the field in a slick black-and-gold kit. Calm. Disciplined. Not arrogant, but sure.

Julian’s eyes narrowed.

Lines of data flowed across his vision.

...

User: Nico Villar

Position: CDM

Age: 16

Total Attributes: 193

...

User: Damian Rowe

Position: CDM

Age: 16

Total Attributes: 193

...

User: Silas Malik

Position: CM

Age: 16

Total Attributes: 228

...

Monsters.

But not gods.

Comparable to Brighton Catholic. Slightly less raw talent, but more structure. More polish.

Julian exhaled.

"Manageable," he muttered to himself.

They weren’t invincible.

And if Lincoln beat them—this wouldn’t just be a win.

It would be a declaration.

A warning to the entire region.

That Lincoln High—once forgotten—was coming.