Chapter 104: Chapter 104: Power in His Lap
Julian’s gaze sharpened, cutting through David as if to peel him open.
"So why me? You said you’re staking your career, even changing your path. What exactly do you see?"
For a moment, David didn’t answer. He lifted his cup, took a slow sip of coffee, then set it down with a steady hand. His eyes, sharp beneath the casual sweatpants and trainer’s hoodie, fixed on Julian.
"I see potential," David said at last. His voice was calm, almost too calm. "I’ve spent years studying people—movement, bodies, patterns. And when I watched you? I didn’t see a high school kid. I saw limitless potential. The things you do on the pitch..." He leaned forward, lowering his tone. "...should be impossible. And yet you do them. Again and again, like breaking limits is simply another habit you’ve mastered."
Julian’s jaw tightened. Inside, something stirred.
Did he notice?
[ASHI: Host, no one can perceive the system. What this man observes are only the effects—your movements, your strain, the impossible results. Nothing more.]
Julian’s fingers stilled on the cup. He forced his breath steady, though inside, questions curled like smoke.
Could David really see that much? Or was he just clever with words, pulling threads that happened to fit?
David’s eyes gleamed, conviction burning in them like a scientist seeing proof of a wild theory. "I saw it in your muscles when you surged. The way your body bends, then snaps back beyond what should be humanly possible. The ’magic’—call it instinct, technique, or whatever you want—it eats at you, it strains you, but you endure. And every time you endure, you grow. From the first video I saw of you sprinting at the net, to your match against Riverside, it’s the same."
He sat back, smiling faintly. "That’s why I’m here. Because I believe, with the right guidance, I can help put you on the world stage."
Julian stared, silent. His fingers tapped lightly against his cup.
The world stage...
The words had weight. He had thought about it, dreamed of it in fragments, but hearing them spoken aloud—he felt their sharpness cut into him.
He wasn’t just fighting for Lincoln anymore. The system’s quests, his burning will, his past life’s rage—it all pointed beyond this small corner of America. But saying it and stepping into it were two different wars.
"Okay," he finally muttered. "Let’s say I agree. What’s your plan?"
David’s smile widened. He slid a tablet across the table and tapped the screen.
A timeline appeared—months lined in order, neatly marked with notes and arrows.
"Our first step begins in 2024," David said smoothly. "By February, March at the latest—you’ll need a new team."
Julian’s face darkened immediately.
David raised a hand. "Listen, you can’t thrive in U.S. high school football. Not if you want the world to see you. To be considered seriously, you’ll need to step into a real academy. A youth system."
Julian’s gaze sharpened. "And you mean..."
"Europe." David leaned forward, voice hard. "You know how they see us? In their eyes, American footballers are hobbyists. Maybe we’re good at basketball, baseball—but football? We’re amateurs. If you want to grow, you have to leave. Fast. You’re already seventeen. You don’t have time to waste."
The words cut deep.
Julian’s hand tapped against the cup again, steady rhythm against porcelain.
Leave Lincoln...?
The thought was a knife turned both ways. He remembered the sweat-soaked grins of Ricky and Felix, Noah’s stubborn fire, Cael’s iron wall, Leo’s crooked smile even in suspension. They had trusted him, lifted him, bled with him. And Coach Owen—his steady belief, his guidance.
Could he really walk away before finishing what they started? The CIF crown wasn’t just a trophy. It was a promise. A war he had sworn to win with them. To abandon it now would be betrayal. And betrayal was the poison he had sworn never to drink again.
David read his silence, his hesitation. "I know it’s hard. But talk to your coach first. You owe him that much. Maybe hearing it out loud will help you decide."
Julian exhaled slowly. "So what’s next? What team?"
David’s eyes flickered with calculation. "I can’t pitch you yet. Not without a contract. But my aim for you is Europe—England, Spain. Maybe not the top league right away, but second division. Even third. It’s still where real names are forged. And once you prove yourself..." His smile sharpened. "The rest of the ladder is yours."
Julian leaned back, studying him. "When do you need my answer?"
"As soon as possible," David replied without hesitation. "Before the match against San Dimas. If a team calls, you might not even get another game here. Maybe one. Maybe none. You’ll need to be ready."
Julian’s jaw flexed. He gave the only promise he could. "Fine. You’ll have my answer before that match."
A sudden vibration broke the silence. The black cat—Power—stirred in his lap, stretching before pressing its head into Julian’s chest. A soft purr rumbled, insistent. Like it was asking to be held.
Julian’s expression softened despite himself. He wrapped the creature in his arms, stroking the scarred fur.
"Okay—pause."
David’s voice pulled him back. The agent had already pulled out his phone, snapping pictures from several angles before Julian could react.
"What are you—"
"This’ll work for your socials," David chuckled, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Trust me, image matters as much as ability."
He drained the last of his coffee in one long pull and stood. "I’ll cover the bill. Stay. Enjoy yourself."
And just like that, he was gone.
Julian sat there, lost in thought, the weight of choice pressing heavier than the cat curled in his arms. His hand brushed Power’s head, the purring steady, grounding him.
"So... what should I do?" he whispered, staring into the little beast’s one good eye.
For today, he stayed. Just him, the strange cat, and the muted hum of the café.
...
Hours slipped away. When Julian finally checked the wall clock, the hands pointed to 4:37 PM.
Time to go.
The walk home was quiet, his thoughts heavier than his steps. The streets blurred past—bare trees clawing at the sky, the crunch of gravel under his boots, the bite of evening air sinking into his lungs.
Each sound seemed louder, sharper, as if the world itself pressed him for an answer he wasn’t ready to give.
By the time he opened the door, Crest was already there—seated like a commander awaiting her soldier’s report. Her sharp eyes flicked to him the moment he entered.
Julian sank into the sofa with a sigh. "So... it was like this."
And he told her everything. From David’s strange energy, to the talk about Europe, the promise of the world stage—and yes, even the ridiculous part about the black cat named Power curling in his lap through the entire meeting.
For a long second Crest stayed silent. Then—
"Pffft."
She broke into laughter. Unrestrained. Her usually composed face crinkled, eyes watering as she tried to keep herself upright.
"Hahaha—so you... you set up this life-changing meeting... in a pet café? With cats crawling all over? And one of them—named Power—sits in your lap the whole time?" She nearly choked on her laughter. "Julian, that’s—hahaha—that’s absurd! Talking about the world stage with fur on your shirt!"
Julian just stared at her, deadpan, lips twitching but refusing to give in.
"Okay, okay," Crest wiped her eyes, still chuckling. "You’ve outdone yourself this time."
Silence followed for a beat, her composure slowly returning. When she spoke again, her voice carried that familiar steel.
"For me? Yes—talk to your coach first. But that man... David... his words weren’t wrong. If you want to reach the world, you can’t stay caged here."
Her gaze locked with his.
"You’re meant for more than this small league."
Her words rang like a verdict. No softness, no hesitation—only certainty.
Julian felt the echo of her conviction settle into his bones. It was the same fire she had shown when watching him, when protecting him, when pushing him past his limits. C
rest wasn’t laughing anymore. She was reminding him—his path was never meant to be small.
Julian sat back, letting her words sink into him, the laughter fading into quiet truth.