Chapter 112: Chapter 112: Twin Flame
Julian’s gaze locked on D-Lo.
That... wasn’t the same boy from the first half.
His instincts screamed louder than the crowd, louder than even his own heartbeat. He needed answers.
[Activating Scan Lv.2...]
The blue light flickered across his vision. Lines of data began to draw themselves out, sharper, heavier—like something far beyond what he had seen before.
[Waiting for Evolution...]
Julian’s breath caught. Evolution? The system’s words weren’t casual. They carried the same weight he felt rolling off D-Lo in waves. This wasn’t just growth. This was a metamorphosis.
The window locked. The text burned.
...
User: Donnell "D-Lo" Ross
Position: RW
Best Attributes: Perception and Technique
Skill: Mirrorworld – Every movement becomes layered—real and false overlapping at once. To defenders, it feels as if they’re trapped inside a hall of mirrors, unable to tell which angle is genuine. Passing lanes, dribbles, and strikes appear multiplied, forcing defenders into hesitation and mistakes.
At its peak, Mirrorworld doesn’t just confuse opponents—it manipulates their very perception, making even the correct defensive read arrive a step too late.
Age: 16
Total Attributes: 286 [400]
..
Julian’s eyes widened as the numbers seared across his vision.
What the hell.
That explained everything. Why his reactions had been late. Why every Lincoln defender looked like they were drowning, swinging at shadows.
The truth snapped into focus.
[Skill Evolution detected. When a player surpasses the maximum threshold of their ability, their skill mutates into its next form. D-Lo has awakened his Mystic Skill.]
Julian’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding.
A Mystic Skill.
Damn it. That wasn’t just strong—it was terrifying. D-Lo’s aura didn’t just grow, it warped the game itself.
To defenders, every feint, every flick looked doubled, tripled—real and false layered so tightly that even when you guessed right, you were already late.
Julian remembered the way his legs had dragged just minutes earlier, how his instincts had screamed "left" but the boy was already right.
Every failed interception, every late step—it hadn’t been hesitation. It had been illusion. The bastard had been bending their very perception without them even realizing.
And the system didn’t lie. Those numbers... four hundred. That skill was boosting him into a realm that wasn’t supposed to belong to high schoolers.
Julian’s breath came sharp, but his eyes burned steady.
[There are levels to power, Julian. In this case, D-Lo’s skill had already reached high maturity. Your Scan could not reveal it before. Only when it evolved.]
Julian’s fingers curled into fists. "So that’s why..."
Why his instincts betrayed him. Why his body moved a beat too late.
But no skill, no number, no mystic evolution was invincible.
Even if D-Lo could bend perception, he couldn’t bend reality. He couldn’t play alone. He couldn’t cover the entire pitch.
Julian exhaled slowly, fire in his veins.
He could be a signal. A mirror. A storm.
But Julian?
Julian was war itself.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on the boy in white and teal. "Bring your mirrors. I’ll break them all."
Lincoln would hold.
Julian would stop him.
...
Corner kick. Crenshaw.
The moment D-Lo walked to the flag, the entire stadium seemed to shift.
His boots tapped the ball down, and the air itself thickened. Lincoln’s defenders snapped into position, every man marking, every zone covered. They knew.
This wasn’t routine. This was a set-piece they had drilled for, one written in blood and fire.
The Crenshaw crowd rose to their feet, a low hum shaking into a roar, stomps rattling the bleachers like war drums.
The air carried heat now, heavy with sweat and adrenaline, as if even the floodlights leaned forward to see what would happen. The scent of churned grass mixed with the metallic sting of tension in every breath.
Julian’s eyes flicked toward Leo.
Golden light. The faint shimmer around him—Maestro State. His captain’s eyes burned, his movements slowing into elegance, reading the field like a conductor raising his baton.
Good.
Julian’s lips curled into a faint grin.
Let them fight their duel. He’d be the blade in the dark, the shadow to strike when the Maestro needed it.
The whistle cut the air.
D-Lo exhaled once, then drove his foot into the ball. Not high, not looping. A low, venomous pass—straight to the edge of the box.
One of Crenshaw’s midfielders darted forward, meeting it clean. But Aaron was already there, storming in with a sliding tackle.
Steel on steel. Ball jarred loose—
But D-Lo was faster. He had already burst forward, a ghost behind his own teammate, scooping the loose ball with a perfect first touch.
"Close him!" Riku barked, charging.
Too late. D-Lo snapped the ball under his boot, cut once, and the rhythm fractured. He didn’t drive deeper. He didn’t need to.
One glance. A coil of his body. And then—
Bang.
The shot tore from his laces like a blade of lightning. The ball screamed upward, curving wickedly toward the left top corner.
Time slowed. The spin carved light trails in Julian’s vision, every rotation etched into his eyes.
The sound of the strike cracked like a gunshot, echoing across the stands. Even the crowd seemed to hold its breath, a hundreds throats caught in the same second.
Damien reacted instantly, gloves outstretched, his body flinging skyward. But the angle was cruel. Too sharp.
Leather met net.
The sound was a gunshot in the cold air. The net bulged, trembling from the violence of the strike.
Goal.
1 – 1.
The stadium detonated. Crenshaw’s bench erupted in a frenzy. The stands shook with their roar.
D-Lo sprinted, face wild, straight toward the Crenshaw supporters. Arms wide, eyes burning like his brother’s had once burned.
And waiting there, at the edge of the bench—D-Ro.
Bandaged leg, teeth clenched, eyes wet. He hauled his twin into his arms, ignoring the pain, crushing him in a warrior’s embrace.
Julian stood frozen for a heartbeat, chest tight, sweat dripping down his jaw. His vision locked on the brothers.
Twin flames.
And just like that, Julian remembered.
A myth whispered in his old world.
That when twins were born, their power was halved—two flames sharing the same spark.
Each one incomplete, each one chained to the other. But if one flame was snuffed out... the other would devour its ashes.
Not just burning bright—burning beyond, becoming something neither could have reached alone.
In his past life, Julian had dismissed it as folklore. A story told to scare the weak and glorify the gifted.
He had never seen it with his own eyes. Not in a battlefield, not in a coliseum, not even among the most ancient clans.
But here, in this strange new world—on a patch of grass under floodlights, not blood-soaked stone—he saw it unfold before him.
D-Ro’s fire, broken and bandaged, hadn’t died. It had fed his brother. Every drop of rage, every ounce of pain, every shard of pride—burned into fuel for D-Lo.
And D-Lo had evolved.
Not just talent. Not just skill. A myth reborn in flesh and sweat.
Julian’s fists clenched at his sides. His chest burned, not with fear—but recognition.
He wasn’t watching a boy anymore. He was watching a monster born from the ruin of another.
A twin flame, burning so bright it threatened to scorch everything in its path.