Chapter 144: Chapter 144: The Syringe
The whistle blew.
Training began.
And tonight—it wasn’t just Lincoln that had leveled up.
Julian’s stride carved across the pitch like wind given form. Each sprint bit deeper into the turf, sharper, heavier. His body moved with purpose—faster acceleration, cleaner cuts, no wasted motion.
Every first touch glued the ball to his feet. Every turn snapped like a blade.
And the way he read space—how his eyes cut ahead of every pass—felt almost inhuman.
"Yo—what the hell happened to you?" Leo called out, still catching his breath.
"Yeah, did you... like, suddenly evolve overnight?" Riku frowned, brows furrowed as if trying to see what changed.
Even Noah—quiet as always—nodded once, silently agreeing.
Julian just chuckled, chest rising with a steady rhythm. "Maybe that San Dimas match unlocked my potential."
"Pfft, must’ve been one hell of a match," Aaron grinned.
They laughed, but deep down, every one of them could feel it. The Julian training beside them wasn’t the same one who’d stood there weeks ago. His passes cut cleaner, his bursts were deadlier, and every time he moved, a quiet pressure rolled off him—an aura that demanded others rise to match it.
He didn’t just play anymore. He commanded.
The sun dipped low, streaking the February sky in pale orange and gold. Their shadows stretched across the field—warriors at rest after battle.
When the final whistle blew, the exhaustion hit like a soft wave. They collapsed onto the grass, legs sprawled, eyes turned toward the fading sky.
"Damn," Aaron muttered, "that felt like war."
Leo just laughed. "Hell yeah. But if that’s what hell feels like, I’ll take it."
For a while, they just sat there. Breathing. Talking. Letting the moment linger before time pulled them apart again.
"So..." Ricky turned his head toward Julian, curiosity mixing with the bittersweet air. "When do you leave for Germany?"
Julian leaned back on his hands, gaze drifting skyward. "Next week. Friday. I’ll do the medical check on Monday."
Cael frowned slightly. "So you can’t see our first match?"
"Unfortunately, yeah." Julian smiled faintly. "But I’ll ask Laura to set up a stream. You guys play, I’ll watch from the other side of the world."
Leo grinned, thumping a fist against his chest. "Then you can count on us, Julian. We’ll win that playoff—for you."
Julian met his gaze. The captain’s promise burned like flame.
"Yeah," he said softly, smile growing. "I believe in you, Captain."
The floodlights flickered on, bathing the pitch in silver glow. A hush fell for a heartbeat, broken only by the wind combing through nets and the sound of cleats scraping grass.
In that quiet, they could almost hear it—the echo of everything they’d built.
In a week, their paths would split.
But tonight, under Lincoln’s sky, they were still one team.
...
When training finally wrapped, Julian lingered on the field for one last breath of cold night air. The scent of grass, the faint echo of laughter—it was the kind of silence he wanted to remember.
Then he turned toward home.
The days that followed blurred into rhythm.
Training.
Meditation.
Football.
Again and again—his body sharpening like a blade drawn across whetstone. He didn’t slow, not even for a second. The flight to Germany was near. And if he wanted to stand in Europe’s storm, his edge had to be perfect.
Time flowed quick, swallowed by repetition.
Sunday came—a rare calm between battles.
Julian met Tress under the glow of the afternoon sun. They walked, talked, and laughed, their voices weaving through the quiet streets. She asked about his plans, his fears, his dreams.
He told her the truth—how his heart felt caught between the thrill of battle and the ache of goodbye.
She didn’t flinch. She just smiled, slipping her hand into his. "Then fight. I’ll be here when you come back."
The warmth of that touch carried him through the week.
Monday arrived.
Lincoln gathered in the club room, eyes locked on the CIF Division One bracket glowing from Laura’s projector.
The top-seeded team stared back at them like a mountain.
Gasps. Silence. Then—Leo’s voice.
"So what?" he said, eyes burning with the fire only captains had. "We can win this."
The words rippled through the room, lighting sparks in tired eyes.
Cael clenched his fists.
Riku nodded sharply.
Even the quiet ones lifted their chins.
Julian stood at the edge, arms folded, gaze steady. He opened his [Scan] quietly, eyes flashing faint gold. Numbers rose—each teammate sharper, stronger, refined by war. They’d grown. More than he’d expected.
Could they win?
He didn’t know.
But he believed.
By the time Thursday arrived, the sky above Lincoln burned orange with sunset. Julian stood in his room, towel draped across his shoulders, heart beating with quiet certainty.
Tomorrow, the plane.
Tonight—
He would take the next step.
The [Potential Syringe].
The [Random Attribute Surge].
It was time to evolve again.
He closed his eyes, exhaled slow, and whispered to the system:
"Let’s begin."
Light shimmered in front of him—
Then solidified.
A syringe.
And beside it... a pill.
Julian caught both, the weight settling into his palms like destiny.
The pill glowed faintly, faint golden veins running through its surface—like something forged, not made. It smelled faintly of herbs, iron, and smoke. The scent tugged at memories buried deep—
Alchemy.
The world he once walked.
Pills like this were crafted for warriors who wished to shatter their limits.
He rolled it between his fingers, feeling its warmth pulse faintly with life. A tool of power... but not for now.
That one was next.
His focus shifted to the syringe.
Its glass glimmered faint blue, liquid swirling like condensed aura.
He could feel it calling to his blood, like a whisper inside his bones.
Julian’s jaw tightened. "Alright... let’s see what my potential really looks like."
He inhaled once—
Twice—
Then pressed the needle against his arm.
Cold fire raced beneath his skin. Veins lit up, glowing faintly as if molten silver poured through them. His breath hitched; the world tilted. Every heartbeat thundered louder, shaking the room with invisible weight.
His vision blurred—then cleared—sharper than ever. Colors deepened; sound split into layers. He could hear the pulse in his wrist, the hum of electricity in the walls, the faint drip of a faucet somewhere down the hall.
Power flooded every corner of him, not wild but precise—like a craftsman chiseling away imperfections inside his flesh. Muscles tightened, bones resonated, nerves rewired with ruthless clarity.
Julian clenched his fists, knuckles popping like breaking stone.
A hiss escaped his teeth—half pain, half awe.
This was no mere boost.
It was rebirth.