Chapter 62: Chapter 62: When the Maestro Plays
The match pressed on.
A good chance was still just that—a chance. Close didn’t count.
Julian rolled his shoulders, breath misting in the cold. He’d tested the keeper once, and Malik had lived up to his numbers. That was fine.
He hadn’t even unleashed Martial Memory yet. That was fine. He hadn’t even unleashed Martial Memory yet.
The taste of that earlier shot still lingered on his boot—the near-miss, the clang of the bar.
It was a reminder, not a setback.The next time... the next time, the net would ripple.
He caught Leo’s eye as they reset.
"Remember our bet," Julian said, voice low but cutting through the ambient roar. "When I score—I want you to do it."
Leo blinked, caught off guard.
"You’re telling me you actually want to pull that off in a match like this?"
Julian’s smirk sharpened.
"Exactly. In a match like this. So we can go viral."
Leo groaned under his breath, half disbelief, half amusement, but his eyes were already alive with the idea.
The whistle shrilled. The game rolled on.
Malik cradled the ball in his gloves, scanning the pitch with the unhurried calm of a sniper finding his shot.
His gaze flicked once, twice—then his boot connected with a low, violent thud.
The ball climbed in a sharp, perfect arc, cutting through the cold like a thrown spear.
It dropped toward Lincoln’s left flank, where San Dimas’s winger was already squaring up against Liam.
Two different philosophies collided—Liam stayed grounded, low and braced, using his body to lock the attacker out.
The winger went airborne, rising early, eyes fixed on the drop.
From the corner of his vision, Julian caught the flash of silver—Kai, already thundering forward. It was a trap.
The winger’s header didn’t try for goal; it arced into open space ahead of Kai’s charge.
Too far for most players. But not for him.
Blitz Run.
Kai exploded onto it, a blur of legs and grass spray, eating the ground before Liam could even pivot.
Lincoln’s defensive line shifted, scanning, adjusting—but Kai didn’t hesitate.
A long, whipped pass bent toward the heart of the box.
Riku read it, surged forward, and cut it off cleanly.
The ball stuck to his feet for two strides—until a shadow loomed. Elijah closed in with predator’s patience, then pounced.
One sweeping tackle sent Riku sprawling, studs scraping the turf. No whistle.
The ball was his.
No touch wasted—Elijah’s boot lashed out.
Bang!
The strike boomed against the cold air, spinning high toward the net. Cael’s head snapped back, tracking it—
Over.
Just over.
Cael exhaled hard and shot Elijah a look.
"Really?" he called out—half taunt, half relief.
...
The match rolled on, but the rhythm belonged to San Dimas.
Every pass Lincoln tried to string together was stalked, hunted, and cut short.
A foot in the lane.
A shoulder barging through.
A tackle that bit into the turf with just enough precision to stay legal.
It was like playing inside a tightening noose—the space shrank, the options vanished, and every choice felt like the wrong one.
And when San Dimas had the ball, it was like watching a tide rise—patient, suffocating, wave after wave pressing forward.
Their midfield pivoted like clockwork, every switch of play timed to pull Lincoln just a step out of shape.
But for all their dominance, the net stayed untouched.
Even with their substitute striker, San Dimas couldn’t find the rhythm in the final third.
The moves were sharp until they reached the box—then Riku’s reading of the game or Cael’s brute refusal to yield turned their attacks into nothing but wasted breath.
Julian, jogging back into position, kept his eyes on them.
Four key players, and three of them were defenders in disguise.
Their engine, their shield, their wide blade—Elijah, Malik, Kai. All built to deny, to crush momentum.
The only blade they had for the kill was Victor Salinas.
And he wasn’t on the pitch.
It told Julian everything he needed to know about the boy on the bench.
If one player carried the weight of San Dimas’s entire attack... then Victor wasn’t just good. He was lethal.
But it was the same for Lincoln.
Every careful buildup was strangled before it could breathe.
Until—
Leo took the ball and decided he’d had enough.
Build-up? Screw that.
If he had to carve through the field himself, then so be it.
The ball stuck to his feet like it belonged there, his body swaying, hips rolling past one defender, then another.
Gasps rippled from the stands. Julian blinked, tracking him. What the hell got into Leo?
It was like a switch had been thrown.
A golden glint seemed to catch in Leo’s eyes.
Even from twenty yards away, Julian could feel it—an energy shift, the air around Leo warping like heat haze.
And Lincoln felt it—every player, every heartbeat syncing into one rhythm.
Julian moved.
Felix moved.
Tyrell moved.
Every run, every step falling into place like pieces in a song.
Leo was the conductor, and the pitch became his orchestra.
Pass after pass, touch after touch, the flow built.
From one note to the next, one player to another, the ball danced toward the San Dimas box.
Now they were swarming the edge of the penalty area.
Julian read the pattern, muscles coiled.
[Rule The Pitch – Lv.1: +5 To All Attributes]
Leo’s eyes met his. Give it to me.
But the captain kept the music going.
A feint to the left—Aaron received it, then sent it back.
Leo shaped for the shot—Malik, the keeper, tensed.
No shot came. Instead, Leo’s heel flicked the ball backward, blind but perfect.
Right into Julian’s path.
The lane opened like a parted sea. Malik was already diving the wrong way.
Julian didn’t hesitate.
He struck.
The ball tore low and true, kissing the inside of the post before slamming into the net.
GOAL!
The stands erupted, a wave of noise that crashed over the pitch. Julian jogged back, chest still heaving, heart pounding against his ribs.
But even as teammates swarmed him, he quietly triggered his Scan.
[Activating Scan Lv.2...]
....
User: Leonardo Luz
Position: CAM
Best Attributes: Perception, Technique
Skill: Maestro’s Rhythm — Enters a trance-like state, boosting all attributes by +10 to +40 for a set duration, scaling with match pressure.
Age: 17
Total Attributes: 191 (331)
...
Julian’s eyes narrowed. Three-thirty-one...?
It was obscene.
That skill—no wonder Leo could tear a game open in an instant. When that switch flipped, when the rhythm caught him... he wasn’t just the captain.
He was unstoppable.