Chapter 133: Chapter 133: Final Whistle Miracle
When Julian opened the car door, his steps froze.
Someone was already in the back seat.
"Tress?"
She lifted her head, chestnut hair catching the streetlight.
"Hello, Julian."
Julian blinked, caught between surprise and confusion. "Where were you?"
Her lips pushed into a little sulk. "Of course I was watching. But they didn’t let me act as medic this time—the stakes were too high. They brought in professionals."
He let out a short laugh through his nose. Typical Tress.
"Go on, get in. Sit in the back," Crest’s voice called firmly from the driver’s seat.
Julian slid inside, settling next to Tress. The air still smelled faintly of rain.
"Thank you, ma’am," Tress said politely to Crest.
Crest gave a small, amused nod. "It’s fine. The life of young people," she murmured, her tone carrying the weight of someone much older than her years, as if she were humoring children she was sworn to protect.
...
The car hummed to life, headlights carving a path through the damp streets.
Wipers dragged across the glass in a slow rhythm, each squeak cutting through the low rumble of the engine. Outside, puddles reflected neon signs in fractured colors—red, green, blue, smearing like paint after the rain.
"Well... let’s say you’re okay. But—" she tilted her head, eyes narrowing.
"But?" Julian echoed, brow raised.
"When are you going to tell the Lincoln guys?"
Her words hung heavy in the small cabin. Crest’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, but Julian could tell she was listening.
"In the gathering. At Final Whistle," Julian said at last, voice steady.
"You ready for that?" Tress pressed.
Julian nodded once. "Yeah."
Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty. Julian could hear the faint tap of water dripping from Tress’s jacket, the buzz of the streetlights overhead, the quiet hitch of Crest’s breath every time she turned a corner.
It felt like the car had become a cocoon—cut off from the world outside, holding the three of them in a fragile, private moment.
For a while, the only sound was the hiss of tires over wet asphalt and the rhythm of the city at night. But then Tress shifted, leaning closer, her fingers brushing lightly over his arm as if checking for hidden fractures.
"You need to rest. Like—super rest. Your muscles are screaming for help." Her tone was firm, but her eyes betrayed the worry beneath it.
Julian let out a faint laugh. "Yeah. Tomorrow, I’ll sleep like the dead."
"Not just sleep," Tress insisted, pointing at him like a doctor scolding her patient. "Don’t forget to eat. Stick to your diet. No skipping meals. No junk."
Her fussing pulled a small grin from him. "Got it, doctor."
Crest’s lips curved faintly, the smallest shadow of a smile. She didn’t speak, but her eyes in the rearview mirror softened.
For her, this was enough—to see that Julian wasn’t alone, that someone else shared the weight of keeping him upright.
The world outside blurred past in streaks of neon and streetlight glow, but inside the car, it felt... calm. Safe.
Eventually, Crest slowed to a stop in front of Tress’s house.
"Bye, Julian. Bye, ma’am," Tress said, waving as she slipped out into the night. The porch light caught her smile before the door closed behind her.
Afterward, the car turned again, tires whispering over the damp road, carrying Julian through the quiet streets—back to the place he now called home.
...
The moment he stepped through the door, fatigue drowned him. He didn’t bother lingering in the hall. Straight to his room.
Clothes peeled off, fresh ones slipped on. Then at last, he collapsed onto his bed. The mattress swallowed him, every muscle trembling in relief.
But his mind didn’t rest.
The pack.
The Legendary Pack.
Julian exhaled through his nose. "Ashi. Show me the pack."
With a faint pop, the air shimmered. Out hopped Ashi in his usual form—tiny, sharp-eared, goblin-like, but with faintly glowing blue skin tonight, as if reflecting the storm’s memory.
[Okay, Host.]
The little creature snapped its fingers. A screen unfolded before Julian’s eyes, translucent like glass, yet as solid as a dream.
Ten boxes floated in front of him. Each identical—black frames, golden trim, pulsing faintly like treasure chests in some game.
Julian’s brow furrowed. "Why so many?"
[Because you can only choose one. Each Legendary Pack holds something different. But every pack guarantees three things: at least one attribute boost, one skill, and one item. The rest depends on luck. Maybe nothing special. Maybe... a mythic skill. Or a mythic item.]
Julian’s eyes narrowed. "Luck, huh?"
He glanced at the boxes. They looked the same. No aura, no tell. He tried to extend his senses, probing the energy like he once did with artifacts in his old world.
Nothing.
System walls. He couldn’t pierce them.
"Can I inspect them one by one? Feel them by hand?" he asked.
[No, Host,] Ashi answered simply, sharp teeth glinting in a smug grin. [The system doesn’t allow cheating.]
Julian grunted. Typical.
His mind worked. So many choices. All risk, no certainty. It felt exactly like those gacha games his classmates used to play on their phones—games he always thought were stupid. Rolling for luck, wasting money, praying for something rare.
And yet here he was. Living it.
He sighed. "Fine." His gaze slid across the floating chests, one by one, before settling in the middle. Number seven.
His number.
His shirt.
His name.
Julian lifted a hand, pointing. "Seven. I choose seven, from the left."
Ashi’s grin widened. [Acknowledged, Host.]
The chosen pack pulsed brighter. The others dissolved into mist, leaving only one golden chest hovering before him.
[Opening the pack.]
The countdown began in bold, glowing script.
3...
2...
1...
BOOOOOOM.
Light exploded, filling the room like a thunderclap had gone off inside his skull. The bed rattled beneath him, shadows stretching across the walls as the glow shaped itself into letters.
[Ashi Notification]
[Congratulations, Host. You have received—]
- Random Attribute Surge: +50 to +100
- Potential Syringe → Unlocks your body’s peak potential at the moment of use.
- Injury Eraser → Heals any injury, from a sprained ankle... to terminal illness.
- Final Whistle Miracle → Activates only in the last five minutes of a match. Guarantees a decisive play—goal, save, or assist. Fate itself bends to your will.
Julian’s eyes widened. The words burned into his vision, each line heavier than the last.
The attribute surge alone was absurd. A leap like that could redraw the gap between him and almost anyone. The syringe? That was a weapon, a shortcut to shatter limits. The eraser? Insurance. A lifeline he’d wished he’d had in his old life, when betrayal left him broken and bleeding with no way back.
But the last one—
The Final Whistle Miracle.
His breath hitched. A mythic skill. Even one-time use, it was beyond rare. To bend destiny itself in the final minutes of battle—no system could describe it better.
He clenched his fist slowly, feeling the tremor in his veins. For the first time since waking in this world, the system had given him something that didn’t just strengthen him.
It gave him a trump card.
"...Damn," he muttered, half to himself. "This is cheating."
Ashi tilted its head, grin wicked and unrepentant. [You call it cheating. I call it survival.]
Julian leaned back against the headboard, chest rising and falling. The glow faded, leaving him alone with the hum of his own thoughts.
The house was silent. But Julian’s mind wasn’t. His pulse still raced, his thoughts a storm of calculations—when to use it, who to save it for, how to ensure it wasn’t wasted.
It wasn’t just a reward. It was a blade. And every blade demanded the right moment to strike.
In his hands, the future weighed heavier than any ball he’d ever kicked.