Chapter 69: Chapter 69: Kings of Disorder.
Training continued as always—
Physical drills.
Ball control exercises.
Tactical rotations.
But in this weather?
The routines turned brutal.
The cold cut through lungs with every breath. Muscles stiffened. Fingers ached. The pitch itself felt like a slab of frozen earth, punishing every stride.
Except for Julian.
Where others shivered, he burned. The heat of his soul power coursed through him like a hidden furnace, keeping his body loose, sharp, alive.
The winter air that strangled his teammates only made him feel more awake.
For everyone else, it was hell.
For Julian, it was home.
"Damn, this weather’s killing me," Leo muttered, his breath steaming white. Sweat beaded on his forehead only to freeze almost instantly in the wind.
Riku grunted, forcing out push-ups on the icy turf. "It’s not just skill anymore... the next match might come down to whose body holds out longer."
"Yeah..." Noah’s voice carried a quiet steel, his exhale steady even in the cold. "But I can feel it—my body’s coming back. Step by step... I’m hitting my peak again."
Julian’s gaze flicked toward him. The system stirred.
[Activating Scan Lv.2]
...
User: Noah Kim
Position: Striker (ST)
Best Attributes: Technique and Instinct
Skill: Phantom Step — Disappears from markers with sudden off-ball bursts, reappearing in lethal scoring positions to finish with cold precision.
Age: 17
Total Attributes: 307
...
Julian’s breath hitched.
So Noah really was back. The striker who once carried Lincoln, the ghost who haunted defenses, had returned to form.
And Julian could feel the shift. The way Noah’s first touch snapped sharper, the way his runs had bite again.
He wasn’t just filling space on the pitch anymore—he was threatening to reclaim it.
A quiet weight pressed against Julian’s chest. Rivalry? Maybe. But deeper than that, it was duty.
Noah might be recovered, might be lethal again—yet right now, Julian was still the starting striker.
And he had to deliver. Every match. Every moment. No hesitation.
The cold wind cut across the field, rattling the goalposts, biting into skin. But Julian stood tall, fire smoldering in his veins, gaze fixed forward.
The storm was coming.
And he would be ready to stand at its eye.
...
Friday arrived faster than anyone wanted.
Lincoln High sat gathered on their bench, blue uniforms pulled tight against the winter chill, steam rising faintly from their bodies as if their hunger itself burned through the cold.
Across the field, Crenshaw North assembled in sharp white-and-teal, their movements loose, unafraid—the swagger of a team that thrived in chaos.
Their warm-up wasn’t clean lines and tidy drills like Lincoln’s—it was wild. Heel flicks, juggling duels, no-look passes pinged between players like they were on a street court instead of a frozen pitch.
The crowd loved it, oohs and laughter rising as the Ross twins tried to out-trick each other.
Coach Owen’s shadow loomed in front of them, voice sharp.
"We’re tweaking the formation. Tyrell, you’ll start on the bench today. Noah, I expect you to take the wing."
"Understood, Coach," Tyrell nodded without hesitation. Deep down, he had known this moment would come—squeezed out by either Julian or Noah.
But there was no bitterness in his eyes. Only loyalty. If it was for the dream, then so be it.
"Yes, Coach," Noah answered too, though his clenching fist betrayed him. Joy flickered—he was back in the lineup.
But frustration coiled with it. He still couldn’t reclaim the striker’s throne. That position belonged to Julian now.
Leo clapped both of them on the shoulders, voice steady, calm. "Doesn’t matter who starts where.
What matters is the scoreboard when the whistle blows. We’re ending this year perfect." His words weren’t loud, but every player leaned closer, drawn into the quiet authority of their captain.
The players filed out onto the pitch. Warm-up drills began—short passes snapping across frozen turf, bursts of sprints kicking up mist, the rhythm of touches sharpening their focus.
The crowd’s cheers layered over the sound of boots striking ball, a steady drumbeat that promised ninety minutes of war.
Across the halfway line, Crenshaw North warmed up with a different energy—reckless, unpredictable, as if their every pass was a dare.
Even their fans mirrored it, beating on drums, chanting wild, unscripted songs that made the stands rumble like a street parade had invaded the stadium.
Julian narrowed his eyes and let the system pulse.
[Activating Scan Lv.2]
Player after player lit up in his vision. Most sat clustered around 130–140 attributes—solid contenders, dangerous in numbers but not extraordinary.
But their chaos didn’t come from the average.
It came from the outliers.
The key players.
...
User: Darnell "D-Ro" Ross
Position: CF
Best Attributes: Technique and Instinct
Skill: Street King Dribble — Breaks defenders with freestyle trickery, raw unpredictability, and fearless flair.
Age: 16
Total Attributes: 282
...
User: Donnell "D-Lo" Ross
Position: RW
Best Attributes: Perception and Technique
Skill: Mirror Step — Feints and body angles identical to his twin, confusing defenders on who will strike.
Age: 16
Total Attributes: 286
...
User: Tyrese Vaughn
Position: CM
Best Attributes: Perception and Technique
Skill: Chaos Engine — Disrupts rhythm with reckless long shots, risky passes, and unpredictable tackles.
Age: 17
Total Attributes: 274
...
User: Javion Ellis
Position: CB
Best Attributes: Perception and Instinct
Skill: Concrete Wall — Brute force defending, intimidates strikers, wins physical battles with sheer power.
Age: 17
Total Attributes: 276
...
Julian’s eyes narrowed.
None of them cracked the 300 barrier. That was the difference between San Dimas and Crenshaw North. Between the number one and number two.
And yet—Julian felt it. Watching the Ross twins move in sync, watching Tyrese whip long balls without warning, watching Javion shoulder-bump a teammate just for fun—it was like staring into a storm made of laughter and violence.
Chaos didn’t need perfection. It only needed one opening, one mistake, and it would devour everything.
And yet—he could feel it. Chaos like this didn’t need perfection. It only needed one opening, one mistake, and it would devour everything.
The real anomaly was on his own bench. Noah Kim. A player who had joined a team like Lincoln High, a team without flashy scouting pedigrees, without academy bloodlines.
By raw numbers, Lincoln’s key players weren’t elite. But Noah?
Julian’s gaze lingered. The system had already shown him—307 total attributes.
A predator who had once ruled the pitch and was slowly reclaiming it.
But what made him dangerous wasn’t just his numbers. It was the secret lying dormant inside him, just like Leo’s rhythm, just like Julian’s own system. Noah had something else. A hidden fire.
Julian’s stare cut across the chill.
Noah met it. Nodded. Smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried promise.
Promise of blood.
Promise of war.