Sitting on his bed in his small room, Tesuka held Ball in his hands. The sun filtering through the worn-out curtains drew golden lines on the faded sheet. Street sounds rose through the half-open window — honks, voices, whistles from kids playing on the damaged asphalt. But he was elsewhere. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching the numbers with rare intensity.
The statistics appeared, cold and relentless, reflecting his recent progress but also the glaring weaknesses that still haunted him
> !!!
#Ball
Age: 6 years
Position: Attacking Midfielder
Overall Rating: B
Stamina (Rank B-): 5/20
Speed (Rank C+=>B-): 20/20=>1/20
Control (Rank B-): 4/20
Dribbling (Rank B-)
Vision (Rank B+): 14/20
Shooting (Rank C-=>C): 4/20=>9/20
Agility (Rank A+=>S-): 20/20 => 1/20 due to quest completion
Mental (Rank A-=>S-): 1/20=>1/20 due to quest completion
Focus (Rank B-): 6/20
Long Pass (Rank C+): 2/20=>13/20
Short Pass (Rank B-): 3/20
Skills:
Flick Over (Rank C+)
Fake Shot (Rank B-)
Step Over (Rank C+)
Cut (Rank B)
Spin Move (Rank B+)
His fingers trembled slightly. He pressed his lips together and took a deep, long breath. For a month, he had given it his all. Every day, every morning, every break after school was devoted to training. With his PvP U9 teammates, under the strict guidance of coach Bayo, he had worked again and again until exhaustion. He had outdone himself.
And yet, seeing some of these stats made him feel stuck.
But that match against Saint Augustin FC had changed everything.
That Sunday, he had completed a special quest proposed by Ball : Score 5 goals or make 6 assists. Total domination. An inhuman performance for a six-year-old child. And he did it.
As a reward, of the quest. The result: massive boosts in his mental attributes and physical capacities. He knew it: with his hard work, they would rise again, even higher than before.
A discreet buzzing sound echoed in his right ear. Ball was there, always silent, always on standby. Then, its synthetic, calm voice sounded.
Ball: You are progressing. You are building. Some skills require time, endurance, and repetition. You are already ahead of all players your age in some areas. But football is an art of balance.
Tesuka nodded silently. He knew those words were true. He still remembered the first day Black Star had appeared. That mysterious gift he had received — under the condition he would honor it. Since then, he had evolved at a staggering speed. But it still wasn't enough.
He placed his hands on his knees and closed his eyes for a moment. In his mind flashed the images of training sessions, dribbling drills repeated dozens of times, timed sprints, match simulations, analysis sessions with coach Bayo and his teammates. He remembered Abdoul's encouragements, the fierce duels with Ismaël, Moussa's camaraderie.
In the U9 team, he wasn't a star. Just a talented kid among others. But they had all seen his progress. They all knew something burned inside him.
Meanwhile, at POLO STADIUM,another story was unfolding. On a dusty field, the final whistle blew, announcing a bitter defeat for the U13 team coached by Coach Ndikumana. Final score: 3–1 for Prince Louis FC, another team from the same group in the Uswazi Hope League. the U13 team had just suffered a heavy defeat against Prince Louis's U13. In the locker room, voices were low, faces tense. Jerseys stuck to sweaty skin, shoes scattered across the tiled floor.
Ndikumana walked slowly along the sideline, arms crossed behind his back, jaw clenched. His players, visibly disheartened, headed to the locker room with heads down.
It wasn't just a lost match. It was a blow—and a strategic defeat against a direct rival.
Coach Ndikumana paced back and forth, visibly upset.
— We missed the link between midfield and attack again, said the team captain, sitting down heavily.
An assistant turned to the coach, hesitating.
— Coach, his assistant murmured. Maybe, maybe we should reconsider promoting Tesuka. He plays deeper and higher, with his control and speed, he could make a difference.
Ndikumana froze. He turned slowly toward the assistant, eyes cold.
— I will not admit that you're disrespecting me.
—Just because he shone with the U9 doesn't mean he will for us.
Did I make a mistake demoting him?
His ego wouldn't allow it.
Silence. No one dared to contradict him. They all knew Ndikumana had rejected Tesuka after a single test session, claiming he was "not disciplined enough" and "too frail." The truth was he hadn't liked the boy's calm, confident demeanor — that gaze which wasn't impressed by authority.
But the results spoke for themselves.
The assistant stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up toward the empty stands and say :
''The Uswazi Hope League wasn't a casual local event. It involved all age groups—from U9 to senior teams. Every level played within the same structure. Performances were closely watched. Every mistake had a price.
— We're not building a team around a six-year-old,the coach replied, though the bitterness in his voice betrayed something else.
He refused to admit it, but he had watched the U9 match against Saint Augustin. He saw Tesuka run, pass, shoot. Dominate. And what he saw... shook him.
But his pride wouldn't let him act.
Back at home, Tesuka shut his tablet.
He knew nothing of the discussion taking place at that very moment in the poorly ventilated U13 locker room. He didn't know his name was being mentioned.
All he knew was that he had to keep going.
He got up and put on a pair of shorts. His slim but strong legs testified to the physical work done over the past few weeks. He slipped out quietly, crossed the alley below, and stepped onto the small improvised training field between two buildings. The ground was uneven, scattered with stones, but he felt at home there.
There, alone under the orange sky of early evening, he resumed the drills he had planned with Ball to address his weak spots. Quick ball control, improvised slaloms between rocks, wall passes, then high-speed static dribbling. He alternated with feints: step over, flick over. He was sweating, panting, but didn't stop.
He knew he would never be chosen if he just waited. He had to force the door open, make noise, leave an impression. And even if he wasn't widely known, maybe this match had tipped the scales in his favor — and perhaps permanently, in the games to come.
One day to change everything, he thought.
Night had fallen when he returned home. His legs were trembling. He had only eaten a piece of bread and some peanuts in the afternoon. His mother silently scolded him with a look but served him a small plate of rice.
He ate in silence, almost falling asleep in his dish. Then went to bed, his muscles sore but his mind alert. Tomorrow, he would wake up early. He would go warm up. And soon, they would talk about him all over Buyenzi.
And this time, no one would dare question his name.
The day after the match, routine resumed its course. Tesuka, true to his habits, left the house early in the morning for Jumuia School. As usual, he sat in the front row—attentive, focused, answering his teachers' questions with an ease that was almost unsettling for a child his age.
At exactly noon, he returned home, briefly greeted his parents, had lunch, then rested for a while. Around 4:30 p.m., he got up, grabbed his training gear, and headed toward Polo Stadium, because that Monday, an official U9 training session was scheduled.
The air was cooler than the day before, and a gentle breeze played in the nets hanging from the goalposts. The pitch felt wider, more alive, as if the atmosphere itself sensed something special was about to happen.
Coach Bayo was already watching the early arrivals from the edge of the field. When he spotted Tesuka, a faint smile crossed his face. The boy had left a strong impression the day before, and he wondered just how far he could go.
Warm-ups began, but Tesuka quickly stood out. He executed the drills with almost mechanical precision, perfect timing, sharp footing, and above all… a lightning-fast reaction speed.
An interception drill was launched. Each player had to read the opponent's intentions and intercept a quick pass. When it was Tesuka's turn, even the fastest of his teammates were caught off guard. He intercepted the balls as if he were seeing the future—like he already knew the exact trajectory before the pass was even made.
Ball, whispering from the depths of his mind, said:
"Tesuka, you feel the difference, don't you?
Yeah,I feel an incredible difference.
~This isn't just speed… Your reflex is now ranked S-. That means you can now replicate up to 85% of the movements and reflexes from your prime, from your past life."
Tesuka's eyes widened slightly, lips parting in surprise.
"85%?"
"Yes. Not in terms of power or stamina, but in game reading, pure reflex, and timing. The remaining 15%, I'd say, comes from the physical body you had in your past. It's like you have access to the library of your former self, but you're using the tools of a child."
The rest of the training continued. Dribbling, control under pressure, mini matches. In every drill, Tesuka shone. His anticipation was beyond the average—he moved even before his opponents could react. The other kids began whispering among themselves, some confused, others in awe.
At the end of the session, as the boys were catching their breath on the edge of the field, Coach Bayo blew his whistle to gather their attention.
"Listen up, everyone. From now on, training will be held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Sundays are for matches. The other days, you rest. And speaking of which, this Sunday, we'll be facing the U9 team of Prince Louis FC. Get ready. They're tough, but we have our own strengths too."
A slight shiver ran through the group. The name "Prince Louis FC" echoed in the neighborhood as a proud, technical team.
Tesuka, however, remained calm. He clenched his fists gently, his gaze lifting toward the sky tinged with soft orange.
"85%... This is just the beginning."
Ball,I want to see again my stats.
> Shoot!!! pheww!!
Huh? What was that?! Ball? Ball? Ball, are you there?!
"Tesuka, are you okay?" asked a teammate who noticed Tesuka looking shaken.
"I'm fine," Tesuka replied quickly. He grabbed his things with a strange urgency and left for home, unease written across his face.
Night had fallen over Buyenzi, casting a quiet hush across the neighborhood. Tesuka lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, still caught in the intensity of the day's training—and more importantly, in the sudden loss of contact with Ball. Silent since they left the field, Ball suddenly came back to life. A soft blue glow lit up Tesuka's consciousness.
"Whew… You scared the life out of me, Ball. Seriously… ouf!"
"Tesuka... the update is complete."
Tesuka slightly raised his head.
"Update? What's that supposed to mean now? I thought we were done with all this?"
Ball responded, "Your skills have been recalibrated. Thanks to your S- ranked reflex, you can now execute 85% of the moves and decisions from your prime in your past life."
"I know that… You told me earlier."
"But now that I think about it," Tesuka added, "it's crazy to realize that at barely seven years old, I'm already playing in the big leagues in terms of statistics."
"Exactly," Ball replied. "You have the experience of an adult, the memory of your past, and now the reflexes to match. All that remains is balancing your physical attributes to unleash your true potential."
A shiver ran down Tesuka's spine.
This wasn't just a second chance—it was a rebirth.
Ball, I want to see my stats
> !!!
#Ball
Age: 6 years
Position: Attacking Midfielder
Overall Rating: B+
Stamina (Rank B-): 5/20
Speed (Rank B-): 1/20
Control (Rank B-=> A-): 2/20 update!!
Dribbling (Rank B- => A-) update!!
Vision (Rank B+): 14/20
Shooting (Rank C): 9/20
Agility (Rank S-): 1/20
Mental (Rank S-): 1/20
Focus (Rank B-): 6/20
Long Pass (Rank C+): 13/20
Short Pass (Rank B-): 3/20
Skills:
Flick Over (Rank B+) update!!
Fake Shot (Rank A) update!!
Step Over (Rank A) update!!
Cut (Rank A) update!!
Spin Move (Rank A) update!!
Ball,why don't I feel any change in term of mentalities?
~u'll feel it once you're in huge pressure ,the U9 can't give you that sensation even the U13 you can not get that pressure,so what you have to do is to wait until that day come.
The next day, Tuesday, school flew by. As usual, Tesuka answered questions with ease, his classmates watching in silent awe. At noon, he returned home, had lunch peacefully, and took a well-deserved rest.
At exactly 4:00 p.m., he woke up, slipped into his training gear, and headed to the small backyard space he used for his solo sessions. The weather was pleasant. Ball appeared instantly.
!!!
For an hour, Tesuka trained relentlessly: precise shooting drills, fake shots, pinpoint passes against a wall, first-touch volleys… His body responded with a new level of smoothness.
He could feel the difference. His eyes tracked the bounces. His feet struck with accuracy. Every movement was clean, controlled. He was panting—but smiling.
"This… this is it. I can feel myself getting closer to my old level," he whispered.
Ball confirmed:
"Your progress is accelerating. You're training smarter—using logic and strategy. Keep going."
The following days unfolded in the same rhythm: school, rest, training with the team—or solo sessions if none were scheduled. Each day, Tesuka felt faster, sharper. He was no longer just a promising talent. He was becoming a machine of discipline and finesse.
And finally, Saturday evening arrived. The whole team had rested as planned. Tesuka, meanwhile, completed one last mental session with Ball, visualizing the actions of the match to come.
The next day, at 4:00 p.m., the U9 team of Saint Augustin FC awaited them.
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