The rain's relentless rhythm against the window of Benny's All-Night Diner was a fitting soundtrack to Eric Maddox's swirling thoughts.
His third mug of dark ale sat half-empty on the table, its bitter tang lingering on his tongue as he sifted through the fragmented memories of his predecessor, piecing together the scattered puzzle of Eric Maddox's existence.
The man whose body he now inhabited was a study in contrasts, grit and ambition warring with a life hemmed in by tragedy and societal scorn. Eric's past was a complex detail of loss and defiance.
Orphaned young, he'd lost his mother to a brutal car crash that haunted his dreams for years. Weeks later, his father, broken by grief, died under the weight of illness and followed her into the grave.
Left with only his younger sister, Jenna, Eric had shouldered the role of protector. Jenna, now 19, was carving her own path at a scouting university in the capital.
Maddox smiled faintly at the thought of her—fierce, stubborn, a spark of hope in a world that had taken so much from them.
But it was Eric's love life that twisted the knife deepest. At 21, he'd married Alina Marrowgate, his childhood sweetheart, in a secret ceremony that defied her noble lineage.
Alina was the daughter of Lord Marrowgate, a three-star Noble whose Royal Championship club, Stormgate United, was a Division 2 powerhouse. Her family had groomed her to marry someone who'd elevate their name, preferably a Top League individual or a four-star noble heir.
Eric, with his commoner roots and quiet intellect, was anything but. Yet Alina had been drawn to his honesty and unique personality that differed from noble brats. Their love had burned bright, a rebellion against her father's expectations.
Now, though, the cracks were showing. Lord Marrowgate's relentless pressure—subtle jabs at dinners, pointed suggestions by her mom that Alina "reconsider her match"—had begun to erode her resolve.
At 24, childless and still young, she was a prize in noble circles, and her father saw Eric as a dead end. A youth academy coach, even one with a knack for spotting talent, was no match for the glittering elite of the noble circle.
At key events and galas, Alina was introduced as "Lady Marrowgate, heir to Stormgate"; Eric was merely "the manager from a youth club," his name spoken with a curl of disdain.
The weight of her family's legacy, the expectation to uphold honor and status, clashed with Eric's belief in football as a meritocratic arena where hard work and tactical brilliance could rewrite destiny.
Their philosophical divide had grown from small disagreements to full-blown ideological warfare. Alina saw football as an aristocratic web—loyalty to lineage, honor in tradition, legacy above all. Eric viewed it as a battleground where a nobody could become a legend through sheer will.
The tension had seeped into their marriage, turning quiet evenings into battlegrounds of unspoken resentments. Maddox sighed, the sound heavy in the near-empty diner. "No wonder this guy's head feels like a war zone." He tipped back his ale, the liquid cool against the heat of his frustration.
"Mr. Maddox?"
A sudden soft and sweet voice, cut through his reverie like a blade. Maddox blinked, his gaze lifting to find a blonde woman standing before him, her raincoat dripping onto the wooden floor.
The hood had fallen back, revealing a cascade of pale hair framing a face that was both striking and unreadable. He recognized her.
Elira Voss, the team's nutritionist, was 26, born in Lienzia, a tiny alpine microstate nestled in Spain's mountains. She had high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes that earned her the nickname, "ice queen" among the staff.
But with Maddox, or rather Eric, she was different. Warmer, though he couldn't yet parse why.
"Elira?" Maddox set down his mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What're you doing here? It's pouring out there."
She slid into the seat across from him, unbuttoning her raincoat to reveal a simple sweater and jeans, a far cry from the medical gown she wore at the training ground.
"I was on my way home, but downpour was unbearable so I decided to rest here until it settled." She paused, then continued, "You looked… lost." Her voice was measured, but her eyes flicked over him, noting the damp hair and the exhaustion etched into his face.
Maddox chuckled, the sound rough. "Lost is one way to put it. Been a hell of a day." He gestured to the mug. "Want one? My treat, though I'm not sure my wallet agrees."
Elira's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. "No, thank you. I don't drink." She paused, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. "I heard about the match. Six-five against Crestford. Not a bad fightback from the team."
He leaned back, studying her. "Didn't peg you for a football gossip."
Her expression didn't shift, but her eyes glinted with something, amusement, maybe. "It's my job to know how the team's doing. Stress affects diet, sleep, performance. You're stressed, Maddox. I can tell from miles away."
He snorted, running a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah, well, getting ambushed by Crowther in the press room'll do that. Bastard's got it out for me, and I don't even know what the outcome will be." He took another swig of ale, the bitterness mirroring his mood.
Elira tilted her head, her gaze steady. "Crowther's a vulture. He smells weakness, he pounces. But you gave as good as you got, from what I heard. There's no reaction from the higher-ups yet."
Maddox raised an eyebrow. "You did do your homework. Alright, out with it. Why're you really here? Not just to stroke my ego, I hope."
For a moment, she was silent, her fingers tracing the surface of the table. Then, softly, she said, "I wanted to check on you. Eric… you've been different since the incident."
Her use of his first name caught him off guard, a flicker of familiarity that stirred something in his borrowed memories. But he couldn't quite remember what, it was all fuzzy in the deep recesses.
"What happened that day was no one's fault. I noticed that you've been acting different lately, avoiding me, my texts and calls. It's not a bad thing, but it's making me feel bad."
Maddox stared confused, unaware of what she was talking about. But Elira's words hinted at a deeper connection, one Eric had shared with her.
He sighed, his palm massaging his temple as he thought to himself, 'I hope it's not what I'm thinking it is.'