In the quiet calm of his office at Bodens BK, Daniel Forsberg leaned back in his creaking chair, arms crossed, eyes lingering on the youth match report laid out before him.
It was…empty.
Other than the absurd score turnaround, and a short note from one of his assistants—"#17 in Thomas' squad (name: Tito Gustov) displayed exceptional flair and unexpected performance in the second half"—there was nothing.
No history. No prior record. No player bio. Nothing but today.
"Who the hell is this kid?" Daniel muttered.
He turned toward the window where the overcast northern sky painted a dull grey on the training ground. Yet in his mind, the image of that boy—moving like a blur, hypnotizing defenders like a magician—kept returning.
His assistant, a younger coach named Mikael, entered the room with a cup of coffee. "Still on that Gustov kid?"
Daniel nodded. "You saw him too. That wasn't normal."
Mikael chuckled. "No, it was like Ronaldinho, Messi, and a circus act rolled into one. But reckless. Wild."
Daniel's mind drifted further.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced—his mentor from the late 70s, old Coach Henrik Walström, a name almost forgotten in modern Swedish football, once said: "A child may not bloom like a tree, slowly with years. Some burst out of their shell like butterflies—when just the right storm hits their cocoon."
Daniel leaned forward, heart pounding. "This... this kid's storm just happened."
He dialed a number. "Thomas, contact the family. Ask if they'd be open to letting Tito join the team officially."
---
Back at the Gustov household, the air was thick with aftershock.
Cherry Gustov was pacing, laughing and crying at the same time. "Four goals! Our Tito! And the way he moved! Did you see those spins? He was like electricity!"
John grinned, still shaking his head in disbelief. "I knew he had something in him, but I didn't think it would be like this. I'm just glad he smiled after the match. Did you see that? He smiled, Cherry."
"I thought I'd never see that kind of smile again," Cherry whispered.
After dinner, Tito excused himself early and went upstairs. He wasn't tired, just... full.
His heart. His brain. His limbs.
Everything felt full of lightning.
He laid down on the bed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence felt warm.
Then—DING.
A soft blue glow illuminated the room.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: Performer Program Initialized]
New Task Available:
TASK: Stretch Your Limits
Objective: Flexibility Training (0/1500 reps)
Reward: RARE SKILL – "Rubber Physique" + "Rubber Shot"
Description: Enhance your body's flexibility to inhuman levels. You will remain weak in strength but highly elastic, allowing you to avoid injury, maintain balance after contact, and execute unconventional finishing techniques that goalkeepers cannot predict.
Tito's eyes lit up.
He whispered, "Rubber… shot?"
He grinned. Then laughed. Then he rolled out of bed and began stretching immediately.
---
The next morning, John was sipping his coffee when the phone rang.
It was Thomas.
"John! Good morning. Listen, I spoke with Daniel Forsberg—he's the senior youth coach here. He wants to officially bring Tito into the youth setup."
John blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah, I'll handle the paperwork. Just bring him in. We'll start teaching him the basics and build him up right. He's got… something. You saw it too, didn't you?"
John looked upstairs, where his son was probably still practicing. "I did. And he's still working even now."
---
Elsewhere in the club offices, Tomas Eriksson, the first-team coach of Bodens BK, was reviewing weekly reports. His eyes brushed over a USB marked "Youth Match: Thomas vs Dave."
He groaned. "Not another loss for Thomas…"
He went to toss it aside but paused. Daniel had mentioned this kid.
"Fine. Five minutes, max."
He plugged it in and hit play.
What started as mild interest turned into stunned silence.
There he was—Tito Gustov—slipping past defenders like water through fingers, doing rainbow flicks, no-look passes, elastic stepovers, even shooting from impossible angles.
Eriksson leaned in. His jaw slackened.
"Is this kid Brazilian?"
His assistant peeked in. "Nah. Swedish. New. Real new."
Eriksson watched Tito fake a pass, then backheel into the net.
"He's reckless. Dangerous. No defensive instinct. But…"
He leaned back.
"Keep an eye on him. Daniel will sharpen that chaos. And when he does—I want to see it first."
---
Tito completed 10 out of 1500 stretches that night. He collapsed on the floor, arms trembling, legs tight—but his heart steady.
He grinned into the darkness.
He was going to be a rubber phantom. The Joker with no rules. And the world? They'd never know what hit them.