The locker room was still buzzing with the afterglow of the match. Echoes of laughter, half-sung chants, and the hiss of opening water bottles filled the air.
Cleats clacked against the tiled floor as players collapsed onto benches, reliving the goals and the moments they wished they could take back.
Neil sat quietly in the corner, towel draped over his neck, sweat cooling on his skin. But his mind wasn't here. It was somewhere deeper—locked inside that glowing blue interface hovering in front of his vision.
[Twelve Stat Points Available]
[Allocate Now or Save for Later?]
He didn't need to think too hard about it. Four goals in one game had put him on the map, but he knew the truth: the system had given him that edge. He was still just a foundation—rough around the edges, not close to the player he needed to be to dominate consistently.
The interface shifted at his command, stats opening up cleanly before him.
Neil Goyal – GOAT System Interface
Finishing: 20 (MAX)
All Other Stats: 7
Note: Stat Range is 1 to 20.
He'd seen the cracks on the pitch today. The missed touches. The hesitation when pressured. His feet had betrayed him more than once—clumsy first touches, sluggish responses when surrounded. Against teenagers, he'd gotten away with it. Against professionals? He'd get eaten alive.
His eyes flicked to the two areas he'd struggled with most after Finishing.
Dribbling. Ball Control.
With a breath, he focused his intent.
"Add six to Ball Control," he whispered. "And six to Dribbling."
The panel shimmered. Stat lines rippled, the numbers updating in real time.
Finishing: 20
Ball Control: 13
Dribbling: 13
All Other Stats: 7
Immediately, he felt it. Subtle. Like a fuse had been lit somewhere inside his limbs. His muscles didn't bulk up. There was no blinding light or magical aura.
But there was a quiet recalibration. His fingertips tingled. His legs stretched out more naturally when he stood. His balance felt more centered, his steps lighter.
"Okay," he muttered, flexing his fingers, "That's something."
The locker beside him creaked open.
Lukas plopped down with a groan, shaking out his sweaty hair. "You look like you just found out aliens exist."
Neil grinned. "Something like that."
"Well, if they hand out goals like you were getting today, sign me up. You were on fire out there."
Neil leaned back. "It was a good start. Nothing more."
Lukas raised an eyebrow. "That's it? Dude, Tuchel literally fist-pumped when you scored your third. Reus told me he hasn't seen the coach that hyped in a long time."
Neil shrugged. "One match won't change my life."
Lukas laughed. "Says the guy who made Klopp leave his seat."
That made Neil pause.
Klopp. Still fresh in his mind—arms crossed, notepad in hand, watching. Judging. The kind of presence that made even experienced pros straighten up. The guy didn't waste time on nobodies.
He couldn't screw this up.
Later that night, Neil lay on his dorm bed, legs sore but heart thrumming with purpose. The room was dim, the rest of the academy already falling into a familiar rhythm of early curfews and strict schedules. But Neil was wide awake.
He summoned the system again.
The panel flickered to life, glowing softly in the dark.
[GOAT Legacy System – Status Update]
Stat Points: 0 Remaining
Legacy Counter: 0.01%
Current Global GOAT Rank: Unlisted
Next Rank: Recognized Academy Talent (1.00%)
"Recognized Academy Talent…" he muttered. "So I'm a nobody right now."
The system pulsed once, then went silent. Neil smirked. Even his cheat-code system was brutally honest.
But that was fine. He didn't need compliments. He needed a path.
He closed the panel and glanced at the small corkboard pinned above his desk—just one sheet on it. A crude drawing he'd made after waking up in this timeline. It was a pyramid.
On the bottom: "Academy Nobody." At the top: "GOAT." The steps in between were blank. That was intentional.
He wanted to fill them in, step by step, with blood, grit, and goals.
His phone buzzed.
A text from Lukas:
"Training match footage just got uploaded. You're the thumbnail. LMAO."
Neil chuckled.
Seconds later, another text came in—this one from a contact he didn't expect.
Tuchel: "Watch your performance again. Especially off the ball. Lots to learn. Good start. Long road."
Neil stared at it for a second, then nodded.
"Right," he said. "Let's see where the holes still are."
He clicked the link and pulled up the footage. His eyes weren't looking for the goals this time.
He focused on the parts in between—the heavy touches, the loose pressing, the moments he disappeared from the play. The kind of details no scout highlighted in a headline but every coach remembered.
I can fix that, he thought. One match at a time.
Somewhere else, inside the academy's scouting department…
Klopp stood beside Tuchel in a quiet viewing room, both watching the same footage.
"Finishing's top class," Klopp muttered. "Instinctual. Clean strikes. He doesn't overthink."
Tuchel nodded. "Still raw in buildup, though. Ball control's decent, but he can't hold possession under high press yet."
"He will," Klopp said. "You see the way he moved after the second goal? He adjusted his runs. He's self-correcting mid-match. That's rare."
Tuchel tapped his pen against his clipboard. "Do we fast-track him?"
Klopp smiled faintly. "Not yet. Let's see how he handles pressure. He'll get a real test soon."
Back in his dorm, Neil paused the video, eyes narrowing.
The scene froze on a missed tackle, just before he scored his fourth. He'd lost the ball trying to shimmy past two defenders. In his last life, that's where he would've cursed himself, let doubt creep in.
Now? It just looked like homework.
"Let's get to work," he said under his breath.
Because if this system really was his second chance—He wasn't wasting a single stat of it.