Chapter 1: The Dropout
Lisbon, Portugal | June
The air in Lisbon was heavy with sun and salt. Narrow cobbled streets spilled downhill toward the ocean, cutting between weathered stone buildings and tiled balconies draped in laundry. The city felt like a postcard fraying at the edges—vibrant, but worn.
Su Dong stood at the foot of a hill, panting, soaked in sweat. His suitcase leaned against a bench nearby, its handle taped and cracked. He checked his phone: 4% battery. No signal.
"Brilliant," he muttered, sinking onto the bench. A trickle of sweat slid down his spine. He looked up at the sky, bright and cloudless, almost mocking.
The last few days had unraveled like a bad dream. He had arrived in Portugal to join a football academy—his supposed ticket out of China's brutal cram-school rat race. His mother had cried when he left. His father had grunted approval, handing him a red envelope with emergency cash.
Instead, he found a crumbling apartment in a bad neighborhood, an unlicensed agent who vanished with his documents, and a club that had never heard his name. The language barrier made everything worse. When he tried explaining, they laughed or shrugged. One security guard told him, in broken English, to go back home.
Scammed.
He'd spent the last two nights in a shared hostel room with eight snoring tourists and no plan. The academy money was gone. No contract, no future.
All he had left was football—and a strange screen that appeared in his vision the day everything collapsed.
[FOOTBALL KING SYSTEM ACTIVATED][KING VALUE: 0]
He thought he was hallucinating. He hadn't eaten properly in two days. Maybe his brain had finally cracked. But then the screen followed him. Even in his dreams.
It started with nothing but a single line: KING VALUE: 0.
Then, a tutorial. Lines of text he couldn't swipe away:
[GAIN KING VALUE BY PLAYING FOOTBALL. OBSERVE. LEARN. EVOLVE.][FOOTBALL IS YOUR CURRENCY. YOUR LADDER. YOUR CROWN.]
He ignored it at first. Thought maybe the stress was making him delusional. But curiosity crept in. Desperation twisted logic into belief.
Edward VII Park | 3 PM
He wandered toward the park near the hostel, a sprawling green on a hillside overlooking the city. Tourists lounged in the shade. Kids darted between trees. And in the far corner—pitches. Half-worn artificial turf, torn nets, makeshift cones.
A few teenagers were deep into a 5-a-side game, sweating under the scorching sun.
He stood by the fence, watching. A step away from envy.
Then:
[+5 KING VALUE]
Su Dong blinked. A kid had just nutmegged another and curled a shot into the top bin. The number had ticked upward.
"So watching counts..."
He sat, back straight, eyes focused. With each clever turn, pass, or shot, the number rose—+10, +15, +20.
He stayed for hours.
That night, he returned with a notebook. He began copying movements, sketching diagrams, writing everything he saw. He had a rudimentary knowledge of the game—pickup matches back in school, FIFA games on his cousin's PlayStation—but nothing like this.
The next day, he tried joining in. The kids laughed. His touches were clumsy. He stumbled. Fell. Missed open passes.
Still—
[+50 KING VALUE]
A full week passed like this. Watching. Playing. Failing. Recording. His notebook grew fat with drills and mistakes. His KING VALUE rose slowly, each point hard-earned.
His hostel roommates thought he was insane.
Until one day, someone noticed.
"Oi, China!"
Su Dong looked up from tying his shoelaces. A tanned, wiry teen with gelled hair and a smirk stood nearby, ball under arm.
"You play every day. You're crap. But you keep showing up. That's either brave... or dumb."
Su Dong wiped his brow. "Bit of both."
The kid laughed. "I'm Ronnie. Let's play."
[KING VALUE: 2,050]
Su Dong's hands trembled. Ronnie was like a different species. Tight control. Explosive acceleration. Shoulder feints, elastico, drag-backs. Su Dong couldn't even touch the ball.
[+100][+100][+150]
The points racked up as Su Dong chased shadows. By the time they finished, he was drenched, breathless, and giddy.
Ronnie grinned. "You move like a broken shopping cart."
Su Dong wheezed. "But I move."
Ronnie tossed him a water bottle. "Come back tomorrow. I'll break both wheels."
That Night
Su Dong sat cross-legged in the hostel hallway, notebook open. He flipped through diagrams. Feet, turns, dribbles. A system window hovered beside him.
[FOOTBALL KING VALUE: 3,875][UPGRADE AVAILABLE: BALL 1 → BALL 2]
He pressed it.
[LEVEL UP: BALL 2 (AMATEUR)][POTENTIAL SYSTEM UNLOCKED]
Another screen appeared:
[POTENTIAL: 67/100][TECHNIQUE: 31][STAMINA: 28][SPEED: 30][MENTALITY: 40]
He stared. These weren't just numbers. They were him. Measured. Quantified. Mapped.
A weird thrill ran through his spine.
"Game on."
The Next Morning
Ronnie was waiting again. This time with cones. Ladders. A resistance band.
"Let's see if you're trainable."
For three hours, Ronnie ran him through basic drills. Footwork. Ball control. Acceleration sprints. His legs burned. His arms shook.
[TECHNIQUE: 31 → 32][SPEED: 30 → 31]
"You've got decent balance for a broomstick," Ronnie said.
"Thanks," Su Dong replied, half-dead.
They trained every day after that. Rain or shine. Ronnie never explained why. He never talked about his club, or his goals, or even where he lived.
But Su Dong didn't ask. He had a goal now.
Grow. Learn. Win.
End of Chapter 1
Chapter 2: The Devil's Menu
Edward VII Park | Late June
The sky over Lisbon was still dark when Su Dong arrived at the familiar park, the faint golden rim of dawn just beginning to peek over the rooftops. His breath misted in the early morning chill, the soles of his shoes still damp from dew. He set down his drawstring bag and stretched, his muscles still sore from yesterday's training with Ronnie.
The gate creaked.
Ronnie stepped in, dragging a wheeled cart stacked with cones, poles, agility ladders, resistance bands—everything short of a medieval torture rack.
Su Dong raised an eyebrow. "You raiding a gym?"
Ronnie dropped the gear with a grin. "Welcome to the Devil's Menu."
The First Course: Agility Ladders
"Quick taps. No stomping," Ronnie said, demonstrating the ladder drill. His feet danced like they had a separate brain. Quick-tap, quick-tap, side-step, turn.
Su Dong followed. Not gracefully.
"Again. Faster."
[TECHNIQUE: 32 → 33][SPEED: 31 → 32]
Sweat beaded his forehead. The mist turned to sunlight, and the ladder began to blur.
The Second Course: Dribbling Cones
"Touch every pass like it's your last."
Su Dong weaved through the cones, ball too close, then too far. Ronnie set them tighter each time. Like a noose.
"Too slow. Again."
[TECHNIQUE: 33 → 34][DRIBBLING: 30 → 31]
His calves screamed. His lungs heaved.
"What's that look for? Want a pillow and warm milk?"
Su Dong spat on the turf. "Shut up and pass me the ball."
The Third Course: Speed Gates
"Explode out of turns. Plant your foot. Dig, then sprint."
Su Dong ran like something chased him. Again. And again. And again.
[SPEED: 32 → 33]
The timer Ronnie held beeped. "Slower than the last run. One more."
"You said that five runs ago."
"Yeah, but this one's actually the last. Probably."
The Surprise Dessert: Endurance Circuit
Just when Su Dong thought they were done, Ronnie handed him a resistance band and gestured at a marked sprint zone.
"You're the dog. I'm the leash."
Su Dong groaned. "I hate you."
Ronnie grinned. "Good. Hate fuels growth."
Ten resisted sprints later, Su Dong collapsed. Ronnie tossed him a bottle of water.
[STAMINA: 28 → 30][MENTALITY: 40 → 42]
Post-Training | Park Bench
The park was coming alive now—dog walkers, joggers, and old men with newspapers. Su Dong sat on a bench, peeling an orange. His shirt clung to him like a second skin.
"Why are you helping me?" he finally asked.
Ronnie didn't answer immediately. He sat across from him, unwrapping a protein bar.
"You remind me of someone," Ronnie said. "Me. Before I understood what it meant to bleed for this game."
Su Dong looked down at his blistered hands and torn-up shoes.
"What's next on the Devil's Menu?"
Ronnie grinned. "We start over tomorrow. But with weights."
That Night | Hostel Rooftop
Su Dong reviewed his system window beneath the stars.
[FOOTBALL KING VALUE: 6,200][POTENTIAL: 67/100][TECHNIQUE: 34][STAMINA: 30][SPEED: 33][DRIBBLING: 31][MENTALITY: 42]
He was still leagues behind Ronnie. But the gap was shrinking. Bit by bit. Sweat by sweat.
He smiled.
Tomorrow, the Devil gets no mercy.