Chapter 5: The Absence & The Revelation
Edward VII Park | July, Pre-Season
The training cone soared through the morning mist like a missile, landing several meters away with a thud. Su Dong stood panting, his hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his brow to the gravel below.
Where the hell is Ronnie?
For thirty-two straight days, he had shown up at this very spot at 5 AM sharp. Rain or shine. Fog or wind. No excuses. Ronnie had never missed a session—until today.
The clock on his phone read 6:08 AM.
The silence in the park was unnerving. No barked instructions, no teasing jabs, no rhythm of synchronized drills. The usual symphony of effort was replaced with stillness. Birds chirped. A few joggers passed by with earbuds and indifferent glances. But Su Dong wasn't here to jog.
He paced, jogged, then ran some sprints to stay warm. He redid the agility ladders. Again. Then a third time. Still no sign of Ronnie.
Disappointment settled in his chest like a lead ball. Maybe Ronnie had finally gotten bored of him. Maybe he wasn't good enough. Maybe the novelty had worn off.
But then a new voice called out from the edge of the training cage.
"You must be Su Dong."
The voice carried easy confidence and amusement, with just a touch of challenge. Su Dong turned to find a broad-shouldered teen leaning against the fence like he owned the place. Skin the color of sun-baked mahogany. A mop of tight curls. A grin that could sell a thousand shirts.
"José Semedo," the teen said, tossing a football between his hands with casual grace. "Ronnie's teammate. And, since he flew home last night, your stand-in sparring partner."
The Stand-In
Su Dong sized him up. José had the relaxed swagger of someone who'd been through dozens of matches and laughed through most of them. But his legs—thick as tree trunks—told another story. They were striker legs. Workhorse legs.
"Flew home?" Su Dong asked.
"Family stuff," José replied with a shrug. "You know how it is."
He didn't, really. Su Dong's family was a continent away. His only ties to home were the occasional spotty video calls and a weathered photo he kept under his mattress.
José tossed him the ball. "Well, you look like you could use a good bruising. Let's go."
What followed could only be described as organized chaos. Where Ronnie was all grace and fluid motion, José played like a bulldozer with ballet feet. He crashed into Su Dong during shoulder challenges, swept the ball away like a veteran thief, and occasionally tossed in an "accidental" elbow.
"Welcome to the jungle," José said, smirking after their fourth clash left Su Dong gasping for air.
[+100 FOOTBALL KING VALUE](Per match—half of Ronnie's yield.)
By dusk, Su Dong's ribs ached from collisions. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, drenched in sweat. José wiped his brow and offered a fist bump.
"Ronnie wasn't lying. You're obsessed."
Su Dong managed a crooked grin. "What's his deal, anyway? He never talks about his team."
José's smirk turned sly. "Ask him yourself. But—" he puffed his chest and winked "—I'm way cooler."
The Glimpse Behind the Curtain
Later that evening, they hit a small food stall near the park. The scent of sizzling pork and garlic drifted through the air as José devoured his bifana, grease slicking his fingers.
Over mouthfuls of food, he let slip fragments. Not full stories. Just enough to leave Su Dong with more questions.
"There are three of us, top-tier in the academy," José said. "Ronnie's one. I'm another. The third guy's a ghost—moves like a shadow."
Su Dong raised an eyebrow. "And you train… when exactly?"
"2 AM gym sessions. Ronnie once deadlifted until he puked. Then laughed and kept going."
Su Dong paused mid-bite. That sounded like Ronnie.
"And the Madeira Girl?" he asked.
José nearly choked on his sandwich. "Oof. Touchy subject. Long-distance crush. They met once during a youth tournament. He's been writing poems in his notebook ever since. Don't tell him I said that."
Su Dong nodded slowly. The pieces were starting to fit.
The Realization
That night, Su Dong lay on his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, his muscles sore and his mind whirring.
Ronnie's Technique: Too polished for a nobody.
José's Swagger: The kind you couldn't fake. It came from being expected to succeed.
The Name:Sporting CP. Close, but not quite Sporting Clube de Portugal.
He sat up, heart racing.
They're from the real Sporting.
The Primeira Liga giants. The academy that produced Luís Figo. Cristiano Ronaldo. Nani.
Ronnie trained like a demon for a reason. José's bruises had purpose. These weren't just kids chasing dreams—they were heirs to a legacy.
And Su Dong? He was the outsider. The one who paid to get in. The one who fell for a scam.
The Resolve
The next morning, before the sun broke the horizon, Su Dong stood alone at the park. No Ronnie. No José. Just the sound of his breath and the rhythmic smack of foot on gravel.
He laid out the agility ladder and began. Step. Step. Tap. Tap.
Over and over.
[TECHNIQUE: 42 → 43]
Then dribbling drills. Shadow defenders made of cones and imagination.
[BALL CONTROL: 39 → 41]
Sprints followed. Then backward sprints. Then lateral hops.
[SPEED: 55 → 56]
Every drop of sweat was a middle finger to the scouts who'd scammed him. Every blister a protest against the odds.
I'll close the gap.
Even if it takes bleeding through my boots.
He practiced until his vision blurred. Until his knees buckled. Until he had to crawl to his water bottle.
But when he looked up at the rising sun, he didn't feel defeated.
He felt alive.
[MENTALITY: 24 → 27]
System Update
That night, his system blinked to life:
[KING VALUE: 15,300][BALL LEVEL: 3 (Amateur+)][POTENTIAL: 70 → 73][NEW PASSIVE UNLOCKED: Solo Work Ethic – Lv.1]
End of Chapter 5