Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

The car ride home was quiet, a stark contrast to the thunderous roars of the San Siro and the bitter disappointment of the final whistle. But as I pulled into the driveway, my phone buzzed with a message, a lifeline thrown from across the Channel. It was from Byon.

I walked into the house, the scent of my mom's cooking a warm, welcoming presence. I dropped my bag by the door and immediately sat on the couch, my phone in my hand, and hit the video call button.

A second later, Byon's face appeared on the screen, a mix of concern and focused intensity.

"Dude," he said, skipping the usual greetings. "That was... insane. You were a different person out there. Your goal was a work of art."

"Thanks," I mumbled, still a little down from the loss. "But we still lost. We had them."

"I know, man. I know," he said, his expression serious. "But listen. That's not why I called. You said you had a 'Vision' problem with Yamal, right?"

I nodded, my heart pounding with a new kind of anticipation. "Yeah. It's like a different language. He moves in a way that just doesn't make sense."

Byon leaned closer to his camera, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Okay. I've been watching him all season. And you're right. He's not human But... I think I've figured out his weakness."

My mind, once consumed with a tactical despair, suddenly snapped into focus. "What? What is it?"

"It's not what he does," Byon said slowly. "It's what he doesn't do. When he's in a one-on-one situation, he always has a plan A, B, and C, and your Vision probably catches all of them. But there's a moment, just a split second, where he decides which of those three to choose. I've noticed it's always the most direct path to the goal. His mind is so laser-focused on scoring, that in a situation where he has a three-way choice between passing, shooting, or dribbling, he will always take the one that is the quickest way to get the ball into the net. It's an unconscious thing, a habit. He's so good that he gets away with it every time. But... if you know that, if you can see that, you can break him."

I was silent for a moment, my mind racing. It made sense. Yamal was a prodigy, a player with a Potential: 96, and his mind was a computer, but even a computer had a default setting. A pattern. If I could see that pattern, if my Vision could break down his symbols and show me the most direct path he would take, I could anticipate his move.

I could be there before he even decided.

"So you're saying I have to... read his mind?" I asked, a small, nervous laugh escaping my lips.

"Not exactly," Byon said, a grin spreading across his face. "You just have to look for the most direct path to the goal, and that's the one he'll take. When you see a lightning bolt and a foot and an arrow, it means he's going for it. He's going to shoot. You have to be there a second before he does it. You're the only one who can do this, Leo. You're the only one who can see it. You're the only one who can stop him."

"Thanks, Byon," I said, a genuine smile on my face. "That... that actually helps. A lot."

"Anytime, man," he said, his grin widening. "Now go eat your mom's cooking. I'll talk to you later."

I hung up the phone, a new sense of purpose filling me.

My mom came out of the kitchen, a huge plate of her famous carbonara in her hands. "Hungry, my love?" she asked, a warm smile on her face.

"Starving," I said, a huge, genuine grin on my face. "And I'm feeling a lot better. I have a plan."

We ate in comfortable silence, the only sound the clinking of forks and the low hum of the refrigerator. It was a simple, beautiful moment, a reminder of the things that mattered most. After dinner, I helped her with the dishes, and we talked about the match, the loss, and the promise of the second leg. She was a constant, a rock in a sea of chaos, and I knew I couldn't have done it without her.

After the dishes were done, I retired to my room and opened up my laptop. I logged into my FIFA account and saw that Byon was online. I sent him a quick message.

"You up for a game? Winner gets to talk smack for a week."

He responded instantly: "You're on. But no using your Vision to see my stats."

We played for an hour, our virtual players a blur of motion on the screen. It was a a back-and-forth affair, a tense, thrilling game that felt like a real match. I used my Vision on the screen, seeing the symbols of my virtual players, and I saw a new kind of beauty in the game. It wasn't just about winning or losing; it was about the intricate dance of probability and choice, the hidden patterns in the chaos.

I ended up winning 3-2, a late goal from my virtual Julián Álvarez sealing the victory. Byon, in a moment of playful frustration, hung up the video call.

I laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that felt good to hear again. I had a plan, a renewed sense of purpose, and a friend who believed in me. With a happy heart, I closed my laptop and went to bed, a peaceful, dreamless sleep finally settling over me.

The next morning, I woke up early, the sun streaming through my window.

My body felt rested, and my mind felt sharp, clear, and ready. I got up, did my physical therapy, and then got dressed in my Inter tracksuit. It was the first day back to full training, and the excitement was a physical thing, a nervous energy that made me feel alive.

I grabbed my keys, a new sense of hope and purpose filling me, and headed out the door.

The drive to the training facility was a beautiful blur of city lights and the promise of a new day. I was so lost in my thoughts, replaying the conversations with Byon and Coach Chivu, that I almost didn't notice her.

She was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a bus, a girl with a fierce, determined look on her face.

She was wearing a simple white hoodie, her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, and she was so engrossed in her phone that she almost didn't notice me.

But my eyes were drawn to her, not just because she was beautiful, but because of the subtle, faint aura that surrounded her. It wasn't the golden light of a generational talent like Lamine Yamal, or the vibrant aura of a player on my team.

It was a faint, almost invisible white glow, a pure, clean light that I had never seen before.

I slammed on my brakes, my heart pounding in my chest.

She looked up, her dark eyes meeting mine, and I felt a jolt of recognition, a feeling of pure, unadulterated surprise.

I had never seen her before, but in that single, fleeting moment, I felt like I knew her.

My Vision, my new, evolved Vision, showed me nothing, no numbers, no symbols, just that pure, beautiful light. The girl just looked at me with a confused expression, and then, a bus pulled up, and she got on, and she was gone.

I sat in my car for a full minute, my heart still racing.

Who was she? Why did my Vision react to her in a way I had never seen before?