Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

I looked at my teammates, their faces a mask of exhaustion and despair.

Fiorentina, a tough, scrappy team, was now playing with a new kind of confidence. They were moving with a fluid, determined rhythm, their symbols a constant, humming presence in my mind.

But then, I saw it. A single, beautiful symbol above the head of one of my teammates, Alessandro Bastoni.

A foot, a ball, and a powerful, almost violent, "booom!" Long Shot.

He was going to try to score from long range. It was a desperate move, a Hail Mary, but it was a chance.

I shouted at him, my voice hoarse. "Bastoni! Go for it! I'm open!"

I was lying. I wasn't open, but I was going to make a run. I was going to draw two defenders to me, and I was going to give him a clear shot.

He looked at me, a flicker of surprise and a new kind of determination in his eyes.

He trusted me. He took a touch, then another, and then, a lightning bolt and a foot appeared above his head. Sprint + Shot. He fired a thunderous shot from long range, a beautiful, arcing shot that was a thing of beauty.

"Bastoni! From way downtown! This is a long shot, but it's a good one! This could be the winner for Inter!"

The ball soared through the air, a blur of motion, and hit the back of the net. The stadium erupted, a volcanic explosion of pure, unadulterated joy.

"...!" - 4-2

The scoreboard now read Inter 4, Fiorentina 2.

My teammates rushed to Bastoni, burying him in a pile of ecstatic bodies. The comeback, the hope, the beautiful moment of my Vision—it was all coming together.

Fiorentina, a team with a never-say-die attitude, refused to give up. They pushed forward, a final, desperate attack in the last few minutes of the game.

I was tired, my body screaming in protest, but I refused to give up. I used my Vision, my mind a constant, humming presence.

In the 88th minute, a Fiorentina midfielder got the ball.

My Vision showed me a single, beautiful, and devastating symbol: a running figure and an arrow. Sprint. He was going to try to get past our defense with a burst of speed. I was too far away to stop him, and our defense was out of position. I was helpless.

He ran with a feverish intensity, his legs a blur of motion, and then, he fired a low, powerful shot toward the goal, a beautiful, arcing shot that was a thing of beauty.

Our keeper dove to his left, his hand and a red cross symbol appearing, but it was too fast, too powerful. The ball soared past him and hit the back of the net.

GOOOOAL!

The silence in the stadium was deafening. The scoreboard changed to Inter 4, Fiorentina 3.

The clock showed 88 minutes.

The final two minutes of the match were a blur of adrenaline and desperation.

Fiorentina was pushing forward with a furious intensity, and we were scrambling to keep up. I was a man on a mission, a force of nature in the midfield.

My Vision was my guide, my body my weapon. I was seeing the game on a level I had never experienced before, and it was the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

In the final seconds of the game, a Fiorentina player got the ball just outside the box. My Vision showed me a leg and a ball. Shot. I was too far away to stop him, but I saw another path.

I saw our defender, Alessandro Bastoni, with a shield and an arrow, moving into position to block the shot. I shouted a warning, and he moved a split second earlier, putting himself in the perfect position to block the shot. The ball ricocheted off him and landed at my feet.

I took the ball and looked up, scanning the field. The Fiorentina players were scrambling to get back into position. I saw an open space, a single, beautiful path to the goal.

It was a long run, but it was a chance. I started sprinting, my legs a blur of motion, the ball a blur at my feet.

"Leon! He's on a run! He's broken through the midfield! The Fiorentina defense is struggling to keep up with him! Can he do it? Can he score his second goal of the match?"

I was sprinting, my lungs burning, my heart pounding. A defender came at me, his symbols a shield and a lightning bolt. Tackle + Sprint. I feinted to the left, and he slid past me. Another defender came at me, his symbols a shield and a tackle. I did a quick step-over, leaving him in my dust.

I was a force of nature, a blur of motion, my Vision guiding me, my body a weapon.

I was in the box, one-on-one with the keeper. My Vision showed me a hand and a red cross. Save. But I also saw a single, small, elegant symbol: a rainbow. Chip.

I wasn't going to shoot. I was going to chip it over his head.

And that's exactly what I did. I chipped the ball, a beautiful, arcing shot that sailed over the keeper's head and into the back of the net.

GOOOOAL! - 4-3

The stadium erupted, a joyous earthquake that shook the very foundations of the building. The final whistle blew, and the match was over.

The scoreboard now read Inter 4, Fiorentina 3.

We had done it. We had come back from two goals down, and we had won.

My teammates rushed to me, burying me in a pile of ecstatic bodies.

I was laughing, my face streaked with sweat and tears of pure, unadulterated joy. I had done it. My Vision, my body, my heart—it was all working together, a perfect symphony of football.

The feeling of joy was overwhelming.

I had a beautiful girl's number in my phone, a new tactical challenge to solve with Byon, and a team of brothers who believed in me.

My life, once a quiet, sterile place, was now a loud, chaotic, and beautiful symphony of football, friendship, and a new kind of love.