Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

The Napoli players, even though they were a man down, were playing with a relentless intensity.

Coach Chivu walked into the room, his face a mask of calm, focused determination. He didn't yell, he didn't give a long, dramatic speech.

He just looked at us, at the focused, exhausted faces of his team, and he nodded. "Men," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'm not going to give you a long speech. You know what's at stake. You know what we have to do. The goal was offside. It was the right call. We can't change that. We can't change the past. But we can change the future."

He then looked at the entire team, his eyes burning with a fierce, determined fire. "Listen to me! We need to press higher. We need to suffocate them. We need to play with more urgency, more heart! This is our stadium, our city, our chance to get back on top! So go out there and show them what we're made of!"

The rest of the half was a blur of motion and pure adrenaline. The Napoli players, even with the disadvantage, were a defensive fortress.

They were a wall of muscle and grit, and we were struggling to break through.

I used my Vision, and the symbols above their heads were a constant, humming presence in my mind.

In the 15th minute, a beautiful, flowing pass from me found Lautaro Martínez just outside the box. He took a touch, and then, a flurry of symbols appeared. *a leg and a ball*

He fired a thunderous shot toward the goal, a beautiful, arcing shot that was a thing of beauty.

The keeper, a shield and a red cross symbol, dove to his left, but it was too fast, too powerful.

The ball hit the crossbar with a loud, heart-wrenching thud. The crowd, a moment ago silent, erupted in a collective groan of despair.

We had lost our chance. Our one, beautiful chance.

The game continued, a blur of motion and pure adrenaline. The Napoli players, fueled by their numerical advantage, were playing with a new kind of confidence.

They were moving with a fluid, determined rhythm, their symbols a constant, humming presence in my mind. We were a man up, but we were still struggling.

In the 25th minute, a beautiful, flowing pass from me found Khvicha Kvaratskhelia, his Potential: 90 and Current: 89 shining bright, just inside the box. I knew his symbols, a blur of lightning bolts and exclamation points, but this time, something new appeared above his head. a single, elegant butterfly. Lob.

I didn't hesitate. I played a perfect through-ball into the open space, and he was on his way.

The commentator's voice rose with a feverish excitement. "Kvaratskhelia! He's through on goal! He's one-on-one with the keeper!"

The keeper, Alex Meret, his Potential: 88 and Current: 85, came out to meet him.

My Vision showed me a hand and a red cross, a predictable symbol of a great save. But then, a new set of symbols appeared, a swirling, chaotic mix of possibilities.

He was a master of his craft, a keeper who had a dozen different ways to save a penalty.

I needed to find his one weakness, his one predictable pattern. I looked at his eyes, and my Vision showed me a small, almost invisible symbol: a boot with a curve. He was going to dive left. I had a plan.

Kvaratskhelia took a deep breath, and as he approached the ball, he looked at the keeper, his eyes focused on his, and he took a small step to the left, a feint, a trick. The keeper bought it. He dove to the left, a perfect, athletic dive, but Kvaratskhelia had already fired his shot.

The ball flew to the right, a low, powerful shot that sailed past him and hit the back of the net with a beautiful, satisfying thud.

GOOOOAL!

The stadium erupted, a joyous earthquake that shook the very foundations of the building. The scoreboard now read 1-0 to Inter.

I looked at my stats, and a new notification appeared, a bright, hopeful light in the darkness.

[CURRENT RATING: 85]

My hands were shaking. I had done it. I had reached a new level.

The clock showed 30 minutes, and the game was tied.

..

In the 35th minute, a long pass from Giovanni Di Lorenzo, his Potential: 89 and Current: 86 shining bright, found Victor Osimhen.

I used my Vision, and a flurry of symbols appeared above his head. a lightning bolt, a foot, and a star.

I saw it all. the blinding speed, the feint, the thunderous shot. I shouted a warning to my teammates, my voice hoarse from shouting, but it was too late.

Osimhen dribbled past two of our defenders with a fluid, effortless grace, and then, a single leg and a ball appeared.

He fired a low, powerful shot toward the goal, a beautiful, arcing shot that was a thing of beauty. Our keeper, a Potential: 89 and Current: 87, 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!

"Unbelievable! Napoli, a man down, has equalized! The goal is a thing of beauty, a moment of pure genius from Victor Osimhen! This is a war, and the two teams are now fighting for every inch of the pitch!"

The stadium went silent, a stunned, disbelieving hush. The scoreboard now read 1-1.

The comeback, the hope, the beautiful moment of my Vision—it was all for nothing. We had lost our one-goal lead.

The game continued, a blur of motion and pure adrenaline.

The Napoli players, fueled by their equalizer, were playing with a new kind of confidence. They were moving with a fluid, determined rhythm, their symbols a constant, humming presence in my mind. We were a man up, but we were still struggling.

Coach Chivu was a blur of motion on the sidelines, his shouts a furious, unintelligible symphony. He was gesturing, yelling, his face a mask of pure frustration.

I looked at him, and I knew what he was thinking. We needed to press higher. We needed to suffocate them. We needed to play with more urgency, more heart.

I looked at my teammates, their faces a mask of exhaustion and despair. I knew I had to do something. I had to be a leader. I had to be a champion. I had a new, beautiful power in my mind, a Vision that could see the future. And I had a team, a family, that believed in me.

I took a deep breath, and I started shouting.

"Julián! Push up! We need to press higher! Lautaro, I need you on the wing! Cole, you're the engine! Let's go!"