CHAPTER 104: MIND-READING PERFECTION

The whistle blew, and the match began.

And with it, Ethan’s understanding of the word "speed" was rendered completely obsolete.

Quantum FC did not play football.

They operated. They were a flawless, high-frequency network of gold and black shirts, moving with a speed and precision that was simply not human.

The ball was a blur, a white streak zipping between players in a series of perfect, first-time passes. Ping. Ping. Ping.

The Apex players, who had built their reputation on an aggressive, high-energy press, couldn’t get within five yards of the ball. They were chasing ghosts in a hurricane.

"AND WE ARE OFF!" GridironGuru’s voice boomed through the Colosseum, a sound of pure, unadulterated arrogance.

"And look at the movement from my boys in gold! That’s what you call ’Total Football’, ladies and gentlemen! Quick, one-touch passing, constant rotation... it’s a beautiful sight to behold!"

On the pitch, the Apex players were in a state of shock.

"They’re everywhere!" Jack Stacey, the right-back, gasped after being bypassed by a passing triangle that seemed to move at the speed of light.

"Just hold your shape!" Grant Hanley roared, his voice already strained.

"Don’t get dragged out! Make them—"

Before he could finish, the ball was in the back of his net.

The move had taken approximately seven seconds and involved eight perfect, first-time passes.

The ball was worked from their defense to their midfield and then out to the left wing, to the feet of their £30 million superstar, Savio.

The Brazilian wonderkid took one touch to control the ball, drove at the terrified Apex defense, played a lightning-quick one-two with his striker that was a blur of motion, and was suddenly one-on-one with Angus Gunn.

Gunn rushed out, a brave but futile gesture. Savio, with a look of supreme, almost bored confidence, just dinked the ball over him.

It was a chip goal of such delicate, arrogant beauty that it was both a masterpiece and a profound insult.

1-0 to Quantum FC. The match was twelve minutes old.

"GOOOOOOOOOOAL! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!" Guru’s commentary was a roar of triumphant self-adulation. "SAVIO! THE BRAZILIAN BEAST! That, my friends, is what a £30 million player looks like! A goal of pure, unadulterated, liquid-gold quality! My boys are just too good! This is a masterclass!"

Ethan just stood on the sideline, his hands in his pockets, a cold, sick feeling in his stomach.

His inspirational speech, his team’s ’Steely Resolve’, their ’Human Element’—it all felt like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

His players, to their credit, didn’t fold. They were angry.

From the restart, they tried to fight their way back into the game.

But they couldn’t get close enough to the Quantum goal to create a real chance.

Their intricate passing moves were snuffed out by a defense that moved with the synchronized perfection of a ballet company.

Their only option was to try their luck from distance.

In the 18th minute, Kenny McLean hit a thunderous, hopeful shot from thirty-five yards that was bravely blocked by a Quantum defender.

In the 22nd minute, Emre Demir, frustrated at being unable to find any space, unleashed a curling effort from distance that sailed just over the bar.

"And another long shot from Apex," Guru noted, his voice dripping with condescension.

"That’s all they’ve got, folks. They can’t get through our perfectly organized defensive block, so they’re just having a pop from downtown. It’s a bit desperate, if you ask me."

Ethan was on the edge of his technical area, yelling, trying to find a solution. "Get tighter! Don’t give them so much time on the ball! Be more aggressive!"

But it was useless. It was like trying to catch smoke with a fishing net.

Then, in the 28th minute, the true, terrifying nature of Guru’s advantage was revealed.

Apex managed to string a few passes together. The ball was worked out to Jonathan Rowe on the right wing. Ethan saw a potential overload on the far side.

"Switch it, Jonny! Switch it to David!" he roared, seeing Kerrigan in acres of space on the left.

Rowe looked up, ready to hit the long, diagonal pass.

"Oh, and it looks like Couch has spotted a potential switch of play," Guru’s voice echoed through the stadium, a sound of lazy, omniscient amusement.

"A decent idea, I suppose. A classic long ball to the weak side. Very textbook."

And as he said it, before Rowe’s foot had even connected with the ball, the Quantum FC right-back and right-midfielder started to sprint across the pitch.

Rowe hit the ball, a perfect, raking cross-field pass.

But by the time it reached the left flank, the space was gone.

The Quantum right-back was already there, waiting.

He chested the ball down with a casual ease and immediately played a simple, first-time pass forward to his midfielder.

The trap had been sprung. The counter-attack was on.

"And that’s ’Predictive Analysis’ in action, ladies and gentlemen!"

Guru announced, his voice filled with the smug satisfaction of a magician revealing his trick.

"Why react when you can predict? My boys knew where the ball was going before the Apex player did! And now, we’re on the break!"

It was a devastating, three-pass move. A blur of gold and black.

The ball was fired into their number nine, who laid it off to Savio, who then slid a simple, undefendable pass across the face of the goal for their other winger to tap into an empty net.

2-0.

The goal was a perfect, clinical, and utterly soul-crushing demonstration of an unfair advantage.

The Apex players just stood there, their faces a mask of pure, horrified disbelief.

"How?" Kenny McLean gasped, looking at his teammates.

"How did they know? It was a perfect pass!"

"It’s like they can read our minds!" Rowe yelled, his voice filled with a dawning, helpless terror.

Ethan stood on the sideline, the blood draining from his face.

He looked at his dejected, confused players. He looked at the scoreboard, which read 2-0 after just thirty minutes.

And he looked at the opposite dugout, where GridironGuru was laughing, commentating on his own team’s flawless, mind-reading perfection.