CHAPTER 180: CHAPTER 180: THE EMPEROR’S DOMINANCE

Minute 88.

Lohne struck back — desperate, sharp, dangerous.

Nico Thoben ghosted between lines, his Shadow Burst igniting as he vanished from sight, reappearing between Anssi and Luis like a phantom.

A flick — perfectly weighted — slid through the gap.

Felix Schmiederer broke forward, pure velocity tearing through the backline.

Julian’s pulse jolted.

That tempo — Velocity Break.

Felix struck low, hard.

Hermann dove — right hand snapping out — crack!

Saved.

The ball deflected wide.

The entire stadium exhaled at once.

"Push! PUSH!" Mageed’s voice tore through the roar.

And just like that — the counter ignited.

Julian moved first.

His body screamed, lungs clawing for air — but his rhythm was steady.

Stamina: 40%.

The flame awoke.

[Blood Furnace — Lv.2 Activated.]

It hit him like fire through his veins.

Not pain — power.

Heat spread from his chest to his limbs, reinforcing muscle, tendon, bone.

Every heartbeat sounded like thunder in his ears.

Breath came light. Vision sharpened.

The crimson glow beneath his gray boots pulsed once — alive, hungry.

He could push further.

He would.

This was the last chance.

[Rule The Pitch – Lv.3: +150 To All Attributes]

The tempo spiked.

The world tilted.

Every motion around him slowed — defenders turning, the crowd gasping, the rain tracing silver lines in the floodlight.

90 minutes.

One final chance for the Emperor to decide the war.

...

HSV II surged forward — lines breaking, hearts pounding.

Anssi to Mageed. Mageed to Fabio Baldé.

Fabio cut inside, his breath ragged, boots slicing through rain-slick grass. Leonard dove to block — too late. Fabio didn’t shoot. He crossed.

A blind, desperate swing.

The ball curled high — vanishing into the glare of the floodlights.

Julian was ten yards away.

And yet — he moved.

Time fractured.

That +1050 Attribute is just amazing

The pulse of the Emperor unfurled inside him — a deep, resonant chime like a golden bell echoing through eternity.

The world dimmed into silence.

Crowd frozen.

Players turned to silhouettes.

Only the ball existed.

His focus no longer sharpened — it transcended. The world didn’t slow; it simply waited.

The aura burst from him — not flame, not lightning, but presence.

It was weight. Dominion.

The kind of pressure that bent the air itself.

In that instant, he wasn’t a player.

He was law.

Every motion, every heartbeat, every grain of turf — clear.

He saw the ball’s spin, the arc, the dip.

His boots left the ground.

For a heartbeat, he hung there — suspended under silver light.

Rain glimmered around him like falling embers. His gray boots caught the floodlight, shining like forged steel drawn from a cosmic fire.

Then — impact.

Forehead. Pure. Clean. Absolute.

BOOM.

The sound echoed through the stadium — leather meeting destiny.

The ball tore through air, a white comet cutting toward the far post.

The net rippled.

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of rain — no cheers, no breath — as if the world itself paused to witness.

3–2.

The campus erupted. Sound crashed like a wave — raw, thunderous, alive.

Julian landed hard, boots sinking into wet turf, lungs burning. The roar swallowed the world.

Mageed was the first to reach him — screaming something that didn’t even sound like words, just joy made human. He grabbed Julian by the shoulders, shaking him, laughing like a man who’d seen a miracle.

Anssi followed, wrapping them both in a rough embrace, shouting over the chaos.

"Three!" Mageed’s voice cracked. "Three in ten minutes!"

Julian just exhaled, sweat running down his face, his pulse still racing like fire in his veins. The faintest smile curved his lips.

"We’re not done till it’s over."

And then —

Prrrtttt!

The final whistle.

Full time.

HSV II – 3, Blau-Weiß Lohne – 2.

The empire had fallen.

For a moment, everything froze. The lights. The rain. The disbelief.

Then came the explosion — teammates sprinting, colliding, shouting his name; coaches clapping, fists pumping. Even the bench poured onto the field.

Julian stood still at the center of it all, eyes closed, breath slow.

He could feel the grass beneath him trembling from the stomp of boots, the chant of the crowd — Ash-ford! Ash-ford!

Around him: chaos.

Inside him: calm.

Because in that silence beneath the noise, he already knew—

...

[MATCH PERFORMANCE RATING: 18]

Since it was Regionalliga Nord ×2 = 36

[Emperor’s Boots – Evolution Phase 2/3 Initiated]

...

[Quest Complete]

Reverse the Game

Objective: Win the match.

Reward: Legendary Item

[Accept Reward?]

[Yes] [No]

...

Julian didn’t hesitate.

[Yes.]

A faint pulse rippled beneath his feet — not loud, but deep, resonant.

The gray of his boots began to darken, veins of silver threading through the surface like living metal. The fabric shimmered between shadow and steel, alive in the light.

He watched, breath caught in his throat.

"Their form’s changing..." he muttered under his breath.

Then, quieter — almost reverent —

"They’re waking up."

The hum faded, leaving only the sound of the crowd, the echo of triumph still ringing through the campus.

Julian lowered his gaze once more, a faint smirk forming.

The battle was over —

But the Emperor’s path had only just begun.

...

From the touchline, Coach Soner Uysal stood unmoving — only his eyes alive with thought. The years of football behind him had taught him the difference between talent and destiny.

And what he saw on that field... was neither. It was something rarer.

"That boy," he said quietly to his assistant, voice low, almost reverent.

"He doesn’t just play the game."

He nodded toward the pitch, where Julian lifted both hands in a calm, wordless salute to the stands. The crowd thundered his name — wave after wave crashing across the night.

"He rewrites it."

The chant shook the air, rising through the rafters, bouncing off concrete and steel —

"Ash-ford! Ash-ford! Ash-ford!"

Julian stood in the heart of it, bathed in floodlight and noise, eyes reflecting both exhaustion and control.

To him, this wasn’t chaos.

It was rhythm — his rhythm.

He looked up at the scoreboard, its numbers burning bright against the dark.

3–2.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he whispered to himself,

"From zero to three... the field still obeys."

Beneath him, his boots pulsed once — a heartbeat of power.

The metal veins shimmered in reply, alive with the promise of legend.

Their awakening had begun.

And with it — the rise of the Emperor’s saga.