CHAPTER 185: CHAPTER 185: THE MENTOR’S CODE

Since Julian wasn’t called up to the starting squad, while HSV II traveled to face VfB Oldenburg away, he remained behind — alone on the HSV campus.

No roar of the crowd.

No teammates shouting drills.

Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the steady rhythm of a lone machine.

The air carried a faint chill — the kind that clung to early summer mornings in northern Germany, when the rain hadn’t quite decided if it should fall or fade.

Through the high glass windows of the performance center, the grey sky pressed down over the training fields, their empty goals glistening faintly under mist.

He could’ve been frustrated. But he wasn’t.

Julian understood why.

He knew what the system could do — how easily it could let him dominate any pitch if he unleashed its full force. But power without foundation was empty.

If he relied on it too much, he’d become nothing more than a performer wearing borrowed strength.

The thought sat heavy in him — not as regret, but as clarity. In his past life, power had been a weapon; now, it had to become rhythm.

So today, he chose the harder path.

The gym smelled faintly of metal and sweat.

Julian’s reflection stared back at him in the glass — calm, composed, a shadow of the warrior he used to be and the footballer he was still becoming.

He tightened the wraps around his hands, the coarse fabric whispering as it wound across his knuckles.

The motion was slow, ritualistic — one born from discipline, not habit. The kind of movement that carried silence like a prayer.

He wrapped his hands with tape and began to work.

The barbell rose and fell, slow and precise. Every rep burned. Every breath steadied.

Sweat dripped down his jaw, tracing the sharp lines of focus carved into his face.

This wasn’t punishment.

This was refinement.

The clang of weights echoed through the cavernous space — sharp, metallic, yet oddly clean. Outside, a light drizzle began, blurring the reflection of the gym lights against the window.

Somewhere deeper in the facility, a vending machine hummed to life, and then silence returned, swallowed by the rhythmic exhale of breath.

Outside, the May sky hung low and grey, light rain whispering against the wide glass panels of the gym. The whole campus seemed asleep — empty corridors, distant echo of doors shutting somewhere far away.

Beyond the gym, he could see the faint silhouette of the Volksparkstadion rising in the distance — massive, still, almost watchful.

The home of legends and noise. Yet here, in this quiet pocket of the campus, it felt like another world entirely.

For once, the noise of football had vanished. Only the hum of lights, the rhythmic clank of steel, and his breath breaking the silence remained.

Julian liked it that way. The quiet stripped things bare. No crowd, no pressure, no validation. Just him and the truth of effort.

...

One month.

That’s how long it had been since Julian first walked into HSV II’s world — a stranger with a promise and a fire no one else could see.

A month of dawns spent chasing breath, of nights that ended in silence and muscle ache.

A month of regimented meals, recovery schedules, and sleep that felt more like recharging than resting.

Germany’s discipline suited him in a way he hadn’t expected. The strict meal times, the punctuality, the structure — it mirrored the old martial codes he once followed, translated into the language of modern sport.

The difference was visible now — not loud, but real.

His reflection in the mirror no longer looked like a boy trying to keep up. It looked like someone built for the pitch.

Shoulders cut sharper.

Breath steadier.

The body — finally catching up to the will.

He had memorized the rhythm of this place — the creak of the treadmill belt, the timer’s short beeps, the smell of turf resin from the indoor field next door.

Routine had become something sacred, almost ritualistic. Every repetition, every stretch, every protein shake at exactly 18:30 — each one a small brick in the fortress he was building.

Julian wiped the sweat from his jaw, then spoke softly,

[Echo. Open my attributes.]

A faint chime filled the air.

...

User: Julian Ashford

Age: 17

State: Amateur League

Title: None

Exp Point : 586

...

CORE ATTRIBUTES

► Strength : 72

► Agility : 74

► Stamina : 75

► Technique : 88

► Perception : 125

► Instinct : 114

► Charisma : 45

Total Stat : 590

...

He studied the numbers for a moment.

Not pride — analysis.

Perception, instinct, technique.

That was his core — the martial mind rebuilt into football’s language.

The rest was still catching up. Strength. Agility. Stamina. The limits of flesh.

He flexed his hand — feeling the slow tremor fade.

"Still not enough," he murmured.

The thought looped in his head.

He could pour everything into raw stats — break through the physical limits, feel that intoxicating rush of growth again.

Or... invest in skill, sharpen the blade instead of just swinging harder.

For a moment, his eyes wandered across the empty gym — at the posters of first-team players, the silent weight racks lined like soldiers.

How many of them once trained here, pushing through the same monotony, before stepping into the noise of the Volksparkstadion? He could almost hear their ghosts moving with him, chasing their own invisible numbers.

The weight bar rested across his knees, still warm from use. His reflection in the window looked more like a machine than a boy — breath steady, eyes cold.

"Echo," he said quietly, "how many attribute points can I buy?"

[116 Attribute Points, Host.]

He leaned back, gaze tracing the ceiling. 116 points — that was a mountain. Enough to tilt the balance of a match. Enough to make his name echo louder.

But power without direction was just noise.

He set the barbell down and sat there for a while, elbows on his knees, thoughts sharp as glass.

How to grow fastest?

How to grow right?

"Yo, you okay, dude?"

The voice snapped the trance.

Julian blinked up to see Fabio Baldé standing beside him, towel draped over his shoulder, grin wide as ever.

"I’ve been watching you for like five minutes," Fabio said, raising an eyebrow. "You looked like you were solving world hunger or something."

Julian chuckled under his breath. "Just... thinking about how to train smarter."

Fabio squatted next to him, flexing his calves with a smirk. "Then listen to the master, my friend. You’ve got touch, vision, all that Emperor stuff. But to break lines? You need legs that burn. Stamina. Burst speed. The kind that scares defenders before you even move."

Julian tilted his head slightly. "You sound like you’ve rehearsed that."

"Because it’s true," Fabio said, laughing. "You want to rule the pitch? You need to outrun the crown."

Julian stared for a moment, then stood — quiet but decisive. "Then show me."

Fabio’s grin widened. "That’s what I like to hear."

The hum of the fitness center filled the air again — treadmills, clanging metal, the steady rhythm of work.

Julian didn’t allocate his points.

Didn’t touch his skills.

Instead, he followed Fabio out toward the running track, where sweat and speed decided everything.

If numbers made him strong—

Training would make him real.

...

The steady rhythm of footfalls echoed across the indoor track. Fabio ran ahead, his stride smooth and predatory, while Julian followed close behind — breath sharp, legs burning.

"Come on, Emperor!" Fabio called over his shoulder, laughing. "Don’t tell me that crown’s slowing you down!"

Julian gritted his teeth and pushed harder. The sound of the turf under his shoes became a drumbeat, every pulse syncing to the flow of motion.

Then—

Ding.

A faint pulse rippled through his vision.

[Mentor Detected: Fabio Baldé]

[Training Type: Agility]

[Bonus: +10% Efficiency]

Julian nearly stumbled mid-stride. "What the—"

Fabio slowed, glancing back. "You good?"

"Yeah," Julian said quickly, catching his breath. "Just... thinking."

Fabio rolled his eyes, grinning. "You really gotta stop doing that mid-run. But maybe that’s your thing — the little general always planning the next move."

Julian huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. "Something like that."

They ran again — sprint, stop, pivot, sprint. Fabio corrected his form, tightened his turns, adjusted his center of gravity. Each movement refined itself through rhythm and feedback.

The air was thick with heat and the smell of rubber. Every exhale sounded heavy against the walls.

Fabio’s steps were clean, almost effortless, while Julian’s were sharp, methodical — the difference between rhythm and calculation.

He mirrored every move, studying the timing, the weight shifts, the way Fabio’s balance always reset perfectly after each burst.

Inside Julian’s head, Echo’s voice flickered to life — calm, mechanical, but faintly proud.

[Mentor System Unlocked]

[When training one-on-one with a player who meets the threshold of excellence, your growth efficiency will increase proportionally to their mastery.]

[Mentor Tier Chart:]

150–199 Attribute → +10% Boost

200–299 Attribute → +20% Boost

300–399 Attribute → +40% Boost

400+ Attribute → +100% Boost

Julian’s eyes sharpened.

That wasn’t just guidance — it was synergy.

Fabio shouted across the track, "You ready for another set?"

Julian nodded once, a grin ghosting across his face. "Yeah. Let’s go again."

He sprinted — faster this time, form tighter, motion cleaner. He could feel the difference, the subtle lift in his body, the hidden force shaping each step.

Mentors.

He’d never needed one before.

But now, they were keys — amplifiers.

He could almost see the new map forming in his mind — not of pitches or opponents, but of people.

Every player, every strength, every rhythm of motion a potential code to unlock. The system wasn’t just about dominance anymore. It was about connection. About learning how excellence echoed.

He needed to find more.

Not just to learn —

But to evolve.

And as Fabio shouted for one more sprint, Julian felt the weight of the campus fade away, replaced by something cleaner — pure rhythm, pure focus. Not competition. Not envy. Just growth. The quiet grind that no one else would ever see.

Somewhere high above, the rain had stopped. The clouds broke for a moment, and a single beam of light spilled through the glass ceiling, striking the track like a silent blessing. Julian ran through it — steady, unshaken — his breath calm, his eyes fixed forward.