"Well I guess you have to. If you can hear , right?"
[BZZT*]
TT did not respond as the system screen just flickered on in front of Lukas showing his training for the day.
[10 sets of 5,000 stairs per set in the Hyperbaric Chamber]
"Oh you’ve got to be kidding ! How is that even possible to do. I’m gonna die!!"
[*You’ll be fine.*]
"Haaaa.." Lukas sighed as he dropped down to sit on the floor with the status window following his line of sight and dropping down with him. "But isn’t this to train the Stamina stat? That has already hit the stat limit, no? Open my player profile."
[ PROFILE – LUKAS BRANDT – FOOTBALLER
DATE OF BIRTH: 30/12/2008 (16)
HEIGHT: 179 cm
WEIGHT: 63 kg
CAREER STATUS: EINTRACHT FRANKFURT FIRST TEAM
POSITION: ATTACKING MIDFIELDER
CURRENT LIMIT: 85
RATING: 84
PLAYER STATS
ATTACK:
Off. Awareness: 85 (↑1)
Ball Control: 85
Dribbling: 85
Tight Possession: 84
Low Pass: 85
Lofted Pass: 84
Finishing: 85
Header: 82
Set-Piece: 85
Curl: 85 (↑1)
DEFENCE:
Def. Awareness: 76
Tackling: 74
Aggression: 71
Def. Engagent: 70
STRENGTH:
Speed: 85
Acceleration: 85
Kicking Power: 85 (↑1)
Jump: 84 (↑1)
Physical Contact: 84 (↑1)
Balance: 85
Stamina: 85 ]
"Yeah, I was right," he said as he found the Stamina stat. " My stamina is already at its current limit."
[*Your stamina stat will drop if you don’t complete this training today.*]
"Co on! That makes no sense. I’ve been playing a ga once every 3 days or so for the past couple months, my stamina shouldn’t be falling."
[*None of your stats should be this high at this age. You think the rest of your teammates have the sa stamina you do? But they all also play the sa number of gas as you do. If you want to be better than the rest, you have to work more than the rest.*]
"Pffft... Was that... supposed to be a motivational quote?"
[Training Starts in 10... 9... 8...]
"Oh co on, don’t be petty like that," Lukas said with a smile as he jumped off the floor and hurried to a glass door with a label ’HC’ at the top.
*Click*
The door sealed shot behind him as he entered and a fog-lije substance filled the air and gradually cleared away to reveal his equipnt for the day — a stairmaster.
"Off we go, I guess," he thought as he climbed on and turned on the machine.
* * *
"Fuuuu...cking hell! I can’t move my legs, my lungs are burning. Why do I have to suffer like this?"
Lukas was barely able to get the words out of his mouth as he crawled back out of the door about 5 hours after he initially went in and collapsed right outside as his chest heaved up and down as he took deep breaths.
[*Don’t be overdramatic, it wasn’t that difficult.*]
"I don’t have the strength to go back and forth with you right now. It felt like the oxygen was non-existent."
[*That’s how it’s supposed to feel. Repeat this regularly and you’ll be running 90 minutes on the pitch like you’re on PEDs.*]
"I probably will be suspected for using one day. Because you are basically a cheat code. A horrible one, but one nonetheless."
[*Well thanks for the complint. So how are you feeling about the ga on Thursday?*]
Lukas dragged an arm under his chest and rolled onto his back, staring at nothing, sweat cooling too fast against his skin.
"...Thursday?" he echoed, voice still rough. "Honestly?"
He swallowed, chest rising and falling as the burn in his lungs slowly dulled.
"I know what I should feel. Excited. Locked in. Confident." A pause. "But yeah... there’s a bit of noise in my head."
[*Noise?*]
"Manchester," he said. "Old Trafford. Their fans are everywhere. Every clip, every quote, every post... it’s like they’re already playing the match online." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "They’re acting like it’s already over. Like I’m walking into a wall."
[*And?*]
"And part of knows that’s stupid," Lukas continued. "I’ve been in hostile stadiums before. Bilbao. Mainz. Even Bayern away." He turned his head slightly, jaw tightening. "But this one’s different. Two goals down. Semifinal. Everyone watching. If we don’t score early, the ga can run away from us."
There it was. The doubt. Small, controlled, but real.
[*Good,*] TT replied calmly. [*That ans you understand the stakes. Fear doesn’t weaken you. Letting it dictate your decisions does.*]
Lukas closed his eyes.
[*Let’s talk facts,*] TT continued. [*You’ve scored or assisted multiple goals in single matches this season. You’ve overturned deficits bigger than this. Two goals is not a miracle requirent for you. It’s a normal output.*]
"...When you put it like that, it sounds stupid to even worry," Lukas muttered.
[*Exactly. This match is not about Old Trafford. It’s not about history. It’s not about the noise. It’s about repeating actions you’ve already executed dozens of tis.*]
TT didn’t raise its tone. Didn’t dramatize it.
[*Press when you always press. Move when you always move. Shoot when the window opens. Do not try to be legendary, just be precise.*]
Lukas exhaled slowly through his nose.
"God," he said quietly. "You’re starting to sound like an actual coach."
[*That is an insult.*]
He cracked a tired smile despite himself. "No, I an it. The whole calm, reassuring thing. Next you’ll be patting my back and telling to trust the process."
There was a beat of silence.
*BZZT*
[New protocol loaded.]
The system screen appeared back in front of him.
"...What?" Lukas opened one eye.
[*Since you find emotional reinforcent unsettling,*] TT replied evenly, [*we will return to physical instruction. Get up.*]
Lukas groaned. "You have to be kidding . I literally can’t feel my calves."
[*Excellent,*] TT said. [*Residual fatigue increases adaptation.*]
"You’re evil," Lukas muttered, trying to sit up and imdiately regretting it.
[Stairmaster. 3 sets of 500 stairs each.]
He stared at the ceiling, then laughed breathlessly.
"Yeah," he said, forcing himself to roll onto his knees. "Definitely a cheat code."
[*Begin when ready,*] TT replied. [*Manchester will not wait.*]
* * *
The sa night, in a room located on the 9th floor of a 14-storey building.
The room was quiet in a way that only power could afford.
Soft, amber light washed over dark wood panels and matte stone, never harsh, never fully dim. A thin ribbon of incense burned sowhere unseen, its scent clean and restrained, sothing between cedar and smoke, ant to calm rather than announce itself. The air was cool, carefully regulated, carrying the faint hum of a city alive beyond floor-to-ceiling glass.
An old man sat with his back to the room, executive chair turned away from the desk, facing the window. Below him, the city glimred and pulsed, headlights flowing like veins of light, towers blinking patiently into the night. He did not move, not even when the door behind him clicked shut.
Across the desk stood a young woman, posture straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. Tablet tucked under her arm. She had learned long ago that this man did not like unnecessary motion.
Silence stretched. Not awkward. Intentional.
Finally, he spoke, voice calm, dry, asured.
"You said City increased their offer?"
"Yes," she replied imdiately. "80 million base. 10 in achievable add-ons."
A pause. One finger lifted, then settled again on the leather armrest.
"And Krösche and Hardung?" he asked. "How did they react?"
"They’re still holding publicly," she said. "But internally... Krösche is starting to waver. The number is forcing discussions."
A/N: Quads1, again, thanks so much for the Dragon man. I’ve been away for a couple days and I co back to a screar from you again. I really appreciate. It really helps in making the effort put into this, worthwhile.
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