That night, Winston slept like a baby. Before sunrise the next morning, he woke feeling completely refreshed. After a quick wash, he jogged back to the same football field near Building D. Without wasting any time, he resumed training the awakenings that had only appeared in brief flashes during yesterday's match.
He started with his hearing. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the subtle sounds around him. His enhanced hearing picked up faint noises like ripples spreading across still water, extending roughly five steps in every direction.
Next came his vision—With the ball at his feet, Winston dribbled through a series of cones. With every repetition, his close control became sharper. His enhanced vision activated in brief intervals, allowing him to perceive everything within a five-step radius with remarkable clarity. The more he practiced, the more consistent the awakenings became. Although they still flickered in and out, Winston gradually learned to anticipate their rhythm, timing his movements to coincide with each brief activation.
Satisfied with the morning session, he trapped the ball beneath his foot. Just then, someone came jogging onto the field. Winston turned his head. It was Bongani—he looked exhausted. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his breathing was heavy as he jogged toward the field. Without saying a word, Winston rolled the ball toward him. Bongani trapped it with one touch and immediately began dribbling at his feet.
"Did you get any sleep?" Winston asked, trapping the pass with the inside of his foot before returning it.
Bongani let out a tired laugh. "Not a wink." He shook his head. "Yesterday's match was just too good. I kept replaying every moment in my head. Before I knew it... it was already morning."
Stretching his arms above his head, he glanced at Winston. "So, what are you working on today? Or have you already finished?"
Winston shook his head. "I was just warming up." He rolled the ball beneath his foot. "Let's work on your ball control."
He looked directly at Bongani. "Yesterday, you weren't comfortable with the ball at your feet. Every time you received it, you hesitated."
Bongani scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed smile. "Damn... you noticed?"
Winston chuckled. "It's hard not to notice." He passed the ball back. "Didn't you get much playing time in the junior league?"
Bongani's smile faded—his gaze drifted toward the towering mountains on the distant horizon.
"Not really." He sighed. "Coach always said I wasn't ready for the starting eleven. Most of the time he'd only throw me on during the last few minutes of a match."
Winston quietly listened—he passed the ball again. Bongani trapped it, played with it for a few touches, and calmly returned it.
Winston smiled. "Don't sell yourself short."
He gestured toward the Federation Academy surrounding them. "Look where you are. This is the most competitive football academy in the country."
He pointed at Bongani with a grin. "Your old coach simply failed to see the diamond in the rough." He bent down and picked up the cones. "Come on. Let's train." He laughed. "After today's session, you might even end up better than me."
Bongani burst into laughter. His tired eyes lit up with renewed determination. "Now that's a challenge."
Winston quickly arranged the cones across the width of the field. The two spent the morning running through ball-control drills Winston had learned from Dumi. First came close touches. Then, first-touch control. Finally, dribbling through tight cone patterns.
Again—and again—and again.
By the time the morning bell rang, signaling everyone to report to their respective domes, both of them were drenched in sweat. After exchanging a quick fist bump, they headed off toward their separate training domes.
Walking into the attacking dome, Winston took a long drink from his water bottle. As he lowered it, he scanned the training ground. His eyes soon found Oswin, who was chatting with a small group of youth players. Winston walked over and stood beside him. The group wore hopeful expressions as they waited for Oswin's answer. Noticing Winston's arrival, Oswin casually draped an arm over his shoulders.
"I'll give you my answer later," he said to the group. "Right now, I need to talk to Wis."
The players nodded understandingly before walking away. After finishing another gulp of water, Winston turned to Oswin. "What was that about?"
Oswin grinned. "They want us to help them when they receive one-on-one challenges."
He folded his arms. "What do you think? Personally, I think it's a great opportunity. If we keep helping other players, we'll naturally earn more ranking points and climb through Group C much faster."
Winston's eyes lit up. "That's actually a brilliant idea."
He nodded in agreement. "It saves me from having to go around asking people if I can join their matches."
A smile spread across his face. "Thanks, Oswin."
Oswin chuckled. "What are friends for?"
Before either of them could continue, the atmosphere inside the dome suddenly changed. The bald instructor strode onto the field with his usual stern expression. Behind him, a long line of men marched in formation, each carrying equipment toward the center of the training ground. Conversations throughout the dome immediately died down as every player's attention shifted to the arriving group.
Scattered across the football field were several large, oddly shaped objects concealed beneath silk sheets. The line of men marched toward them and stopped, each taking position beside one of the covered structures. The bald, short instructor stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back as he faced the youth players.
His gaze swept across the group before settling on Winston. "I enjoyed your match yesterday, Winston."
He gave a slight nod. "Well done. I expect to see even more from you."
Without missing a beat, his eyes shifted toward Diego. His expression hardened.
"Diego. I'm disappointed; your pace was lacking, and your attacking play was ordinary. Yesterday, you played like an amateur. Work on your speed—work on your technique."
Silence filled the dome. While the instructor continued speaking, Winston casually glanced to his left. On the far side of the formation stood Diego. Beside him were Sebastian, Lucas, and Diago.
Winston nudged Oswin with his elbow. "Look over there."
Oswin leaned slightly to get a better view. His eyebrows rose. "Since when did those guys start hanging around together?" His expression gradually became more serious. "I hope they aren't planning something to get back at you."
He glanced at Winston. "Actually... judging by the way they're standing together, I'd say they're definitely planning something."
"Hopefully it isn't a one-on-one challenge." Winston folded his arms. A faint smile appeared on his face. "I'd bet they're planning to challenge us."
He shrugged. "The only question is... when?"
Oswin chuckled. "Good thing you're on our side." He grinned. "After what you showed yesterday, they'll need plenty of time to figure out how to stop you." The two turned their attention back to the instructor. At that exact moment, Diego looked across the field. His eyes locked onto Winston's. The hostility in his glare made his intentions unmistakably clear.
The bald, short instructor raised his hand. As if they had rehearsed it countless times, the men standing beside the oddly shaped objects grabbed the silk sheets.
Whoosh!
With one swift pull, the covers were whisked away. Beneath them stood rows of hanger racks neatly lined with colored training bibs. The youth players exchanged puzzled glances.
A few frowned—Others blinked in confusion. It wasn't the training equipment that surprised them—it was the unnecessary dramatic reveal. The bald instructor smirked at their reactions. "Glad to see I've got everyone's attention."
He clasped his hands behind his back and slowly paced in front of the group. "Today's training is all about body control." He paused before continuing. "Yesterday's one-on-one match was entertaining to watch."
His eyes swept across the players. "But some of you..." He shook his head. "...your body control was terrible."
Several youths instinctively lowered their heads. The instructor pointed toward the rows of bibs. "Each of you, grab a training bib from any rack and put it on."
He blew a sharp whistle. "Once everyone's ready..." A grin slowly spread across his face. "...we'll begin today's training."
Winston and the rest of the attacking dome players lined up to receive their training bibs. The men standing beside the hanger racks helped each player fasten the heavy vests. The first youth to finish putting one on immediately dropped to his knees with a groan. One after another, the remaining players suffered the same fate as they finished strapping on their bibs.
The training bibs weren't ordinary practice vests. Each one had been custom-made by the bald, short instructor and weighed roughly 10 kilograms. Inspired by medieval chainmail armor—a subject he was fascinated by because of his love for military history—he had adapted the concept into football training, believing that mastering movement under extra weight would improve a player's balance, strength, and body control.
Chuckling to himself, the bald instructor watched the youths struggle to remain standing. Only Winston and Sebastian seemed unaffected, moving around as though the added weight barely existed. Glancing beside him, Winston saw Oswin struggling to get to his feet.
He reached out a hand. Oswin grabbed it, and Winston pulled him upright. "Wis..." Oswin gasped between breaths. "How... are... you... not... on... your... knees... wearing... this... thing?"
Winston laughed. "This is nothing compared to Boris's training." He lifted one foot, revealing the ankle weights still strapped around his ankles.
"You should've seen my first day wearing these." Oswin stared at the weights.
"I've actually been meaning to ask..." He pointed at Winston's ankles. "When are you finally taking those things off?"
Winston looked down before smiling. "After today's training." He shrugged. "I don't think I need them anymore."
Oswin gave him a thumbs-up while still trying to steady his breathing. Just then, the bald instructor strode to the center of the field.
Clap!
He brought his hands together. The stadium floodlights instantly illuminated the dome. At the same time, several pieces of training equipment were rolled and arranged across one half of the football field, causing every player's attention to shift toward what awaited them next.