Chapter 806: The Fear!

Despite winning the match, the locker room was strangely quiet.

Usually, such a victory would have transformed the room into a madhouse. The victorious screams of the players would echo off the walls, music would blare from portable speakers, water bottles would fly through the air. Some would be celebrating with their phones, capturing the moment for social media.

But none of that happened tonight.

Julian—despite being named the man of the match—sat there without uttering a word. His pupils appeared listless, his head lowered as he stared at the floor. He hadn’t even removed his boots, still clad in the dirt-stained gear of battle.

Just across from him sat Guiliano, the man who had had the most impact since his substitution. His expression was equally somber.

"Do you think he’ll be fine?" Guiliano asked timidly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know," Julian answered, his tone flat and lifeless.

It was the answer neither of them wanted to hear.

Uncertainty crept into their hearts, heavy and suffocating. Both of them fell silent, the weight of the question pressing down on them.

The victory felt hollow.

Just then, the door opened, and Diego entered. Some eyes turned toward him, but most remained fixed on the floor beneath them—unwilling, or unable, to meet his gaze.

He swept his glance across the room, feeling the somber atmosphere settle over him like a shroud. The mood stifled him, pressing against his chest. But he kept his composure, refusing to reveal the concern aching in his heart.

"Congratulations," Diego said, his tone deliberately cheerful—almost as if he were attempting to lift their spirits.

But the locker room refused to budge. The silence persisted, heavy and unbroken.

Diego sighed at the reaction.

"Come on, you’re allowed to feel happy."

Their eyes turned to him upon hearing those words.

"We won," Diego continued, his tone softening.

Once again, the players refused to respond.

"I know you’re all worried about him..." Diego’s voice grew quieter, more sincere. "I know. But if he were here himself, he would hate seeing this room looking like a funeral."

Hearing him, a few of the players felt something loosen inside them—a crack in the wall of grief.

It wasn’t enough for the room to return to its previous vigor. But some of the tension eased, the suffocating weight lifting just slightly.

Low chatter returned, faint but present.

Then one of the players turned on the television.

The post-match broadcast flickered onto the screen. The commentator’s voice filled the room, already dissecting the match.

"An extraordinary victory for Madrid tonight. However, the story of the match remains the injury to Hiro..."

The room instantly became still again—frozen, breathless.

Diego reached for the remote.

"Turn it off."

The television went black.

"Until we know what’s happening, that’s enough."

Nobody argued.

**** ****

Far away from the dressing room...

The MRI machine hummed its mechanical drone as Hiro lay motionless, his eyes closed. Though his body remained still, his mind was a storm—thoughts racing, crashing, colliding.

The result of the match continued to flash through his mind, a futile distraction. But beneath it, something darker churned.

Fear.

He had experienced a moment like this before—and the result had left him devastated. Even now, despite his reluctance, the same fear haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake.

Fortunately, life had given him a second chance. But right now, that second chance seemed to be heading in the same direction as the first—toward an abyss he had barely escaped.

His entire career had been tied to football. Tactics. Movement. Opponents. Training. Weaknesses. Strengths. It all revolved around numbers—measurable, quantifiable, predictable.

Everything could be measured.

Everything had an answer.

Yet now, faced with answers about himself, he couldn’t help but feel anxious. The very certainty he had built his life upon now felt fragile, unreliable.

The machine continued its work, and he felt the shift—the slow, methodical movement pulling him deeper into its core. For a split second, he opened his eyes and stared at the monster of a machine that was swallowing him whole.

Then he closed them again.

In this moment of stillness, his thoughts drifted to the system. It had been unresponsive for quite some time now—a silence that gnawed at his heart.

System?

No response.

He tried again, reaching out with his mind, hoping—desperately hoping—it would activate.

Still nothing.

The silence bothered him more than anything else. The one constant in his second chance had gone quiet. And in its absence, only fear remained.

Status.

Still nothing.

For the first time in years, the familiar interface did not appear.

He closed his eyes again.

Perhaps there was nothing it could do.

Perhaps there was nothing anyone could do.

The thought immediately irritated him—a sharp, bitter sting.

Had the situation reverted his abilities?

The absence of the system terrified him. But something terrified him even more: the thought of losing his abilities.

Without them, I am nothing.

He would just be another mediocre player on the pitch. He wouldn’t be the youngest Golden Ball winner anymore. He would just be... Hiro. Ordinary. Forgettable.

Before his second chance, he might have been content with that—a simple, unremarkable existence. But having tasted success once, having climbed to the very peak of the footballing world, he couldn’t bring himself to accept such an outcome.

No.

He refused to go down that road.

I will wait. I will hear the doctors. Then I will decide what comes next.

I won’t assume the worst and ruin my peace before I even know the truth.

Simple.

The machine stopped.

A technician appeared.

"We’re done."

Hiro nodded.

He was wheeled out—and just outside the room stood a doctor, holding a set of reports. The man stared at them with utmost focus, scanning their contents with surgical precision.

Though curiosity gnawed at him, Hiro remained silent, watching the doctor perform his duties. Their gazes met on multiple occasions—but the doctor’s composure revealed nothing, giving Hiro no insight into his emotions.

Then the doctor paused.

He turned to face him fully.

This time, for reasons he couldn’t explain, Hiro felt his heart racing.

"Doctor..." He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper.