Reincarnated As A Wonderkid Chapter 1: [Rebirth]

Griffin Park Stadium – England

89:42 minutes

Score: Brentshire Rovers 1 - 1 Southport United

Danein Blake ran like the world was crumbling behind him.

His boots dug deep into the churned-up turf, flinging clumps of wet earth in his wake. Rain misted down in fine sheets, glinting under the floodlights like falling dust. His lungs burned. His thighs scread. But none of that mattered now.

Because the ball was rolling free, just ahead.

And this—this—was the mont.

"Blake receives it from Gibbs… oh, is he going to—?! This could be the winner!!"

The voice crackled from the local radio booth, barely audible over the roar of the small but feverish crowd. Every seat in the old ground seed to lean forward. The Brentshire faithful—hard n, long mories—held their breath.

Danein didn't hear the noise.

He heard the silence beneath it.

The silence of could've-beens. Of twenty thousand small regrets folded into a single run. He wasn't thinking about his stats. Or his contract. Or how the scouts had stopped calling two years ago. No, Danein Blake was chasing sothing deeper—one last crack at aning.

One last sprint before the lights went out.

His vision narrowed. Defender closing in on his right. Teammate shouting on the left—"Pass it, Blake!"—but his ears filtered it out. This goal wasn't for anyone else. It was his.

Just a step. A touch. One feint to send the defender the wrong way—

And then: BOOM!!.

A knee, brutal, cracked into his ribs. His boots left the ground. The cold air punched into his lungs as his body twisted sideways in the air like a puppet with its strings slashed.

"Agh—!"

All he saw was grey sky. The blur of a black boot. Then the grass ca up fast.

CRACK!.

His head bounced off the turf. Then everything stopped.

No pain. No noise.

The referee waved play on. The crowd erupted in disbelief.

"What?! That's a foul!"

"He's not moving! Soone get the dic!!"

But Danein Blake didn't hear them.

Only the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat remained—slow, fading. His breath was gone.

Then ca the whisper.

Not a voice he knew. Not the coach, not the physio, not the shouting crowd. It was sothing else. Cold.

[Checkpoint loaded…]

[Player Insight system standing by…]

[Last mont recorded complete.]

What is this?

His thoughts ca in flashes. Faint. Is… that my voice? I can't move… can't see…

His life wasn't flashing before his eyes. Just one mont. One goal he never got to score.

Then a new sound—a whistle.

But it wasn't the sharp end-of-match kind. No—the tone was lighter. Cleaner. Like sothing starting.

[Sync successful…]

[System activated…]

[Current user: Leon Fischer | Age: 10]

[Location: Athlion Academy – North Training Ground]

Suddenly—

Light.

Sunlight, not floodlights. A bright sky stretched overhead, white clouds sared across an endless blue. The sll of mud was still there, but it was dry. Fresh. The wind was warr, teasing the edge of a sumr breeze.

And his body—he sat up without pain. No ache. No weight on his chest. His hands were small. His legs thin.

He blinked. Looked down.

Boots far too clean. A jersey far too new.

Then, the na.

FISCHER

Printed bold across the back.

"What the hell...?"

His voice cracked.

Not his voice.

Higher. Lighter. A kid's voice.

Then ca the shout.

"Leon! What are you waiting for? Get back in! Ti waits for no one!"

The coach's voice was clipped, exasperated, with the gravel of a man used to yelling over storm winds and teenage egos. But the command jolted him into motion. He stumbled to his feet, instinctively.

Leon?

Who was that?

Before he could process it, sothing else caught his eye—floating, digital numbers shimring above the heads of players across the pitch.

Isaac Doyle – Lv. 41 | Potential: 89

Rafael Costa – Lv. 39 | Potential: 94

Coach Holloway – Lv. 62 | Potential: ??

The world didn't feel real. It felt like a ga.

But it was real. He could feel the breeze. Hear the ball being pinged around. The thud of a crossbar. The shrill laughter of a kid who just nutgged soone. He turned to the side, toward a tall tal equipnt locker with a scratched-up mirror.

And saw himself.

A boy.

Yellow eyes. White hair, wild. Freckles.

He raised his hand. The boy in the mirror did too.

[Level: 37 | Potential: 92]

[Welco back…]

[This ti, you won't be forgotten.]