Dylan woke up to sunlight streaming through his blinds and the familiar buzz of matchday energy. Cup fixture against Bramford United, a Premier Division side that had been coasting in mid-table mediocrity for three seasons running.
He rolled over and checked his phone. 9:47 AM. Perfect timing.
Then he remembered.
Build the Core. Form 3 meaningful player bonds within 30 days.
He groaned into his pillow. "Thirty days," he muttered. "I've got time."
The system flickered to life without being asked.
[Already making excuses? Day one of friendship bootcamp and you're hitting snooze?]
"It's called prioritizing. Match first, bonding second."
[Sure. That's worked out brilliantly for you so far.]
Dylan ignored it and headed for the shower.
***
The Leighton FC team bus pulled up to Bramford's stadium at 1:30 PM sharp. Dylan stepped off, breathing in the familiar cocktail of fresh-cut grass, anticipation, and overpriced stadium food.
Players filed toward the away entrance in their matching tracksuits, some bobbing to music through earbuds, others locked in focused silence. Dylan found himself walking beside Ryker, who gave him a small nod, not warm, but not the arctic freeze from their first meeting either.
"Ready for this?" Ryker asked, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd been captain for too long.
"Always am," Dylan replied, surprised by the casual tone.
"Good. We'll need everyone switched on today."
For a moment, Dylan thought he detected something almost like acceptance in Ryker's voice. Progress.
Inside the away dressing room, Manager Hayes gathered the team around a tactical board covered in magnetic players.
"Right, lads. Bramford's been leaky at the back, but their midfield presses high. We stay compact, hit them on the counter." His eyes scanned the room. "Taz, you're starting in the middle. Keep it simple, move the ball quick."
Taz nodded eagerly, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
Hayes continued, "Ryker, you're our anchor. Dylan..." He paused, consulting his clipboard. "You're on the bench. Be ready."
The words hit Dylan like a slap. After his derby performance, after proving himself, still the bench?
[Are you really surprised you're in your daily spot that you've been on for years?]
The system's mocking tone made his jaw clench, but he kept his expression neutral. Hayes was still talking, but Dylan's mind was elsewhere. Did Ryker have some kind of dirt on the coach? Was politics still keeping him out?
[Welcome back to reality, superstar.]
"Shut up," Dylan whispered under his breath.
***
The match kicked off with Bramford dominating possession, their experience showing as they moved the ball with clinical precision. Dylan watched from the touchline, tracking every pass, every movement.
Ryker was solid but slow, his touches heavy, his passes increasingly sideways. Age was catching up to the captain, and Dylan could see it in every labored sprint, every split-second delay in his decision-making.
How long do I have? Dylan thought. At 29, was he delusional to think he could claw his way back to the top? Or was this it, a brief flicker before the inevitable decline?
But the bigger problem was Taz.
The teenager was trying to do everything himself. Every pass had to be a killer ball, every touch had to be perfect. Dylan watched him lose possession twice in the first twenty minutes, his overconfidence making him sloppy.
"Relax, kid," Dylan muttered, but Taz couldn't hear him.
On the 34th minute, Taz received the ball in his own half, tried an ambitious through-ball that got intercepted, and Bramford scored on the counter.
1-0.
Taz's shoulders sagged. From the sideline, Dylan could see the kid's confidence cracking.
Eight minutes later, Taz lost the ball again trying to dribble through three players. This time, Bramford's striker made no mistake.
2-0.
Hayes was pacing the touchline, his face thunderous. At halftime, he stormed into the dressing room.
"What the hell was that?" His voice echoed off the walls. "Taz, you're playing like it's a bloody playground! This is a cup match!"
Taz stared at the floor, his hands shaking slightly. Dylan had seen that look before, in his own mirror, years ago.
"Dylan, you're on," Hayes barked. "Show them what experience looks like."
***
🧾Side Quest
Achieve a 7.5 natch rating
Reward: Hidden
The second half was Dylan's stage.
Within three minutes, he'd collected the ball on the left wing, cut inside past two defenders with a move that made the crowd gasp, and slotted it bottom corner.
2-1.
"And that's vintage Dylan Allen!" the commentator's voice boomed through the stadium speakers. "The flair that made him North Lunden's golden boy is still there, buried but not forgotten!"
The Leighton fans in the away end erupted. Dylan felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, the drug he'd been clean from for too long.
Fifteen minutes later, he did it again. A perfectly weighted cross from the full-back found his head, and suddenly it was 2-2.
"Allen's turned this match on its head! The comeback kid is living up to his billing!"
Dylan could feel the momentum shifting, the crowd believing again. This was why he played, for moments like this.
Then came the 88th minute.
Dylan picked up the ball thirty yards out, weaved past three defenders like they were training cones, and burst into the box. As he shaped to shoot, the defender lunged desperately and caught his ankle.
Penalty.
The stadium erupted. Dylan picked himself up, grabbed the ball, and walked toward the spot.
"Oi!" Marcus Webb, their usual penalty taker, jogged over. "That's mine, mate."
"Not today," Dylan said, clutching the ball tighter.
"Dylan, give him the ball." Ryker's voice was cold, authoritative.
"I won this. I'm taking it."
"You're not the designated taker."
"I don't care about designations. I want my hat-trick."
The argument continued for nearly a minute, teammates trying to mediate while the crowd grew restless. Finally, Dylan waved them all off and placed the ball on the spot.
He stepped back, took a breath, and ran up.
The ball crashed off the crossbar with a sickening thud.
Before Dylan could process what happened, Bramford had launched a counter-attack. He sprinted back desperately, but his legs felt like lead. Ryker managed to clear the ball just as their striker was about to tap in.
The final minutes were torture. Dylan was exhausted, his early energy completely drained. In the 94th minute, desperate and furious, he deliberately handled the ball to stop a Bramford attack.
Free kick. Yellow card.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ryker shouted, getting in his face.
"Trying to win!" Dylan snapped back.
"You're trying to lose us the bloody match!"
In the 96th minute, as Bramford pressed for a winner, Dylan made his final mistake. Chasing a loose ball, he slid in studs-up and caught their midfielder from behind.
Straight red card. Penalty.
The stadium fell silent except for the away fans' horrified groans.
Bramford scored. 3-2. Leighton FC were out of the cup.
🧾Match Rating: 6.0
Quest failed
***
The locker room was a morgue. Players sat in stunned silence, some still in disbelief. Dylan sat alone in the corner, his head in his hands.
"You absolute muppet," Ryker's voice cut through the quiet. "You turned a comeback into a disaster."
Dylan looked up, eyes blazing. "I turned a 2-0 defeat into a fight! Where were you when we needed goals?"
"Where was I? Cleaning up your mess! I'm the one who saved us from 3-1!"
"After doing nothing for 45 minutes!"
"At least I didn't throw away our cup run for a bloody hat-trick!"
They were on their feet now, teammates stepping between them.
"I gave this team hope!" Dylan shouted. "I brought them back from the dead!"
"And then you killed them again!"
The argument was broken up, but the damage was done. Dylan could see it in every face, disappointment, anger, frustration.
He'd gone from hero to villain in ten minutes.
***
At home, Dylan scrolled through social media despite himself. The fight had been caught on camera somehow, and the footage was everywhere.
@FootyFanatic: Dylan Allen having a proper meltdown. Some things never change.
@LFC_Till_I_Die: At least he tried to win it. Ryker was invisible until the 80th minute.
@TheSportsTake: Allen's penalty miss cost Leighton the cup run. Individual brilliance means nothing without team discipline.
@DylanIsMyGoat: @TheSportsTake As if they would've gone anywhere
The comments were split, but Dylan found himself oddly unbothered by the criticism. Let them talk. He'd heard worse.
But something nagged at him. The locker room fight, it had been just the team. No media, no cameras allowed. And it looks like someone deliberately filmed it from the team. So who had filmed it? And how had it gotten out so quickly?
[Having trust issues?]
The system materialized with what Dylan swore was a smug tone.
"Someone caught and leaked that footage," Dylan said. "Someone who was in that room."
[Took you long enough to figure it out. Congratulations, you've discovered basic math.]
"This isn't a joke."
[Oh, but it is. You've got a mole in your nest, and you're too busy playing hero to notice.]
A new quest notification appeared:
***
🧾 Side Quest: "Find the Leak"
Objective: Identify who recorded and leaked the locker room footage
Time Limit: 7 days
Penalty for failure: Ongoing team tension will compound, affecting performance and relationships
***
[Good luck with that. And Dylan? Next time maybe don't grab the ball like a greedy child.]
The system flickered out, leaving Dylan alone with his thoughts and the sinking realization that his problems had just gotten much more complicated.