Chapter 566: Still Behind

Chapter 566: Still Behind

The upgrades—the full fifty—were in place.

Not spread carelessly.

Not dumped into spectacle.

Every point had a purpose.

He sat back and looked at it all.

There was no weak side anymore.

No area where a coach could point and say:

“Here. Here’s where we can press him.”

Those gaps were gone.

He’d closed them.

He glanced at the point tracker, where it showed 0.

With a satisfied expression, Izan went back to his personal hub.

PLAYER INFO

■■■■■■■■■

NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ]

AGE: [17]

HEIGHT: [1.87m (6’1″)]

PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER]

STATUS: [SENIOR TEAM PLAYER]

TEAM: ARSENAL FC / SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM

SYSTEM EVALUATION: [THE BEST IN THE WORLD/ CURRENT GEN]

PLAYER RATING: [93/100]

POSITION: [Wing forward / Attacking midfielder]

POTENTIAL: [96]

LEGEND POINTS: [ 320,800/507,000 to Lv.5]

SIMULATION POINTS: [370]

STAT POINTS: [50]

⸻

ATTRIBUTES

■■■■■■■■■

Speed: 94>98

Body Control: 90>94

Spatial Awareness: 90>95

Technique: 94

Shooting: 94

Passing: 90>94

Body Strength: 90

Defending: 70

Weak Foot Strength: ★★★★★(5)

Skill Moves: ★★★★★(5)

⸻

SKILLS POSSESSED

■■■■■■■■■■■■

Stepovers: [Lv 3] 50% Completion

La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion

Cruyff Turn: [Lv 3] 17% Completion

Roulette: [Lv 2] 64% Completion

Rabona: [Lv 1] 99% Completion

Sombrero: [Lv 2] 10% Completion

TRAITS

■■■■■■

trickster: Equipped (offline)

Incisive Pass: Equipped(online)

rocket: Equipped (offline)

Pinpoint accuracy: Equipped (online)

speedster: Equipped (online)

Knuckeball: Equipped(offline)

Phantom Step: Equipped(offline)

He sat back, the glow from the display still lingering across his skin, albeit only he could see it.

The numbers had settled, and the upgrades locked in.

Then the system pulsed once.

A faint flicker blinked in the top corner of the interface.

> Recalibrating overall rating…

> Processing evaluation benchmarks…

> Comparing data across active professional database…

Izan didn’t move.

He knew what was coming.

He’d felt the shift with every stat point he’d placed.

But hearing it—knowing it—would still land differently.

The screen shimmered once more.

> PLAYER RATING: [93/100]

Then, just beneath it, the core line updated.

> SYSTEM EVALUATION: [THE BEST IN THE WORLD / CURRENT GEN]

For a moment, he just stared.

Not out of shock, but confirmation.

He’d gotten the 3 years ago, having a low rating and no potential.

Gradually, with hard work, he began catching eyes, and then that turned to potential, but potential wasn’t proof.

Now the system had said it aloud.

The best.

Not the fastest.

Not the most hyped.

Not even the most decorated.

Just… the best.

But then came another line—colder and grounding.

> Caution: Current evaluation does not reflect career legacy.

> Comparison to GOAT-tier players not permitted.

> Icons such as [2 active] and [4 retired] remain above in all-time rankings due to career accolades, consistency, and historical impact.

Izan narrowed his eyes slightly.

He knew who the system meant.

The two still playing.

The ones still defining the standard.

And the ones who had already etched their names into eternity.

The system didn’t disrespect him.

It simply contextualized him.

> However, at age 17, your total footballing ability exceeds where all the above legends were at this stage in their respective careers, on par with the late Brazilian alien.

And there it was.

Not flattery.

Just fact.

The system didn’t care about narrative or nostalgia.

It only dealt with performance, growth, in output.

He wasn’t there yet.

Not historically.

Not by medals or numbers across decades.

But in terms of pure skill, control, threat?

He had outpaced every single one of them at this point in time.

And that mattered.

More than applause.

More than tweets.

More than press conferences or Ballon d’Or shortlist debates.

Because it meant he wasn’t chasing them anymore.

He was already on a different path.

One built to surpass and dominate.

He was still thinking about his stats when he heard the faint rustle.

Bedsheets shifting.

Feet on floorboards.

Light breaths through a yawn.

She was behind him.

He didn’t turn.

Not yet.

He waited as Olivia crept closer, bare feet silent on wood, her steps soft but not invisible.

He could sense her more than hear her now, like a shadow in his peripheral.

She moved behind the couch and slowly reached forward to cover his eyes—

“You’re up early,” he said calmly before her hands even touched his face.

She froze, fingers hovering just inches away.

“What?”

Izan tilted his head back just enough to look up at her.

“The sheets gave you away.”

A smirk tugged at her lips.

“So, what, you’ve got superhero hearing now?”

“No,” he said, catching her wrist gently.

“Just enough awareness to avoid getting tackled by Premier League defenders.”

Before she could reply, he gave her arm a light pull and brought her over the top of the couch.

She landed beside him with a surprised laugh, half-twisting as she settled into the cushions.

“And yet, you were the one who dragged me to bed after training,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“And you forgot to feed us.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, then leaned in and kissed her forehead—slow, deliberate.

“Can’t argue with that.”

She settled against him for a moment, head resting just beneath his chin.

Then he stood, stretching briefly before grabbing his phone from the table.

“Come on,” he said.

“Let’s order something. We haven’t eaten since—what? Breakfast?”

“More like half a banana and a donut.”

“Even worse.”

She pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and threw it across her legs.

“You’re paying.”

“I always do,” he replied.

“Still feels nice hearing it.”

As she reached for the remote, Izan’s mind flicked briefly toward his system.

Hidden from the world and known only to him, well, as far as the words of the system counted.

And as far as everyone else would ever know, that’s all it would ever be.

…….

[The Next Morning]

The low hum of tires rolling over the pavement stirred Olivia from sleep.

A car door closed below the window with that muted, expensive thud.

She groaned, rolling onto her side, fingers stretching across the bed.

Cold sheets.

She blinked twice and sat up slowly.

Izan wasn’t there.

Her eyes flicked to the clock—6:42 a.m.

“Of course,” she muttered, voice still half-wrapped in sleep.

Morning run.

She yawned as she pushed the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

The apartment was still heavy with early light, soft grey shadows stretching across boxes that hadn’t been touched since yesterday.

She was tying her hair back when the front door clicked open.

By the time she stepped out into the hallway, Izan was already pulling off his trainers, socks damp from the pavement.

He looked up, sweat darkening the edge of his collar, skin still glowing with residual effort.

“Good Morning, babe,” he said with a warm smile.

“They’re here,” he added, nodding toward the balcony.

“Movers just pulled up.”

“I figured,” Olivia replied, brushing a hand through her hair.

“They woke me up. Engine noise. Sounded like a truck full of IKEA and broken promises.”

Izan grinned faintly and straightened up.

“I’ll shower. You wanna handle the door?”

She made a vague gesture that could’ve meant yes or whatever and padded toward the kitchen.

As he turned toward the bathroom, her voice trailed after him—

“Don’t forget your fancy soaps. Wouldn’t want you smelling like effort.”

Ten minutes later, the water was steaming against tiled walls.

Izan stood under the stream, letting it hit the back of his neck, the familiar burn relaxing the morning tension.

He could already hear movement outside—dull footsteps, the quiet groan of furniture being lifted.

Then the door creaked open.

He turned his head slightly.

Olivia entered, toothbrush in her mouth, one hand on the sink counter, her voice muffled but clear enough.

“So…” she said, pausing to spit into the sink, “…are you driving the Gemera over yourself?”

He tilted his head under the water, eyes still half-closed. “Probably.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“No escort? No trailer? You sure you don’t wanna call Koenigsegg London and have them bow and escort it like it’s royalty?”

Izan chuckled.

“They’d probably offer.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m asking.”

He wiped water from his face and looked at her reflection in the foggy mirror.

She was still brushing, still half-asleep, but already giving him that familiar look—the one that was half-teasing, half-this is a logistics problem you’re pretending isn’t a logistics problem.

He reached for the shampoo.

“I’ll drive it. It’s just a car.”

“Mm. Sure. A 2.5 million euro ‘just a car.'”

He didn’t argue and she didn’t expect him to.

She rinsed out her mouth, leaned against the doorframe, and waited for his answer.

But Izan had already made the call.

He was driving it.

Himself.

Of course, he was.

“Seems you have already made up your mind,” Olivia said as she walked out.

Izan finally turned off the shower and grabbed his towel before proceeding out to what the day would offer.

A/N: At this point, I’m just releasing. I’m tired, but it was all my fault, so I’ll quickly get this done with. See you in a bit.

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