Become A Football Legend-Chapter 238: Preparation (2) by Quads1

"Well I guess you have to. If you can hear me, right?"

[BZZT*]

TT did not respond as the system screen just flickered on in front of Lukas showing his training for the day.

[10 sets of 5,000 stairs per set in the Hyperbaric Chamber]

"Oh you’ve got to be kidding me! How is that even possible to do. I’m gonna die!!"

[*You’ll be fine.*]

"Haaaa.." Lukas sighed as he dropped down to sit on the floor with the status window following his line of sight and dropping down with him. "But isn’t this to train the Stamina stat? That has already hit the stat limit, no? Open my player profile."

[ PROFILE – LUKAS BRANDT – FOOTBALLER

DATE OF BIRTH: 30/12/2008 (16)

HEIGHT: 179 cm

WEIGHT: 63 kg

CAREER STATUS: EINTRACHT FRANKFURT FIRST TEAM

POSITION: ATTACKING MIDFIELDER

CURRENT LIMIT: 85

RATING: 84

PLAYER STATS

ATTACK:

Off. Awareness: 85 (↑1)

Ball Control: 85

Dribbling: 85

Tight Possession: 84

Low Pass: 85

Lofted Pass: 84 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Finishing: 85

Header: 82

Set-Piece: 85

Curl: 85 (↑1)

DEFENCE:

Def. Awareness: 76

Tackling: 74

Aggression: 71

Def. Engagement: 70

STRENGTH:

Speed: 85

Acceleration: 85

Kicking Power: 85 (↑1)

Jump: 84 (↑1)

Physical Contact: 84 (↑1)

Balance: 85

Stamina: 85 ]

"Yeah, I was right," he said as he found the Stamina stat. " My stamina is already at its current limit."

[*Your stamina stat will drop if you don’t complete this training today.*]

"Come on! That makes no sense. I’ve been playing a game once every 3 days or so for the past couple months, my stamina shouldn’t be falling."

[*None of your stats should be this high at this age. You think the rest of your teammates have the same stamina you do? But they all also play the same number of games as you do. If you want to be better than the rest, you have to work more than the rest.*]

"Pffft... Was that... supposed to be a motivational quote?"

[Training Starts in 10... 9... 8...]

"Oh come on, don’t be petty like that," Lukas said with a smile as he jumped off the floor and hurried to a glass door with a label ’HC’ at the top.

*Click*

The door sealed shot behind him as he entered and a fog-lije substance filled the air and gradually cleared away to reveal his equipment for the day — a stairmaster.

"Off we go, I guess," he thought as he climbed on and turned on the machine.

* * *

"Fuuuu...cking hell! I can’t move my legs, my lungs are burning. Why do I have to suffer like this?"

Lukas was barely able to get the words out of his mouth as he crawled back out of the door about 5 hours after he initially went in and collapsed right outside as his chest heaved up and down as he took deep breaths.

[*Don’t be overdramatic, it wasn’t that difficult.*]

"I don’t have the strength to go back and forth with you right now. It felt like the oxygen was non-existent."

[*That’s how it’s supposed to feel. Repeat this regularly and you’ll be running 90 minutes on the pitch like you’re on PEDs.*]

"I probably will be suspected for using one day. Because you are basically a cheat code. A horrible one, but one nonetheless."

[*Well thanks for the compliment. So how are you feeling about the game on Thursday?*]

Lukas dragged an arm under his chest and rolled onto his back, staring at nothing, sweat cooling too fast against his skin.

"...Thursday?" he echoed, voice still rough. "Honestly?"

He swallowed, chest rising and falling as the burn in his lungs slowly dulled.

"I know what I should feel. Excited. Locked in. Confident." A pause. "But yeah... there’s a bit of noise in my head."

[*Noise?*]

"Manchester," he said. "Old Trafford. Their fans are everywhere. Every clip, every quote, every post... it’s like they’re already playing the match online." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "They’re acting like it’s already over. Like I’m walking into a wall."

[*And?*]

"And part of me knows that’s stupid," Lukas continued. "I’ve been in hostile stadiums before. Bilbao. Mainz. Even Bayern away." He turned his head slightly, jaw tightening. "But this one’s different. Two goals down. Semifinal. Everyone watching. If we don’t score early, the game can run away from us."

There it was. The doubt. Small, controlled, but real.

[*Good,*] TT replied calmly. [*That means you understand the stakes. Fear doesn’t weaken you. Letting it dictate your decisions does.*]

Lukas closed his eyes.

[*Let’s talk facts,*] TT continued. [*You’ve scored or assisted multiple goals in single matches this season. You’ve overturned deficits bigger than this. Two goals is not a miracle requirement for you. It’s a normal output.*]

"...When you put it like that, it sounds stupid to even worry," Lukas muttered.

[*Exactly. This match is not about Old Trafford. It’s not about history. It’s not about the noise. It’s about repeating actions you’ve already executed dozens of times.*]

TT didn’t raise its tone. Didn’t dramatize it.

[*Press when you always press. Move when you always move. Shoot when the window opens. Do not try to be legendary, just be precise.*]

Lukas exhaled slowly through his nose.

"God," he said quietly. "You’re starting to sound like an actual coach."

[*That is an insult.*]

He cracked a tired smile despite himself. "No, I mean it. The whole calm, reassuring thing. Next you’ll be patting my back and telling me to trust the process."

There was a beat of silence.

*BZZT*

[New protocol loaded.]

The system screen appeared back in front of him.

"...What?" Lukas opened one eye.

[*Since you find emotional reinforcement unsettling,*] TT replied evenly, [*we will return to physical instruction. Get up.*]

Lukas groaned. "You have to be kidding me. I literally can’t feel my calves."

[*Excellent,*] TT said. [*Residual fatigue increases adaptation.*]

"You’re evil," Lukas muttered, trying to sit up and immediately regretting it.

[Stairmaster. 3 sets of 500 stairs each.]

He stared at the ceiling, then laughed breathlessly.

"Yeah," he said, forcing himself to roll onto his knees. "Definitely a cheat code."

[*Begin when ready,*] TT replied. [*Manchester will not wait.*]

* * *

The same night, in a room located on the 9th floor of a 14-storey building.

The room was quiet in a way that only power could afford.

Soft, amber light washed over dark wood panels and matte stone, never harsh, never fully dim. A thin ribbon of incense burned somewhere unseen, its scent clean and restrained, something between cedar and smoke, meant to calm rather than announce itself. The air was cool, carefully regulated, carrying the faint hum of a city alive beyond floor-to-ceiling glass.

An old man sat with his back to the room, executive chair turned away from the desk, facing the window. Below him, the city glimmered and pulsed, headlights flowing like veins of light, towers blinking patiently into the night. He did not move, not even when the door behind him clicked shut.

Across the desk stood a young woman, posture straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. Tablet tucked under her arm. She had learned long ago that this man did not like unnecessary motion.

Silence stretched. Not awkward. Intentional.

Finally, he spoke, voice calm, dry, measured.

"You said City increased their offer?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "80 million base. 10 in achievable add-ons."

A pause. One finger lifted, then settled again on the leather armrest.

"And Krösche and Hardung?" he asked. "How did they react?"

"They’re still holding publicly," she said. "But internally... Krösche is starting to waver. The number is forcing discussions."

A/N: Quads1, again, thanks so much for the Dragon man. I’ve been away for a couple days and I come back to a screamer from you again. I really appreciate. It really helps in making the effort put into this, worthwhile.