Proficiency Panel

Proficiency Panel

June 10, 2010.

Arsenal's Colney Training Base, U17 training pitch.

"Beep! Beep—!"

Two long blasts of the whistle rang out, signaling the end of the day's training.

Maël sat on the ground stretching his muscles when he suddenly noticed that the front sole of his boot was starting to come unglued again.

"It's probably done for."

A pang of distress hit him. He had only glued it back together the day before yesterday, and now that it had split again, it meant there really was no saving it.

Looking at the brand-new boots on the feet of the players his age around him, Maël felt a faint envy.

Was an unfortunate family the price he had paid for being able to chase his football dream? He did not know.

In truth, he was not called Maël, nor did he belong in 2010.

Li Muchen, the office drone who loved football deeply in 2024, was his original identity.

Who would have thought that the angry drinking binge he went on after the China National Football Team was thrashed 0–7 by Japan a few days ago would become his final act in that space-time?

When he woke again, he had arrived here.

"Maël, how long is your trial?"

A voice sounded beside him. It was Carl, the French defender on the team, and her tone was deeply dejected. "Mine's only six months. It's about to expire."

"Same."

Maël raised his brows regretfully, somewhat helpless. "If they don't renew us before July 1st, you and I can get ready to leave together."

"Sigh, the competition's too fierce."

Carl looked at the group of peers around them wearing Arsenal shirts and shook her head slightly. "If I go back, I don't even know which club would still want me."

Go back?

Maël very much wanted to say that if he went back, even his livelihood would become a problem. He might be forced to give up football immediately and find a job just to scrape by.

After all, he did not have his parents' support. The original owner of this body had been born into an unfortunate family in southern France. His ancestors had once been of Chinese descent, and later generations had settled there.

Sadly, his mother had died early from complications in childbirth, and his father had driven drunk and fallen off a bridge to his death when he was two.

His only relative, his uncle, had taken custody of him and raised him normally.

But his uncle and aunt already had three children to support, and on top of that, the original owner's expenses for playing football had grown day by day later on. Slowly, the family had become less supportive of him playing.

Fortunately, the original owner had still had some talent. Half a year ago, he had received a six-month trial invitation from Premier League giants Arsenal's youth team.

It could be said that this was absolutely his last shot! If he passed, Arsenal would give him a salary enough to guarantee his living expenses, allowing him to keep persevering on this path.

Otherwise, he would have to return to France and find a job to get by.

"I'm going to do some extra shooting practice."

Maël stood up, took a few footballs, and dragged his already unglued boots toward the pitch.

The final twenty-one days! If he still wanted to stay at Arsenal and play football, he had better seize every minute.

"Bang! Bang! Bang—!"

A series of shooting sounds rang out, followed immediately by the crisp sound of footballs hitting the net.

Maël galloped across the pitch alone, knocking the ball ahead, following it with his body, swinging his leg for a violent shot, collecting the ball, and repeating it over and over.

His position was winger. The only strength worth mentioning was decent fundamentals.

At 181 centimeters and 70 kilograms, his physical strength was average, his speed and explosiveness were average, and his shooting and passing could not be called outstanding either. Overall, he leaned toward mediocrity.

With conditions like that, in the talent-filled Gunners Youth Academy, he definitely did not have much competitiveness.

The possibility of remaining here after the trial ended was minuscule.

No matter how much extra training and hard work he did, it all seemed like wasted effort.

But Maël did not want to sit around and wait for death. He always wanted to try again, to fight one more time.

"Maël!"

After he had trained for a while, a shout came from the distance. "Come to my office."

Maël stopped, drenched in sweat, and turned his gaze over. He saw a tall, bald, middle-aged man standing in the distance, waving at him.

It was the Head Coach of Arsenal's U17 team, Hans.

Maël stopped training and walked toward the Head Coach's office.

A "flap, flap" sound came from beneath his feet. It was the sound of the boot coming unglued even more seriously, constantly flinging open and slapping back against the sole of his foot.

Maël hesitated for a moment. He still had just over two hundred euros on him, enough to buy a pair of boots.

But if he did not stay, he would have to ask his uncle and aunt for the plane ticket back to France again. Should he just glue it back together and make do for a few more days?

Thinking this, he pushed open the door and walked into the U17 Head Coach's office, where he saw Hans sitting at his desk with his shiny bald head.

"What size shoes do you wear?"

Hans's gaze dropped almost instantly to Maël's feet. "I've got a few pairs I don't use. I can lend you a pair for now."

It seemed he had noticed long ago.

"I..."

Maël's heart trembled. His first instinct was to refuse, but after glancing at the soles of his shoes, he pressed his lips together. "Around size 8.5."

"Perfect."

Hans raised his brows with a smile, turned around, and began rummaging through the shoe rack. "I saw your shoes had come unglued several times, then been stuck back together several times.

"So I thought I'd get you a pair of mine to use for now. At least they'll get you through the trial period.

"I only wore these shoes during coaching drills. I don't use them much normally, so they're still pretty clean. Hope you don't mind."

Maël felt both awkwardly embarrassed and grateful. "Of course I won't."

"Take them."

Hans quickly took out a bag containing the boots and said with a hearty smile, "Go try them on the pitch and see if they fit. I've got things to do."

"Thanks, boss."

Maël took the boots and thanked him, then turned and walked toward the pitch. He would definitely remember this kindness that had come just when he needed it most.

When he arrived in front of the goal area again, he put on the boots and resumed his extra shooting practice.

The boots fit perfectly, and there was a special warmth to playing in them.

Maël soon immersed himself in shooting practice, carefully feeling the feedback from every successful shot and the experience gained from every failed one.

Gradually, he seemed to enter a mysterious state. The world seemed to contain only the goal before him and the football at his feet.

He forgot his fatigue. He forgot the time. He simply practiced like a machine.

Maël desperately longed to stay on the football pitch. This was the sport he loved deeply, the sport he was willing to spend all his time and energy on.

Countless times, he had dreamed of waking up on a roaring pitch, standing among a crowd of famous football stars, basking in the cheers of the fans.

Countless times, he had also imagined the pure release after scoring a last-minute winner for his team, sliding on his knees in celebration.

Suddenly, several lines of deep-black text appeared before his eyes.

Skill: Long Shot lv1

Proficiency: (34/100)

Effect: You have slowly felt the thrill of shooting from distance and have begun practicing diligently. It is just that your basic strength and accuracy are still far from enough. You long for the moment of leveling up and improving.

Note: lv1 is the lowest, lv5 the highest! Any athletic ability or physical ability grinded to lv5 will reach the highest human standard!

Maël abruptly stopped moving and froze where he stood.

Fortunately, as a youth who had surfed the internet plenty in his previous life, he had seen his share of things. He quickly tested it out aloud. "System?"

No one responded, so he had no choice but to study it carefully himself.

It seemed that as long as he kept practicing a specialized skill, its proficiency would increase. Once the proficiency was full, it would definitely level up?

In other words, as long as he kept grinding, he could keep improving, and his hard work would not go to waste?

"Let's try."

He ran toward the goal area to collect the balls. This time, his steps were especially powerful, and a few flashes of youthful vigor burst across his face.

An eighteen-year-old new author writing a book for the first time. Hope everyone will support me.