Warmth spread through Merouane's muscles, a familiar ease he hadn't felt in years. Three months had passed since the accident. Three months of relentless physical therapy, of pushing his body, and of secretly harnessing the System. Now, his knee felt solid. Strong. Like it had never shattered, never threatened to end everything. Today was the day. He arrived at the dilapidated community pitch, a patchwork of worn grass and bare earth. Fences sagged. Goalposts rusted. A sparse crowd of hopefuls already stretched and juggled, their movements ranging from clumsy enthusiasm to flashes of genuine talent. No professional scouts, Merouane assumed. Just a local tryout for Al-Watan FC's reserve team – a struggling third-division club, as humble a start as he could imagine. Perfect. Low stakes. Minimal scrutiny. He could test the waters, gauge how much of his 'new' ability he could safely display. Merouane blended in, a ghost among the hopefuls. He wore an old, faded training kit. His boots, though well-maintained, were unremarkable. He watched, absorbed the rhythm, the chaotic energy of dozens of players vying for attention. Soon, a whistle shrieked. A stocky coach, his face weathered by years under the sun, barked instructions. They started with basic drills: passing, shooting, dribbling cones. Merouane held back, mirroring the average skill level. He passed with decent accuracy, shot with moderate power. He moved like a player who had potential, but hadn't yet honed it. Cautiously, Merouane activated a fraction of his copied skills. He chose a mid-tier player, someone technically sound but not a superstar. The ball glued to his foot. His turns became sharper, his passes crisper. He felt the familiar surge, the seamless integration of foreign ability into his own body. It was intoxicating, terrifying. Players around him noticed. A quick glance, a double-take. He caught an envious glare from a hulking defender he’d just nutmegged. Merouane kept his expression neutral, his focus unwavering. He was a machine, calculating every touch, every movement. Suddenly, a different presence. A stillness at the edge of the pitch, amidst the parents and curious onlookers. Merouane felt eyes on him, a prickle at the back of his neck. His gaze drifted. A man stood apart, tailored jacket, a notepad in his hand. Not a parent. Not a casual observer. His dark eyes, sharp and intelligent, were fixed solely on Merouane. Khalid Al-Hamad, the scout. Merouane knew the name from his research. A former player, now a talent spotter for Al-Watan FC. His presence here was unexpected. Al-Watan was struggling, but still a professional outfit. This wasn't a casual Sunday kick-around. Panic flared, cold and sharp. Had he shown too much? Had his movements betrayed him? The sheer precision, the uncanny power. It wasn't Merouane's old self. It was something else entirely. He tried to dial it back, to fumble a pass, to mistime a tackle. But the System had integrated too deeply. The skills felt natural, almost instinctual. He couldn't simply

Chapter 5: First Touch, New Destiny