A raw energy vibrated through the dressing room. Air hung thick with liniment and nervous sweat. Cleats scraped across the tiled floor, a restless rhythm against the muted roar already seeping through the walls of Estádio da Luz. Destiny sat hunched on the bench, picking at a loose thread on his jersey. Butterflies fluttered in his gut, a frantic flock. Not just the usual pre-match jitters, but something heavier, a cold dread he couldn't shake. Benfica. The name itself was a growl. Their fiercest rivals. Today wasn't just another game; it was the derby. Every youth player dreamed of this, of showing their worth in the crucible of this ancient rivalry. Whispers travelled between the older boys. "Heard their midfield's stacked." "Rafael's playing today. That brute." Destiny listened, his palms damp. Rafael. A name synonymous with power, a rising star in Benfica's academy. Coach Silva strode in, his face a mask of grim determination. His usual jovial demeanor was gone, replaced by the hardened stare of a general before battle. Silence fell, sharp and immediate. "Listen up," Silva's voice cut through the tension, low and gravelly. "Today is more than three points. Today, you play for the badge. You play for every fan, every former player, every legend who wore this jersey." His eyes swept across the room, lingering on each player, a silent challenge. Destiny met his gaze, a knot tightening in his chest. He had played well in training, yes, but this? This felt different. Bigger. "Our formation is 4-3-3," Silva continued, pulling a magnet onto the tactics board. "In goal, Ricardo. Defense: João, André, Miguel, Pedro. Midfield: Tiago, Bruno…" Destiny held his breath. He knew his chances were slim. He was still the new kid, the one from Ghana, the raw talent. He was supposed to ease in, to prove himself in smaller matches. Silva paused. His gaze found Destiny again. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "And in attacking midfield… Kennedy." Time seemed to warp. A collective gasp rippled through the room. Destiny's jaw went slack. He stared at Silva, then at his teammates, a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline slamming into him. My name. He'd said my name. For the starting eleven. For the derby. Bruno, sitting next to him, clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Kennedy! You madman!" Tiago, usually stoic, offered a rare, genuine smile. "Show them what you've got, little brother." Joy, pure and unfiltered, surged through Destiny. A dream realized, sooner than he ever dared hope. But beneath it, a cold tendril of fear snaked its way in. The System. The overload. The crushing headaches, the disorientation. Could he handle it? Under this pressure, in this stadium? He'd pushed too hard before, felt the world distort. What if it happened again, on this stage, in front of thousands? Silva's voice brought him back. "Kennedy, your role is simple. Drive forward. Create. Don't be afraid to take risks. But remember this: you are a part of a team. Trust your teammates." He nodded, still reeling. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. This was his chance. His biggest test yet. --- Moments later, the tunnel. A suffocating blend of anticipation and fear. The air grew colder, heavy with the scent of damp earth and distant, roaring crowds. Destiny stood with his team, shoulder to shoulder, the collective energy a tangible force. Light bled from the end of the tunnel, a blinding rectangle. The sound amplified, a monstrous wave crashing down. His ears buzzed. His chest tightened. "Let's go!" João roared, his voice barely audible over the din. They surged forward. Suddenly, the world exploded. A kaleidoscope of red and white. A deafening roar that swallowed every thought, every fear, every coherent sound. It was a physical blow, a wall of noise and energy that slammed into Destiny. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Faces blurring into a sea of passionate fury. The red of Sporting, the green and white of Benfica, a swirling vortex of rivalry. Flares ignited somewhere, adding a acrid bite to the air. Destiny stumbled, momentarily disoriented. His vision swam. He gripped the collar of his jersey, trying to steady himself. This was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. The village games, the dusty pitches of Ghana – they were a million miles away. His breath hitched. The System. Was it a tremor, a slight throb behind his eyes? Or just the sheer, overwhelming sensation of the stadium, distorting his perception? He couldn't tell. He couldn't risk another overload, not now. He forced himself to breathe, deep, ragged gasps. Look up. See the pitch. Focus. The grass, impossibly green under the floodlights, stretched out like a sacred carpet. Across the halfway line, the Benfica players already moved through their warm-up drills. They looked bigger, faster, somehow more menacing under the lights. Their red jerseys seemed to glow with an aggressive aura. Destiny watched them. Their star striker, a blur of speed and power. Their defenders, solid and unyielding. And then, his gaze landed on Rafael. The Benfica midfielder was a mountain of muscle, broad-shouldered, with a scowl etched deep into his features. He moved with a brutal elegance, his passes crisp, his tackles imaginary but ferocious. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to pierce through the crowd, through the distance, straight into Destiny. A shiver ran down Destiny's spine. Rafael’s presence was intimidating, a predator scanning his territory. This wasn't just a game; it was a battle for dominance, for pride. Doubts, cold and sharp, began to prick at Destiny's resolve. He was just a kid, plucked from obscurity. Could he truly stand against this? Against players who lived and breathed this intensity, whose entire lives had been groomed for moments like these? His mind flashed back to the System's power, the incredible boosts, the impossible skills. But also, the price. The dizzying sensations, the near-blackouts. He felt a phantom ache behind his eyes, a premonition of what might happen if he pushed too far. This wasn't a training session where he could experiment, could risk a minor overload. This was live, broadcast, critical. One mistake, one misstep, and he could cost his team everything. And worse, he could falter, expose the System, or just simply, embarrass himself. He remembered his core wound, the burning desire to prove himself, to show the world that a kid from nothing could achieve everything. This was his stage. This was his moment. But the fear of failure, the fear of the System betraying him, was a heavy chain around his ankles. "Kennedy! To me!" Tiago called, passing him a ball. Destiny forced a smile, shaking off the dark thoughts. He trapped the ball, his touch surprisingly soft, controlled. He could do this. He had to. Warm-ups finished. The teams gathered in the center circle. The referee blew a sharp, insistent whistle, signaling the coin toss. Captains met, hands shook, tension crackled. Players dispersed, taking their positions. Destiny jogged to his spot in attacking midfield, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The noise of the crowd, if anything, had grown louder, a primal scream demanding action. He looked up at the stands one last time, the faces now a blur of anticipation. He felt small, insignificant, yet a fierce determination ignited within him. He wouldn't let them down. He wouldn't let himself down. Another whistle. Shrill. Piercing. The kickoff. Destiny braced himself, his muscles tensing, his eyes fixed on the ball. Almost immediately, Rafael closed the distance, his hulking frame casting a shadow over Destiny. His eyes, dark and predatory, locked onto Destiny's. "New kid," Rafael sneered, his voice a low growl barely audible above the stadium's roar. "You're about to learn what real football feels like."

Trial by Fire: The Derby