The voice in Eden's head slowly fades as his eyes flutter open, staring at a clean ceiling."This light... it's warm. But... why isn't it cold? It's not like that drain. Not like the nights when I curled up, hugging my knees to keep from shivering.This pce... too comfortable for a dream. But if it is a dream, please... don't wake me up.How many times have I tried to survive, only to be spit on by the world?I stole leftover bread from the trash... then they beat me.I just wanted to survive. That's all...And now... what is this? Heaven?Or... the st trap before I truly disappear?"
FLASHBACKA young Eden—his body frail, his legs covered in wounds.He runs with all his might, clutching a piece of stale bread in his hand, pursued by an angry shopkeeper."Hey! You damn brat!"His breath is ragged, his steps limp.He sneaks into a narrow alley and colpses behind a trash can.His heart pounds, but his grip on the bread doesn't waver.He stares at it in silence, then divides it in half.He eats one piece slowly, letting a tear fall, almost like a ritual.He slips the other piece into his tattered jacket pocket.He curls up, hugging his knees, his body trembling as he tries to shake off the cold and fear."Tomorrow... I can live again. Tomorrow... one more day..."His days repeat—stealing more desperately, running faster, clutching his head each time he's beaten.Yet, strangely, a smile always appears on his face when he finds leftover food, even as his body is covered in bruises.Until one day, his life changed.It happened when Eden accidentally passed by the Brandford youth training field.Behind the rusty wire fence, a pair of small eyes peeked out, curiosity impossible to suppress.It was Eden, a skinny child with oversized clothes, dirty knees, and eyes that shone brighter than anything he had.Every afternoon, he sat silently by the fence, watching the young pyers run, kick, and train with passion.He had no coach. No football. No shoes. But he had one thing that couldn't be repced: a dream.Behind the narrow alley where he slept, Eden found a crumpled co can—sharp, rough, but round enough.And from that night on, that can became his ball.Every night, when the city quieted and the streets grew empty, Eden would go out to a small open space near the sidewalk.He would kick the can left, right, spin, back.Sometimes he fell, sometimes he hit a wall. Often, his feet bled. Open wounds.But Eden never cared."If I keep practicing... maybe one day they'll see me too," he muttered to himself, repeating it like a mantra.Day by day. Month by month. Year by year.When hunger struck, he'd kick harder, not to grow stronger, but to forget the pain in his stomach.Each kick became his small act of resistance against a world that kept rejecting him.And though his body was weak, his face was always adorned with a smile.A happy smile whenever he mastered a new move, even with blood-stained feet.A smile while holding back tears from the pain that bit into his bones.Until finally, he reached his limit.
Now, Eden sat by the small window in the clinic room, two days since he woke up. His body looked stronger, though the marks of past wounds were still visible. His left hand held a spoon, his right supporting his chin, his eyes distant. In the end, he would see that man again. The man who saw the fruits of Eden’s grueling practice in his ball control and insane juggling skills.The door opened. Reinhart entered, carrying a small notebook. He gnced at Eden for a moment before sitting across from him.Eden looked at Reinhart and quietly asked, his voice soft and bitter:"Why are you kind to me...?""My parents told me I'm just a burden. They said... kids like me don't deserve to live."A faint smile appeared on Eden's lips, a smile that could break anyone's heart. A smile from a child who had too often trusted the world… only to be betrayed.Reinhart clenched his fists in his p. He tried to control the emotions bubbling inside him, looking at Eden with soft yet determined eyes.After a few moments, Reinhart spoke, his voice rough but deep:"When I saw you dispy your ball skills with that can, it was insane. The skill and composure you had at such a young age.""After that day, I decided. But first, I need to introduce myself. I’m Reinhart, the head coach of Brandford."He stared into Eden’s eyes with full confidence and continued:"You want to be like those kids, don’t you?""The ones who have real balls. Who have coaches. Who have uniforms. Who have a stage to shine.""Starting today, your life changes. You’ll live with me. You’ll chase your dream with me. I will guide you to chase the impossible."Reinhart stood up. One fist clenched, the other pointing to Eden’s chest."Fight.""Show the world… that the child they abandoned... is the one they’ll see shine the brightest on the field.""Become Eden Mirza, a name they’ll remember. Not out of pity... but because you’ll become a legend."Tears fell from Eden’s eyes. There was no sound. Only a small sob trapped in his throat. For the first time, those tears weren’t because of hunger, or pain, or rejection.But because, for the first time in his life… someone believed in him.Then, Reinhart watched the hologram grow brighter, with new text:"Change has occurred."
Name: Eden MirzaAge: 15
Position: CMF/AMF/RMF/LMF
Potential: 97
Rating : 84
Speed: 79 / 96Physical: 66 / 90Technique: 94 / 101
Skills:
Urban Reflex: Mastering ball control in tight spaces with natural reflexes.
Eden’s Embrace: The ball always returns to him, as if the earth itself spins just to touch his feet.
Special Notes:
A Star the World Rejected
A Human Who Surpassed Boundaries
Additional Notes:
"A historical anomaly. Destined to die (Rescue was made, so Eden survives, and the impact on history will shake things)."
