Chapter 18: The Muted Truth
Rimon didn't take the bus. He walked until his legs burned, trying to outrun the blue flickering in his eyes. He remembered the first time it happened, three months ago. He had been staring at a blank Word document, his vision blurring as it always did when he strained his eyes too long. Then, a transparent screen had simply blinked into existence: [System Initializing...].
He had spent weeks trying to fix it. He went to an eye specialist in Mitford once, alone, and the results were grim. His vision was severely compromised—nearly half-blind in his left eye, with the right one struggling to compensate. He had left the clinic without the prescription glasses, hiding the paper in the bottom of a Mojo crate. He couldn't afford to be weak Rimon; he preferred being Lazy Rimon.
If people knew he couldn't see the expressions on their faces from five feet away, the introverted wall he built would look like a handicap. So, he memorized gaits. He memorized the sound of voices and the specific way light reflected off surfaces. On the pitch, the ball wasn't a clear object; it was a moving contrast of color that his brain tracked through pure, simulated geometry.
But the most terrifying part was the Mute.
He had tried to tell Mahima once, sitting in the university cafeteria. She was the only one who knew about his eyes—she'd noticed him squinting at a menu and had been pestering him to see a specialist for months. He had leaned in, ready to confess that the blur was being replaced by data.
"Mahima, my eyes... I think I'm seeing—"
His throat had locked. His jaw refused to move. It wasn't physical paralysis; it was as if the universe had simply deleted the audio of his confession.
[Warning: Protocol 0 - Confidentiality is Absolute.]
He had coughed, played it off as a dry throat, and watched her eyes fill with that familiar, analytical concern. "Rimon, if you don't see a doctor, you're going to walk into a wall one day," she'd sighed.
"I'm fine, Mahima. I see enough," he'd lied.
Now, back in his room, Rimon collapsed onto the bed. He stared at the business card Coach Farhan had left. To his eyes, the text was a hazy smudge, but the System's overlay sharpened it into a high-definition 3D object. 7:00 AM. Dhanmondi.
He reached for his phone, holding it inches from his face to see the dialer. He needed to hear her voice.
"I'm not going," he said the moment Mahima picked up.
"I know that's what your brain is saying, Rimon," her voice came through, soft but incredibly firm. "But your brain is a coward. It likes libraries and old books because you don't have to track a moving target in a library."
"It's not about being a coward, Mahima. It's about being smart. My eyes... you know how they are. How am I supposed to pass a professional medical? How am I supposed to play under stadium lights when I can barely see the scoreboard in the sun? And I don't think I need to talk about our country system and higher ups."
"You are right. But," she paused, and he could almost hear her leaning back, eyes narrowing. "I saw your face on that livestream. You weren't squinting, Rimon. For the first time, you looked like you could see everything. Whatever is happening when you play—whatever that 'instinct' is—it's better than any pair of glasses."
She was right. When the Sync Rate climbed, the blur vanished. The world became a grid of perfect, crystalline lines.
"One trial," she whispered. "Just to see. If you can't see the ball, walk off the pitch. But if you can... then you owe it to yourself to find out why. And about Bangladesh Football system it can be change with time, but for that Bangladesh National Team need someone who can lead them. And I know better than anyone you can lead them."
Rimon looked at his hands. The trembling hadn't stopped. The hunger was still there, gnawing at his stomach.
"Fine," he muttered. "One trial."
[Sync Rate: 12.2%]
[Condition Met: Path Accepted.]
[Status: Prepare for Calibration.]
Author Note:
Okay, so Rimon is literally playing on "Hard Mode"! 🎮 Imagine being half-blind and still nutmegging pros—no wonder he's so exhausted all the time; his brain is doing the work of a supercomputer just to fill in the blanks.
Mahima being the only one who knows about his eyes makes their bond so much tighter. She's basically his "sight" in the real world. 👓 And that "Mute" feature is such a troll—the System is basically saying, "I'll give you 4K vision on the pitch, but you can't tell your girlfriend why." Cold.