Chapter 20: The Ghost in the Machine
The first hour was a grueling test of physical limits. Shuttle runs, agility ladders, and high-speed dribbling circuits. To the average onlooker, Rimon looked like he was struggling—his chest was heaving, and his brand-new boots felt like lead weights.
But inside his mind, it was a different story.
[Physical Strain: 68%]
[Calibration Complete: Boot Pressure Offset Applied.]
[Optimization: Conserving Energy for Tactical Drills.]
Rimon wasn't trying to win the sprints. He was doing exactly enough to stay in the middle of the pack, his eyes—aided by the flickering blue HUD—calculating the most efficient paths to move without wasting a single calorie.
"Is he always this... sluggish?" one of the junior scouts whispered to Coach Farhan on the sideline. "He doesn't look like a BPL athlete. He looks like he's thinking about a math problem."
Farhan didn't look away from his clipboard. "Wait for the ball, Zaki. A conductor doesn't need to be the fastest runner in the orchestra."
Finally, the whistle blew for the 5-on-5 small-sided games. This was what everyone was waiting for. Rimon was placed in a team with Hassan and three other trialists he didn't know. They were facing off against five of Abahani's U-19 academy players—boys who had been trained since they were ten.
"Alright, boys, show me something!" Farhan shouted.
The game started at a frantic pace. The academy players moved with a synchronized discipline that left the other trialists chasing shadows. Hassan was marked tightly by a defender twice his size. For the first five minutes, Rimon barely touched the ball. He just stood in the center, his head pivoting slowly, his half-blind eyes scanning the "blur" that the System was sharpening into a kill-zone.
[Sync Rate: 13.0%]
[Tactical Overlay: Academy Defensive Patterns Identified.]
[Solution: The 'Blind Spot' exploit.]
Suddenly, a loose ball bobbled toward the center circle. One of the academy midfielders lunged for it, but Rimon was already there. He didn't sprint; he just took one perfectly timed step.
Without looking down, he performed a "La Pelopina" so smooth it looked like the ball was an extension of his nervous system. The academy player flew past him, sliding into the grass.
"Hassan! 2 o'clock!" Rimon shouted.
His voice was a whip-crack. He didn't look toward Hassan. Instead, he turned his body 180 degrees and unleashed a "slap" pass that sliced through three defenders. It was a blind pass—pure geometry.
Hassan didn't even have to break his stride. The ball landed exactly where his right foot was about to land.
THWACK.
Hassan buried it into the bottom corner. 1-0.
The sideline went silent. The academy defenders looked at each other, confused. They had covered every visible passing lane, yet the ball had found a hole that shouldn't have existed.
"How did he see that?" the scout Zaki muttered, his pen frozen over his notes. "He was facing the other way."
Farhan's eyes narrowed. He looked at Mahima, who was leaning against the fence, her expression still stoic, though her grip on her bag had tightened.
Rimon didn't celebrate. He just walked back to the center, his eyes glowing with that eerie, translucent blue light. The world around him was a mess of hazy shapes, but the "Map" was screaming in 4K. He could see the pulse of the game, the fatigue in the defenders' legs, and the exact moment the goalkeeper's weight shifted.
For the next ten minutes, the Dhanmondi grounds became Rimon's playground. He wasn't playing football; he was rewriting the code of the match. Every touch was a first-time flick, every pass was a calculated risk that paid off with surgical precision.
Hassan scored a hat-trick within fifteen minutes, all from Rimon's service.
"Boro bhai(big brother), you're a monster as like when we learn from you while playing in genjabarirghat!" Hassan gasped during a water break, pouring a bottle over his head. "They can't touch us!"
Rimon took a sip of water, his eyes scanning the horizon. The Sync Rate was climbing, but so was the pressure in his skull.
[Warning: Neural Overload Approaching.]
[Suggestion: Limit High-Frequency Calculations.]
"One more goal," Rimon whispered to himself.
But as the final whistle approached, the black sedan from Keraniganj reappeared, parking silently near the clubhouse. A man in a sharp grey suit stepped out, his eyes locked onto Rimon.
It wasn't just Abahani watching anymore. The stakes had just tripled.
Author Note:
Did Rimon just "Bluetooth" a pass to Hassan?! 🤯 That blind Pelopina was absolute filth! I love how the Abahani academy kids—who probably have top-tier coaching—are getting schooled by a guy who can barely see the scoreboard. It's like playing against a guy with a cheat code, but the code is just his brain! 🇧🇩💪
And Hassan! Man, he's living his best life. He just needs Rimon to point the way and he's a goal-scoring machine. The "Keraniganj Duo" is looking like a serious problem for the BPL.