Football Reborn: The Manager from the future

⚽ Football Reborn: The Manager from the Future

Chapter 59 – Zero vs Thirteen

Some matches are for fans.

Some are for money.

This one?

It was for the future.

🏟️ The Underground Arena – Casablanca Outskirts

No lights.

No fans.

No grass.

The pitch was industrial steel with simulated bounce padding — stolen tech from old Olympic labs. Cameras were mounted in hidden corners. No referees. Only AI-bound rule engines that could be overridden by neural commands.

Chuva stepped onto the pitch.

His boots didn't echo. They whispered.

Across from him, KRM-13 flexed his neck. Shirt off, torso scarred with tactical tattooing: zones, angles, and what looked like old machine-inked code from the Messi Prime experiments.

"First to 3 goals," KRM said. "Winner gets coordinates to Basalt HQ."

"And loser?" Chuva asked.

KRM grinned.

"You go back to your fake league."

🎮 No Ref, No Rules – Only Systems

The countdown started:

3… 2… 1…

The moment the pulse kicked in, Chuva activated Seraph's neural overlay. HUD came alive. Field maps. KRM's movement rate. Tactical heat sensors.

But KRM… vanished.

Literally dropped off the radar.

Chuva blinked.

"No signal."

Seraph:

"WARNING: Opponent is operating on Dark Neural Pathways. Cloaked tactical interface."

KRM appeared behind Chuva and tapped the ball through his legs.

Nutmeg. Flick. Spin.

GOAL.

1-0.

🧠 Chuva's Adaptation Begins

Chuva wiped sweat from his brow.

He had never faced someone like this.

Not Kojo.

Not Abasi.

Not even León in simulations.

KRM wasn't reacting — he was controlling.

Like he was playing chess, five moves deep.

But then Chuva remembered what Seraph once said:

"They are faster. But you are smarter."

He stood still.

Didn't chase.

Didn't press.

He waited.

And when KRM flicked forward, Chuva ghosted into his path. No tackle. Just shadowing.

He stole the ball with no contact.

Turned.

Shot.

GOAL.

1-1.

📉 Code Under Pressure

The simulation spiked.

KRM grimaced.

"Not bad. But I'm done playing fair."

He lifted a hand.

Instantly, the arena's gravity protocol changed — heavier now. Slower movement. Sweat intensified.

Clara, watching from Tempo HQ via Seraph's emergency channel, gasped.

"He's modifying the arena's variables mid-match? That's illegal!"

Seraph responded:

"Illegal in FIFA. Not in Basalt."

KRM rushed again — this time faster.

And he brought weapons.

No, not literal ones.

But feints copied from Ronaldinho. Balance from Iniesta. Finishing direct from Cristiano.

All spliced into his movement.

It was like facing every legend at once.

GOAL.

2-1.

🔁 Chuva's Flashback

His knees buckled.

But in that moment, a memory unlocked.

A hallway.

White walls.

A room where he, as a child, watched match footage for 72 hours straight.

Not eating. Not sleeping.

And the voice of an old technician saying:

"You weren't made to play football. You were made to understand it."

Chuva stood tall.

And smiled.

"I'm done copying others," he muttered.

He turned Seraph off.

No HUD.

No overlays.

Just instinct.

🎯 Equalizer – The Pure Goal

The ball came loose in midfield.

KRM hesitated — confused by the lack of neural signature.

Chuva surged forward.

Not faster. Just… clearer.

One drag back. One side step.

He struck with the inside of his foot — not power, but placement.

The ball bent.

Top corner.

GOAL.

2-2.

🧨 Sudden Death Mode

The lights dimmed.

A new voice echoed through the stadium.

"Final Round. Initiating Sudden Death Protocol."

The pitch shimmered. Floor panels shifted.

Now, the ball had micro-weighting — making it wobble if not perfectly touched.

A challenge of touch and awareness.

KRM's eyes glowed red.

"You can't win. I was version two. You were discarded."

Chuva lowered his stance.

"I wasn't discarded. I escaped. There's a difference."

🔥 Final Play – Fire Meets Glitch

KRM charged — rage burning.

Chuva didn't back down.

They clashed in the middle — shoulder to shoulder. Sparks flew from the surface friction.

The ball shot out to the wing.

Both turned.

Sprint.

One chance.

Chuva got there half a second early.

Flicked it infield.

KRM lunged.

But it was a trap.

Chuva stopped.

Let KRM slide past.

Rolled the ball under his boot.

And passed it gently… into the open net.

GOAL.

3-2. Chuva wins.

🎁 The Reward – Coordinates to Hell

As the lights reset, a small datachip dropped from above.

Chuva caught it.

On it: a blinking location.

Basalt League HQ.

Deep in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan.

Hidden in an old Soviet radar array.

He turned toward KRM — still on the ground.

"You're better than this," Chuva said.

But KRM just laughed.

"I'm not here to be better," he whispered.

"I'm here to burn it all down."