3: Chapter 3 The Dribbling Demon, Garrincha the Bird!

The text on the blue translucent panel was clear and steady, but that line of small print was like a drop of cold water, dripping unexpectedly into Yu Bai's burning thoughts.

[You may also forfeit the opportunity to choose three out of seven, and instead receive a skill lottery draw (guaranteed Superstar tier) opportunity.]

Yu Bai froze.

He had just been frantically trying to prioritize in his mind... seven options, each one hitting exactly where he itched. Which one to choose? Which one to give up? His mind was a chaotic mess of calculations.

Now, the system was telling him there was no need to calculate.

He could take a gamble.

"Damn..." He cursed under his breath, the sound stuck in his throat.

The sunset light cut across at an angle, stretching his shadow on the bench into a long, distorted strip. From the training ground in the distance came the sporadic sound of kicking; a youth player was practicing Shooting, thud, thud, dull and muffled, like a heartbeat.

He forced himself to tear his gaze away from those tempting options and refocus on that line of small text. Lottery draw. Guaranteed Superstar.

His thousands of hours of reading web novels went into overdrive at this moment. If it were stats, he could just "add points with Deep Blue"! But skills, especially those with a guarantee, were things that were hard to come by.

Look at what the lowest-tier "Beckhams Curve" had brought. Passing +5, Shooting +8; a single skill had boosted his attributes by thirteen points. If it was a "Superstar" guarantee, he might even pull a "Legendary"...

Yu Bai swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Moreover, as he stared at the seven neatly arranged options, a familiar sense of irritation welled up. He had hated multiple-choice questions since he was a child. On exams, and in life. Football or his mother—he had made his choice, and then spent seven years verifying just how painful that choice was. Now, the system had placed seven "wants" in front of him and told him he could only take three. It felt like someone holding the seven most delicious cakes, smilingly asking him: "Choose three; I'll throw the remaining four away right in front of you."

Screw that.

He hated this feeling of being manipulated, hated the pain of having to "give up." A lottery draw was certainly a gamble, but at least he wouldn't have to personally cross off those four names.

No more hesitation. He would gamble.

With a thought, he made his choice. Forfeit the three-out-of-seven, skill lottery draw.

The options on the panel instantly dimmed and vanished. Immediately after, a brilliant vortex, as if gathering countless starlight, began to spin rapidly at the center of his consciousness, the speed making him dizzy. There was no sound, but Yu Bai could almost hear the low, arduous grinding noise of the gears of fate being forcibly twisted.

The vortex stopped abruptly, exploding into a dazzling golden light.

[Reward: Demon of Dribbling (Legendary)]

Yu Bai blinked, unable to process it. The words "Legendary" were so bright they made his retinas ache. Not a guaranteed Superstar, but Legendary? He had hit the jackpot!

Before he could revel in this sudden stroke of luck, a massive, almost violent torrent of information, accompanied by sharp, needle-like pain, barreled ruthlessly into his mind!

"Ugh—!"

He let out a muffled groan, his body tensing abruptly, his fingers digging desperately into the rough edge of the wooden bench. This was not the gentle, technical infusion of the "Beckhams Curve." This time, it was a tsunami.

Countless fragmented images, sensations, and pieces of muscle memory were shoved in unreasonably. A thin figure with seemingly deformed legs danced in a crowded penalty area, the ball stuck to his feet, changing direction, dragging, and nutmegging in ways that defied the laws of physics. That was not the Dribbling from textbooks; it was wild, instinctive, a rhythm that seemed innate, the trajectory of the most agile bird in the forest dodging a predator. It was "The Little Bird" Garrincha, the devilish winger who carried the king of football, Pelé, to a World Cup victory.

Pain followed. Not external injury, but something deeper. Ligaments, joints, and even the finest muscle fibers sent waves of soreness and stinging pain from being forcibly stretched, twisted, and reshaped. He felt like a ball of dough being kneaded repeatedly by invisible hands; his bones creaked slightly, and his body's flexibility was undergoing some fundamental change that he could clearly perceive. Sweat instantly poured from his forehead and back, cold, soaking the clean T-shirt he had just put on.

He didn't know how long it had been before that terrifying sense of infusion receded like a tide.

Yu Bai collapsed on the bench, gasping for air like a fish out of water. His clothes clung tightly to his skin, and as the evening breeze blew past, it sent a shiver through him. He raised his hand; his fingers were still trembling slightly. This top-tier "Demon of Dribbling"... was frankly like a form of torture.

After catching his breath for a long while, he finally dared to "look" at the panel again.

[Name: Yu Bai]

[Age: 32]

[Speed 55 → 65, Acceleration 43 → 53, Strength 32, Ball Control 62 → 72, Passing 76, Shooting 46]

[Dribbling 48 → 90, Tackling 24, Heading 28, Vision 70, Composure 60, Stamina 60]

[Overall Rating 54 → 65]

[Skills: Beckhams Curve (Player), Demon of Dribbling (Legendary)]

Dribbling, 90.

A number he hadn't even dared to imagine before. His overall rating had also skyrocketed by 11 points. An upgrade from a bird gun to a cannon? No, this was like swapping a fire poker for a laser cannon.

Yu Bai braced himself against the wooden bench and slowly stood up. His legs were a bit weak, but an unprecedented feeling of lightness and control rose quietly from the soles of his feet. Subconsciously, he performed a tiny Step-over motion, flicking with his left foot and dragging with his right; his ball sense was terrifyingly clear, as if there were truly a ball under his feet. Even the sensation of air flowing over his skin seemed sharper.

He grinned, wanting to laugh, but ended up inhaling a mouthful of the cool evening air first. It was sweet. Damn it, it was really sweet.

After the ecstasy, a cold thought slid into his mind without warning, cooling the blood that had just begun to heat up.

Even though the "Demon of Dribbling" had increased his speed by a full 10 points to 65, and his acceleration had risen to 53... he still couldn't be considered a "pacey" player. In the Premier League, or even the EFL Championship, this number only meant "not slow."

Between a Demon of Dribbling without speed and one with speed, which was more terrifying?

Yu Bai slowly turned his head to look at the training ground. The lights had already turned on, bathing the pitch in a pale white glow. The youth player who had been practicing Shooting was gone, and only a few scattered balls remained on the empty field.

He remembered the highlight reels of Garrincha faking out defenders. Often, defenders didn't lose to absolute speed, but to that ghostly rhythm, the deceptive body feints, and those repeated, small-scale, lethal changes of direction that defied their center of gravity.

When a Dribbling master doesn't need to use absolute speed to blow past you, but only needs to use center of gravity, rhythm, and that split-second difference in anticipation to make you get dribbled past like a wooden post...

Yu Bai licked his somewhat chapped lips, and deep in his heart, a faint sensation, mixed with anticipation and a kind of cold shiver, began to grow quietly.

Which one is more despair-inducing?

...