My system allows me to copy talents

The sunlight spilled through the curtains, illuminating the entire room in a vibrant hue. The phone was buzzing insistently when Hiro found himself awake.

He reached for it, squinting at the screen. There were 47 unread messages and 128 notifications, and for a moment he wondered whether the phone was broken.

He opened the first message, from Lee Kang-In.

”You’re everywhere. Turn on the TV.”

Hiro frowned, found the remote beneath the edge of the blanket, and switched on the television. The sports channel was already in the middle of a broadcast.

”—and in what can only be described as a statement of intent, Hiro Takahashi returned to competitive football last night after three months out, scoring within ten minutes of coming on. But it wasn’t only the goal that caught the world’s attention. It was the manner of it.”

The screen cut to footage of his goal: the pass to the left-back, the quiet drift to the edge of the box, the precise, curling finish.

”Look at this. No dribbling and no sprinting past defenders, just positioning and vision. This is a completely different Hiro Takahashi.”

The pundit, a former player whom Hiro vaguely recognized, leaned forward in his chair. ”I’ve watched this kid since he was sixteen. He was always explosive, always electric. But this is something else. This is a player who has reinvented himself.”

His colleague nodded. ”The question is whether he can do it at the highest level, against the very best. Because the World Cup is only three months away, and Japan is going to need him.”

Hiro switched off the television and sat for a moment in the sudden silence. Then he smiled.

The headlines were everywhere.

”The Maestro Returns: Hiro’s New Style Stuns La Liga” — Marca

”From Speedster to Strategist: The Reinvention of Hiro Takahashi” — The Athletic

”WATCH: Hiro’s Comeback Goal Is Already a Goal of the Season Contender” — ESPN

”Japan’s Golden Boy Is Back—But Is He Better Than Ever?” — Sky Sports

The media was buzzing, but the social media was even louder.

Clips of the goal had been viewed more than fifty million times, analysis threads dissected every movement, glance, and pass, and fans argued over whether he was still the same player or something entirely new.

@FootballTactics: Hiro’s positioning for that goal is insane. He isn’t even looking at the ball when it rebounds; he just KNOWS where it’s going to land. This is next-level spatial awareness.

@JapanFan99: I’ve waited three months for this. Three months. And he delivers in ten minutes. KING.

@MadridistaLegend: Respect to Hiro. Even as a Real Madrid fan, I have to admit that was special.

@SoccerAnalyst: The scary thing? He’s not even at 100%. Imagine what he’ll look like in three months.

Hiro scrolled through all of it without replying or posting anything. He just sat there staring at those posts, just like how he had watched other people perform their magic on the screen during his time at the hospital.

They’re watching. All of them.

He set the phone down on the blanket. Good. Let them watch.

That afternoon, Hiro returned to training.

The training ground was swarmed with journalists, more than he had ever seen there.

Cameras lined the fences, and reporters shouted questions across the grass, calling his name in half a dozen languages.

However, Hiro ignored every one of them. He fixed his attention on the drills and the movements, and on the session in front of him.

Maestro’s Vision was active, and it seemed to be always active now. He could feel it humming at the back of his mind, feeding him information and showing him angles and spaces that other players couldn’t see.

During a small-sided game, he received the ball in midfield and two defenders closed in on him at once. He paused for one breath, one heartbeat. Then he played a pass without looking, a no-look ball to the right wing that cut straight through the defense.

The training ground went quiet.

Then Julian let out a long, low whistle. ”What the hell was that?”

Hiro shrugged. ”A pass.”

”That wasn’t a pass. That’s more than a pass.”

Hiro smiled. ”Maybe.”

Later that evening, Diego called him into his office.

”Sit.”

Hiro sat.

Diego studied him for a long moment. ”You’re different.”

”I know.”

”I’m not saying it’s bad.” Diego leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. ”But I need to understand it. You’re not the same player who left three months ago, and you’re not the same player I signed.”

”I’m not.”

”Then who are you?”

Hiro took his time before he answered. ”I’m someone who learned to see the game differently,” he said quietly. ”When I was injured, I couldn’t train my body, so I trained my mind. I studied, and I analyzed, and I learned to read the game in ways I never could before.”

”And now?”

”Now I can see things others can’t. Passes that don’t exist yet, spaces that shouldn’t be there. I can control a game without touching the ball.”

Diego was silent for a moment. ”That’s a dangerous weapon.”

Though he pretended to be surprised, Diego wasn’t surprised. He had expected him to be the player he was right now.

The world outside saw his speed and got fixated on it.

But Diego was different; he had noticed what most had ignored because something else shone in its place.

He knew of Hiro’s knack for vision.

He knew he would discover it at his own pace. Hence, he left him alone to discover his talents.

However, what he hadn’t accounted for or expected was for him to discover his talent this soon.

In his entire life, he had seen multiple talented players, but there were two who outshone others— Messi and Maradona.

He could have been biased for his love for his nation. But it is still an undeniable fact that those two were certainly the greatest players ever in the history of football.

”I know,” Hiro nodded.

”And the World Cup?”

”I’ll be ready.”

Diego nodded slowly and rose from his chair. ”Good. Because Japan is going to need you.”