The midday sun followed Amani and Malik into the cramped hallway of their apartment building, streaming through the glass-paneled door just before it clattered shut behind them. A faint echo lingered in the stairwell as both boys trudged up the short flight of steps, schoolbags swinging at their sides. The city's gentle spring warmth still clung to their jackets, leaving them half-zipped and slightly rumpled.
Inside their unit, a snug, two-bedroom on the building's east side, Malik kicked off his sneakers, groaning dramatically. "Bro, you think they'll cancel gym for the rest of the week?" he muttered, wincing as he rubbed his ribs. "I'm still feeling that Ajax right-back's elbow from Monday. Honestly thought I broke something."
Amani offered a small chuckle but said nothing. He dropped his schoolbag beside the desk and shrugged off his jacket. A familiar restlessness simmered beneath his skin, different from physical fatigue. He felt charged, as if a low buzz trailed his every breath.
Crossing the tiny kitchenette, he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and pressed it to his forehead, hoping the cool condensation might settle him. But something tugged at the back of his mind, an awareness that had little to do with thirst or muscle soreness.
He shut the fridge door and turned around just in time to see the edges of his vision flicker with cold, bluish light like a hidden screen activating from the corners of his consciousness.
***
DING!
***
[SYSTEM INTERFACE BOOTING...]
***
His heart quickened. He recognized the signs: the faint hum, the bright lines appearing just out of focus. Already, data was cascading through his mind.
***
[MISSION UPDATE – POST-TOURNAMENT ADAPTIVE TRAINING INITIATED]
"Muscle must rest. Mind must sharpen."
***
Amani's lips tightened. He sensed the system had identified something within him, some aspect left unaddressed by the euphoria of winning the Future Cup. And then, sure enough, a fresh message flared:
***
[NEW MISSION: 72 HOURS OF BLINDFOLDED MASTERY]
Objective: Strengthen Pre-Contact Spatial Awareness
Condition: Visionary Pass bonus will be restricted unless skill upgrade is pursued.
Detected Weakness: Late Scanning Diagnostic: "Visual Crutch Detected."
Upgrade Prerequisite: De Zwarte Doos – Phase 1.
Requirement: NV-Vision Strobe Glasses (Model X9) for Mission
***
A surge of confusion and curiosity rippled through Amani. Strobe glasses? Blindfolded mastery? It sounded like some experimental routine rather than standard football training.
"What the…?" he whispered, glancing sharply at Malik.
"You good?" Malik called from the hall, halfway to his room.
Amani shook his head, forcing a casual shrug. "Yeah, just... you know… brain lag."
Malik raised an eyebrow but didn't pry. "All right, man. I'm gonna crash for a bit."
Once Malik disappeared down the hall, Amani exhaled slowly. The system's directive hummed in his peripheral vision, an insistence he couldn't ignore. He recalled how effortlessly he'd read the game in the Future Cup final and the handful of times he'd almost been caught off-guard by a late-arriving defender. That must have been the "weakness" the system detected small lapses that could become fatal errors at a higher level.
He swallowed a knot of unease, then eyed his phone. There was something he needed to buy, apparently.
That afternoon, having barely unpacked his school materials, Amani found himself riding a crowded tram toward the south end of Utrecht. At that time, a portion of his Future Cup team bonus of €2,500 before taxes had hit his bank account, and he gripped his phone like it might vanish if he loosened his hold.
He was no stranger to counting pennies; growing up in Malindi, surviving in Kibera in his previous life, and then moving to the Netherlands had taught him the true value of money. And yet the system's message was clear: Strobe glasses were crucial to the next step in his evolution.
The tram rattled along the tracks, passing familiar canals and bustling cafés. Students hopped on and off, their chatter mingling with the hum of the city. Amani's knee bounced nervously. He'd never spent such a large amount on a single piece of gear, whatever it was. Was he really about to do this?
When he arrived at the research center, a sleek building connected to Utrecht University's sports lab, he almost hesitated at the door. The structure was imposing: a rectangle of steel and tinted glass, mirroring the city skyline in its surfaces. Inside, polished floors and fluorescent lighting made the space feel more like a futuristic lab than a store.
He wandered past displays of wearable technology: high-tech ankle monitors, oxygen-restriction masks for altitude training, and sensor-laden compression vests for pro athletes. At last, he spotted a locked glass cabinet showcasing the NV-Vision Strobe Glasses (Model X9). His breath caught. The frames were angular, the lenses opaque, with faint metallic etchings running along the sides. They looked part military gadget, part sci-fi prop.
A middle-aged clerk in a white lab coat approached, eyeing Amani up and down. "Those aren't for kids," the man said bluntly, crossing his arms. "Reaction timing rigs used by top athletes, archers, even F1 drivers. Pricey."
Amani forced an even tone. "Can I try them?"
With a sigh, the clerk unlocked the case. He removed the glasses carefully, as though they were as fragile as fine china. Amani took them, noticing their surprising lightness. The digital readouts on the inside flickered when he pressed the power button.
He glanced at the price tag: €1,200. An icy twist formed in his stomach. That amount of money was real. He imagined his mother's worried face, how she had calculated each euro spent on groceries and his messilaniuos expenses for him. Yet the system had made it clear: no vision training, no step forward. No De Zwarte Doos Phase 1. He inhaled.
A wild, absurd thought flitted through him: What if I just took them? Something he had done in his previous life. The clerk's back was turned for a moment; a swift grab and a sprint out the door…
Instantly, a harsh red warning flared in his vision.
***
[INTERFACE WARNING: SYSTEM GLITCH DETECTED – UNACCEPTABLE ACTION FLAGGED]
[MORAL ALIGNMENT BREACH WOULD RESULT IN PENALTY]
***
The wave of guilt that washed over him was immediate. His heart pounded. How could I even consider that?
His cheeks burned as he shoved the notion aside. He turned to the clerk, quietly placing his debit card on the counter. "I'll buy them."
The man's eyebrows shot up. "You're… serious?"
Amani didn't reply. He just slid the card closer, ignoring the swirl of anxiety in his gut. Seconds later, the payment beeped. Approved. The clerk, still stunned, gently packed the glasses into a sleek black box. Amani thanked him, took the bag, and stepped outside into the crisp air.
The sun glared overhead, reflecting in the building's windows. Amani glanced at the bag in his hand and felt a heady mix of dread and excitement. This was more than a purchase; it felt like stepping onto a new playing field, one far beyond the typical constraints of a youth footballer.
That evening, back in his small bedroom, the strobe glasses lay unopened on his desk. Their presence loomed over him, a silent challenge. He could sense the system, too, pulsing in and out of his awareness like a lazy heartbeat.
***
[EQUIPMENT ACQUIRED: NV-Vision Strobe Glasses (Model X9)]
[COMPLIANCE ACCEPTED – INITIATING NEURAL CONDITIONING PROTOCOL]
[MISSION: 72 HOURS OF BLINDFOLDED MASTERY – BEGIN]
***
He read the lines like they were instructions etched in stone. Seventy-two hours of training without relying on normal sight. It struck him as almost medieval, like practicing swordsmanship with a blindfold until you could parry by sound and instinct alone. But for football, it was all about spatial awareness, knowing where the ball, the defenders, and his teammates were without having to stare for that extra split second.
He found himself smiling a grim, determined curve of his lips. If this was the price for leveling up his game, so be it. He left the box sealed for tonight, letting anticipation build.
The next morning, on Thursday, Amani awoke earlier than usual, heart fluttering with nervous energy. Officially, he had a rest day from intense football drills. Coach Mark De Vries insisted on letting their muscles recover post-tournament. But the system's mission wasn't exactly "normal training." So by 9:00 AM, he found himself in the academy's storage area, hauling out an old racing bike with chipped paint and worn tires.
He pushed off along Utrecht's winding bike paths, the crisp morning breeze pushing against his cheeks. The city slowly came to life: cyclists merging into the lanes, cafés opening their doors, baristas setting out chairs along the canal.
Amani pedaled past the Dom Tower's shadow, weaving around groups of tourists snapping photos. Every so often, someone would recognize him pointing and smiling, the "Future Cup hero" on a battered bicycle. He responded with a polite wave but kept his focus inward, adjusting his speed and posture.
***
[Cycling Tempo Locked – Cardio Intensity Optimal]
[Distance Logged: 12.3 km]
[Visionary Mode Suppressed – Physical Pattern Recognition Focus]
***
The system's gentle prompts blended with the scenic panorama. Each turn of the pedals felt purposeful, building a kind of baseline rhythm that steadied his heart and mind. By the time he reached the canal near Ledig Erf, he was in a comfortable groove, thighs burning pleasantly.
He heard a shout from across the water: "Yo! Captain Future Cup!" Looking over, he spotted a group of U14 academy kids, one of them cheering and waving like a proud fan. Another teased, "Training for the Tour de France, Amani?"
He just grinned, lifting one hand off the handlebars in a quick salute, and pressed on.
Farther along the Veilinghaven canal, he caught sight of Tijmen and Malik leaning out of a parked car. Tijmen cupped his hands around his mouth. "Bro! You're doing laps like a GPS test subject!"
Malik chimed in, "He's not a player anymore; he's an AI now!"
Amani rolled his eyes, fighting back a laugh. "Keep sleeping! I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow."
By late afternoon, the city's bustle had eased into a gentle lull. Amani returned home, the strobe glasses still in their box, waiting like a prophecy he had yet to fulfill. His body felt good, slightly stiff from the bike ride, but not worn out. The real challenge, he knew, was about to begin.
In the privacy of his bedroom, he unboxed the glasses. The black frame sat snugly around his temples when he tried them on, and the specialized lenses flickered in intervals on, off, on, off- on, off - mimicking the sensation of partial blindness, forcing him to anticipate movement without constant visual feedback.
He grabbed a small foam ball he'd found at a sports store months ago, something light enough not to break things if he sent it flying. Dropping it to the floor, he tried to bounce it against the wall. In the strobing intervals of light and dark, it became a disjointed silhouette he struggled to track. He missed the bounce altogether the first time. On the second try, he overcorrected and knocked his knee into the desk, sucking in a sharp breath as pain flared.
But he persevered. Each bounce forced him to rely on glimpses, to anticipate the ball's trajectory without the crutch of continuous sight. Flash, the ball soared up; darkness, it vanished; flash, it appeared inches from his hand, too late to react. A hush of frustration flooded him, but also a thrum of excitement. If he could master this, imagine how precise his passing could become when full vision returned.
Sweat beaded at his temple, and after several minutes, his body tensed from the constant flicker. Yet, something in him began to adapt. He noticed he'd started timing his motions based on the ball's arc, memorizing how it felt leaving his palm, predicting the bounce before the next flash. Slowly, clumsily, he tapped the ball back to himself more often, feeling a surge of triumph each time he succeeded in intercepting it.
Through it all, the system's presence hovered. He could feel the subtle hum of approval, like a coach nodding silently from the sidelines.
***
[DAY 1 – BLINDFOLDED MASTERY: IN PROGRESS (23%)]
[THE BLACK BOX AWAITS]
***
Despite the frustration, an undeniable thrill pulsed through him. This wasn't about showing off to fans or coaches. It was about forging the next layer of his game quietly, determinedly, so that when he returned to the pitch, defenders would discover his newfound spatial magic far too late.
Amani breathed in, let out a slow exhale, and kicked the ball again into that strobe-lit darkness. The future was waiting. And he intended to meet it head-on, no matter how many flickers it took to master the art of seeing without seeing.
***
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