The morning light filtered through half-closed blinds, streaking across the dorm room walls in pale gold. The sound of distant waves from the training center's coast hummed faintly beneath the city noise. Blaze sat at the edge of his bed, one hand pressed to his thigh. Every pulse of blood felt like someone driving a needle into the bone.

He'd ignored it the night before. Adrenaline, victory, and the roar of thousands had buried the pain. But now it was raw, alive, unrelenting.

When he tried to stand, his leg buckled. He caught the desk with one hand, teeth clenched.

"Damn it…"

A knock came at the door. "Blaze? You awake?" Anastasia's voice steady but soft. She didn't wait for an answer; the door slid open, and sunlight poured in behind her.

Her usual training jacket hung loose around her shoulders, and strands of hair had escaped her ponytail. She looked more human than the disciplined warrior she was on the field. "You missed breakfast. Coach sent me to check."

Blaze forced a grin. "Tell him I was meditating."

Her gaze flicked to his leg. "On one foot?"

He didn't reply. She stepped closer, her aura—cool bronze—flickering briefly as she knelt beside him. When she touched his shin, even lightly, the energy beneath his skin rippled in pain. He winced.

"That's not normal," she murmured. "You overextended during that last shot."

"Nothing new," he said, trying to wave her off. "A little ice—"

"Blaze." Her voice carried the authority of Jason's daughter, not just a teammate. "You're going to the medical wing. Now."

He sighed. "You really are your father's child."

The medical center smelled faintly of antiseptic and energy dampeners. Silver diagnostic rings floated around his leg as the team's doctor adjusted a holographic display. "You did quite a number on yourself, kid," the man said, his voice gravelly from years of field experience.

"How bad?" Blaze asked.

The doctor tapped the display. The hologram zoomed in on the bone fine cracks glimmered with faint red energy lines. "Micro-fractures, mostly on the tibia. But that's not the real problem." He pointed to the aura signature surrounding the wound. "See this distortion? Your internal flame reacted violently when your Elemental Speed and Cosmic Telepathy fused mid-air."

Blaze stared. "I thought the Aura Flames were stable."

"They were for a moment." The doctor turned off the hologram. "You harmonized three high-tier abilities. That's not something human bodies are designed for, no matter how much Murim training you've had. You burned yourself from the inside out."

"How long?"

"Two, maybe three weeks off full training," the doctor said. "If you push, it could become permanent." So you have to be very careful this period.

Blaze's fists tightened. "Three weeks… that's two matches the league schedule."

"You're lucky it's not longer." Most people usually stay on the sideline for close to a year.

Jason arrived mid-conversation, his expression unreadable. He thanked the doctor quietly and waited until they were alone. Then his voice dropped low.

"You think you can lead the team if you destroy yourself in the process?"

Blaze didn't answer.

Jason crossed his arms. "Your mother raised a fighter, not a fool. You've got to learn when to rest."

That hit harder than the injury. Blaze lowered his eyes. "I just… I didn't want to stop. Not when everything finally made sense."

Jason exhaled, some of the hardness fading. "You remind me of your father. Same stubborn fire." He clapped Blaze's shoulder once, then turned toward the door. "Rest. Let the others carry the weight for a while. You've earned it."

When he left, the silence felt heavy like the echo of thunder after a storm.

Days blurred into routine.

Morning physio, afternoon rehab, evening watching the team train from the stands.

The first few days, Blaze barely spoke. The crutches felt like a cage. Every strike he saw in practice the way Lionel timed his blocks, Anastasia's fluid movement down the right wing, Aya Passes, Scarlet's relentless energy made the ache in his chest worse than the one in his leg.

He tried to meditate, focusing on his internal energy flow, each time he reached the Aura core, pain flared, the flames flickering violently, the control he'd fought so hard to gain now mocked him.

One night, as rain tapped softly against the window, he sat cross-legged, eyes closed, breathing slow. He visualized the three abilities—Cosmic light, Elemental current, and Aura fire—circling a calm center.

"Breathe through the pain," he whispered to himself. "Not against it."

The door opened quietly. Anastasia entered, carrying two cups of warm tea. She didn't say anything at first just placed one near him and sat down opposite, mirroring his position.

"Jason said you haven't spoken much," she said softly.

"I'm talking now," he replied, eyes still closed.

"You're pretending you're fine."

He opened one eye, smirking. "You analyze people even off the field?"

"Only when they scare me."

That made him blink. "Scare you?"

She nodded slightly. "You push too far. You make the impossible look easy, but the cost isn't. I've seen players burn out spiritually, physically. I don't want that for you."

Her honesty caught him off guard. For a long moment, neither spoke. The rain's rhythm filled the silence between them.

Finally, Blaze said quietly, "I've lost before family, time, everything that mattered. If I stop moving, I start remembering. That's worse."

She leaned forward, her voice low but firm. "Then move in smaller steps. Healing isn't stopping. It's… catching your breath between battles."

He chuckled weakly. "You sound like your dad."

"Someone has to keep you idiots alive."

They shared a quiet smile. The tension broke a little, enough for the air to feel lighter.

After a moment, she asked, "How's the aura today?"

He lifted his hand, a small golden flame dancing above his palm. "Quieter. Like it's listening."

"That's progress," she said. "Just don't try to score goals with one leg."

"Tempting," he joked.

"Don't."

Her tone carried both threat and warmth.

The next week, Blaze began light balance training under supervision. He couldn't run yet, but he could channel aura flow through controlled stances—the same ones he'd learned in the Murim mountains long before football ever existed.

Standing on one leg, arms extended, he guided his energy like water through a cracked vessel. Sweat rolled down his back. His body trembled.

Jason watched from afar, hands in his pockets. "He's pushing again," he muttered to Anastasia beside him.

"Not recklessly," she replied. "He's listening this time."

Jason studied her, then smiled faintly. "You've got a strange effect on him, you know."

Her cheeks colored slightly. "He's… easier to talk to when he's not glowing like a torch."

Jason chuckled. "Good. Keep it that way."

On the field below, Blaze exhaled slowly and completed the sequence without collapsing for the first time. His aura shimmered faintly—steady, breathing, alive.

He smiled faintly to himself, maybe this was progress after all.

That night, the team returned from an away match a draw. They'd fought hard, but without Blaze's finishing, goals were scarce. As they entered the dorm wing, Lionel spotted him sitting by the window, leg wrapped but uncovered, watching the rain again.

"Hey, Titan," Lionel called. "You better heal fast. We need those crazy kicks."

Scarlet added, "You've got fans asking if you died or ascended."

Blaze laughed softly. "Tell them I'm learning how not to explode."

Anastasia, walking behind them, gave him a look half fond, half exasperated. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

When the hallway cleared, Blaze stayed by the window, watching the rain trail down the glass. The pain hadn't vanished, but it had changed less of a chain, more of a reminder.

He touched his leg lightly, feeling the faint warmth beneath the skin. The flames within flickered softly, no longer raging for release.

Outside, the lights from the training field reflected in the puddles like constellations.

"I'll come back stronger," he whispered. "Not just for the team… for her. For everyone."

A week later, the team gathered for a light session. Jason called for a circle formation. Blaze stood at the edge, still in brace support.

Jason glanced at him. "You sure you want to be here?"

"I can't play yet," Blaze said, "but I can listen."

Jason nodded. "Then listen well. Strength isn't measured in goals it's measured in endurance. The body breaks. The will decides what comes after."

Blaze bowed his head slightly, taking the words in.

Anastasia met his eyes across the circle, a faint smile on her lips.

He returned it small, genuine.

The sun broke through the clouds for the first time in days, the light cutting through the mist. Blaze felt warmth settle in his chest, steady and sure.

The fractured flame inside him no longer burned out of control, it pulsed slow, alive, recovering.

The road back to the field would be long, but for the first time since his mother's death, Blaze wasn't running from his pain.

He was walking through it.

And that was enough.

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