2025
The pain came first. It always did.
Ethan Voss winced as his right leg flared again—a sharp, searing ache that had become his daily companion. He limped through the shadowed alley behind his crumbling apartment block, his breath fogging in the cold morning air. The rusted fence rattled as he passed, and a stray cat darted away, startled by the sudden sound.
He paused to rest against the graffiti-scrawled wall, tugging at the frayed collar of his bomber jacket. Twenty-five years old. One busted knee. No job. And no future. He'd just walked back from another failed interview at a second-tier sportswear store. The manager had looked at his limp and barely concealed the look of pity.
Ethan had once believed he was destined for more.
Seven years ago, he had been a rising star. Fresh from the youth academy, dribbling past defenders like blades of grass, and hearing his name called from the touchline. Coaches said he had "the touch," that innate feel for the game. Scouts had come to watch him play.
But that bright promise had shattered in a split second.
He remembered it too clearly. June 12, 2017. He'd gone in for a routine turn during a scrimmage match. His studs caught in the turf. A sickening pop. Then pain—blinding, raw, unforgettable. A torn ligament, followed by surgery, then infection, then more surgeries. His return was slow, and his form never the same. He was quietly let go. No ceremony. No second chance.
Climbing the narrow staircase to his dingy third-floor flat, Ethan dragged his leg behind him like dead weight. Each step felt like a countdown. His dream had died long ago, but the pain still lingered.
He unlocked the door and collapsed onto the threadbare couch. The television played on mute in the background—highlights from a UEFA special on football legends. Ethan stared blankly until a grainy clip caught his eye. Number 14 in red and blue, gliding across the pitch like a phantom. Elegant. Creative. Impossible to contain.
Johan Cruyff.
He leaned forward, almost hypnotized. There was something different about Cruyff. Not just the skill, but the way he saw the game. Every movement had purpose. Every touch was a decision. He wasn't just playing football. He was inventing it.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "If I had just one more shot... one more chance..."
The room suddenly dimmed. The TV flickered. A low, thrumming vibration began to emanate from his phone on the table. Its screen turned white, glowing unnaturally.
[Initializing: Template Selection System]
He frowned. "What the..."
[Detected: Host Ethan Voss. Eligible for Regression Protocol.]
< [Would you like to return to: June 12, 2017? Age: 18. Status: Pre-Injury] >
His heart pounded. He blinked. It had to be a hallucination. He hadn't eaten all day, maybe he was just losing it.
[Note: Upon Regression, you may select ONE Template from the Legendary Footballer Archives to integrate into your foundational skillset.]
Ethan stared at the prompt. Return to that day? The day everything had gone wrong?
[Template Selection: Confirm Now?]
A circular interface bloomed on the screen, like a digital roulette wheel, his fingers scrolling through. Names and faces rotated rapidly. Pelé. Maradona. Zidane. Ronaldinho. Messi. Pirlo. Then it showed.
Cruyff.
His finger hovered. The name seemed to pulse.
<[Selected Template: Johan Cruyff. Confirm?] >
His chest rose and fell rapidly. Was this madness? Was this hope?
He tapped Confirm.
The room erupted in a flash of white. An unseen force slammed into his chest. Ethan gasped, clutching at his heart as the world spun violently around him. His limbs felt like they were dissolving.
And then—
Darkness.
[2017]
He awoke to birdsong.
Ethan blinked against the sunlight pouring through a clean window. He sat up slowly. The familiar smell of mint liniment and laundry soap filled the air. His eyes darted around. Posters of footballers lined the room. A youthful version of himself stared back from the mirror.
He stumbled toward it, pressing his palms against the glass.
Smooth face. Lean muscles. Not a trace of pain in his leg.
He turned and flexed. His right leg—strong. Whole.
His phone buzzed on the desk. He grabbed it instinctively.
[TEMPLATE SYSTEM - ACTIVE]
[Cruyff Template Integration: 5% Complete]
< [Passive Attributes Unlocked: Vision +20, First Touch +15, Tactical Intelligence +25] >
Ethan's jaw dropped.
He wasn't dreaming.
There was a knock at the door. His mom's voice floated in.
"Ethan! Breakfast is ready. Don't forget you have tryouts today."
Tryouts.
June 12, 2017.
The day his life had gone off the rails. Only now, he had the mind of Cruyff.
He checked his leg again. No pain. No scars. Just muscle and balance and... promise.
The phone buzzed again.
<[Warning: High-Impact Events Approaching. Crucial choices will influence future trajectory.] >
Ethan chuckled under his breath, still in disbelief. But as he looked into the mirror, the uncertainty began to fade. He saw a new spark in his eyes—determination sharpened by regret and fueled by opportunity.
In his past life, he had relied too much on raw talent, on being the fastest or flashiest. But that wasn't enough. This time, he had a blueprint. Not just skill, but vision. Not just instinct, but strategy.
The Cruyff way.
He dressed quickly—his old training kit still folded on the shelf, smelling faintly of ambition. Downstairs, his mom smiled at him over breakfast. He hugged her longer than usual. She ruffled his hair.
"You'll crush it today, champ. Just be smart, okay?"
"I will," he said, smiling.
He stepped out into the morning sun, the streets familiar yet brand new. The weight in his heart was gone. No limp. No failure dragging behind him.
As he jogged toward the training ground, Ethan felt something deeper than confidence. A quiet certainty.
He wasn't going back to rewrite the past.
He was going forward to redefine the future.
This time, he wouldn't waste his chance.
This time, he would play football the way it was meant to be played.
With vision.
With soul.
With Cruyff.