My system allows me to copy talents

Three months later, the crutches were gone.

Hiro had started walking on his own now. However, his mobility was still somewhat restricted. Though he had started walking without support, that didn’t mean the ache had disappeared.

His leg still ached when the weather turned, and the muscles around the joint were still rebuilding themselves fiber by fiber.

His progress had been nothing but remarkable.

Even Elena had quoted it, and Dr. Nakamura, while studying his reports with a frown on his face, had called it unexpected.

However, unlike the two, Hiro called it survival.

The world had moved on, and he sat in his room on a gray afternoon, scrolling through his phone and watching the season unfold without him. The window opened a crack, letting in the hum of Madrid traffic and a thin breath of cool spring air.

The league table glowed on the screen.

La Liga, March 2030

Atlético Madrid, 68 points; Real Madrid, 65 points; Barcelona, 61 points; Real Sociedad, 54 points; Athletic Bilbao, 50 points

Atlético were still on top, still winning, still playing with the easy dominance of a team that believed in itself.

But the lead was thinner than it looked. Real Madrid had won five in a row, Barcelona had finally found their rhythm, and the title race was closing around Atlético like a hand slowly tightening.

And they were doing it without him.

He swiped further and found the Champions League round of 16. Atlético had beaten Bayern Munich 2-1 in the first leg and drawn 1-1 in Munich, going through 3-2 on aggregate.

Bayern had struck first in the second leg, and Lee Kang-In had pulled Atlético level with a curling shot from outside the box, the goal that sent them into the quarter-finals. The headlines had called it ”the goal that silenced Munich.”

Hiro had watched it live. He had cheered out loud in the empty room, and he had smiled. Yet beneath the smile, something else had stirred, a small, cold voice that he didn’t like.

They’re doing it without me. They don’t need me.

He shook his head. That isn’t fair. They’re winning because they’re good, and because they’ve worked for it.

Still, the voice did not quite go away.

He scrolled on to the Asian qualifiers.

World Cup Qualifiers (AFC)

Japan, 19 points; Australia, 16 points ; Saudi Arabia, 13 points; Vietnam, 7 points

Japan had qualified for the World Cup with two matches still left before the tournament.

Shun had been brilliant, with six clean sheets in eight games, and Kazuki Yamada had been the heartbeat of the midfield, steady and tireless. The team played with confidence now, with a clear identity and a belief that showed in every pass.

Even from a glance, one could tell how well the team had been doing without Hiro.

They were Japan.

He set the phone down on the blanket.

Three months, ninety days, two thousand one hundred and sixty hours, if he wanted to put it that way.

He had spent every one of them in this room or in the facility down the corridor, suspended in a limbo between the player he had been and the player he wanted to become.

The season had gone on, the World Cup had drawn steadily closer, and he had watched all of it through a screen.

He reached out to the System.

[Passive Skill: Adaptive Recovery - Active.]

[Recovery rate: 72%. Mental clarity: High. Emotional stability: Stable.]

[Quest: Return to the Pitch.]

[Progress: 72%.]

[Bonus Objective: Reconnect with the team from afar.]

[Status: Ongoing.]

[Observation: Host’s injury healing at accelerated rate. Cause: Unknown. Further investigation required.]

Hiro read the last line twice.

He had been ignoring it for weeks, pouring his energy into therapy and preparation, but the System kept returning to it like a thumb pressing on a bruise. Something about his recovery was different.

Why is my body healing faster than it should? Is it the System, or is it something else?

He had no answer. But he was beginning to understand that he would have to find one.

Four days later, Dr. Nakamura studied the latest MRI with the same frown he always wore, the frown of a man who had watched too many careers end on tables like this one.

The consulting room was small, bright and smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the scan glowed on the light box behind him.

Hiro sat across the desk with his hands locked together to keep them still, his heart pounding. Elena stood by the window with her arms crossed, her face giving nothing away.

The silence stretched until it became hard to bear.

Then Nakamura set the scans down and looked up. ”You’re cleared.”

Hiro blinked. ”What?”

”Your MCL has healed faster than anyone anticipated. The tear has closed, the surrounding tissue has strengthened, and your knee is stable.” He paused, and for once the frown deepened into something closer to wonder. ”I don’t understand it. By all medical reasoning, you should need another two months, but the scans don’t lie.”

Hiro’s throat tightened. The System. Adaptive Recovery.

”So I can play?”

”You can train, and you can be included in the squad. But—” Nakamura raised a finger. ”—you are not to play a full match, not yet. Your body has healed, but match fitness is another matter entirely. You will need to rebuild your stamina, your sharpness, and your rhythm.”

”How long will that take?”

”Weeks, perhaps a month. And if you push too hard, you will set yourself back. Do you understand?”

Hiro nodded. ”I understand.”

Nakamura studied him for a long moment. ”I’ve seen that look before,” he said quietly. ”On players who came back too soon because they wanted it too badly.”

”I’m not them.”

”No,” Nakamura agreed. ”You’re not.”

He rose and held out his hand across the desk. ”Congratulations, Hiro. You can play again.”

Hiro took those words, a smile tugging at his lips. By the window, Elena finally allowed herself a small smile.

This was the moment he had been waiting for, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for it.