Winger Again: I can edit my attributes.

Under everyone's gaze, the shot was carried out. Hans, this time was prepared to redeem himself and gauge the shoot…however, he wasn't able to.

Somehow, the ball seemed even more fast than before. Rowl jumped in the same direction where ball landed in the prior shot, however even before he could land on the ground the ball had stroked past him.

"Wtf?? How is he shooting like that!"

"What's with this guy today? Does he actually have a cannon shot?"

"Sh*t... The quality of this shot is seriously high."

Another wave of exclamations erupted. This time, however, there was no – trash talking only awe's and surprises in everyone's face.

A cannon shot certainly leaves a lasting impression.

It's a straightforward technique—simple, powerful, and a direct testament to one's shooting skill.

Ian and his group stood frozen, their faces pale. They seemed to want to say something but found themselves at a loss for words.

Faced with two consecutive, high-quality, and powerful shots, any comment would have been pointless. If anything, it would only make them appear foolish.

"Great shot, great shot!"

Coach Hans offered a few polite words of praise, though his heart was racing. Shots of this caliber, if translated into real match situations...

A spark of hope flickered in his eyes as he glanced at Mael.

From what Hans had observed, Mael's basics were solid, but he had lacked any defining qualities.

However, if he could master long-range shooting, his competitiveness would rise to an entirely new level.

What left Hans perplexed was that Mael had never demonstrated this level of skill in long-range shooting before.

When had he worked on this?

Was it something he had been practicing recently?

"Haha, it all thanks to you coach!"

"What, Me?"

"Yea!" Marcus slightly pumped his feet at ground while bragging, "This boots really does make wonders!"

Hearing his words, Hans could only smile form ear to ear, "Haha, you must be kidding!"

At the center of everyone's attention, Mael turned around and smiled.

He appeared calm and relaxed, a picture of composure.

But in reality, a drop of cold sweat was already rolling down his temple. The second shot had been a gamble; he wasn't entirely confident about it if head tried to place the shot anywhere apart from left corner he would have missed the post.

With everyone's expectations heightened, missing the shot would've been embarrassing.

Luckily, the odds were in his favour this time.

He thought to himself, 'I need to get my long-range shooting to level 3 as soon as possible—how else am I going to keep showing off?'

*****

Evening.

As the evening sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the training ground in hues of amber and gold, Marcus and Carl jogged side by side along the edge of the field. The energy of the day's practice still hummed in the air, but most of the players had already begun to pack up, leaving only the duo to finish their cool-down laps.

Carl, slightly ahead, glanced sideways at Marcus, a grin tugging at his lips. "So, what's the secret, huh? Did you sell your soul to the devil or something? Two shots like that? I mean, come on!"

Marcus chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. "Would you believe me if I said it's the boots?" He shot Carl a sly look, his grin widening.

"The boots, huh?" Carl feigned a thoughtful expression. "Maybe I should borrow them for a game or two. That is... if I can even lift them with all that magic packed inside."

"Haha"

"Hahaha!"

Both broke into laughter, their footsteps syncing with their easy rhythm.

"Seriously, though," Carl said, his tone softening. "That was something else. Everyone saw it. Even Ian and his goons couldn't say a word. If you keep this up, no one's going to doubt you belong here."

Marcus's gaze shifted to the field, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, well, let's see if I can keep it up. It's one thing to pull off two good shots; it's another to do it consistently."

Before Carl could respond, the sound of heels clicking against the concrete path caught their attention. Both boys slowed their jog, turning toward the source of the sound.

A woman, tall and poised, approached the field with an air of authority. Dressed sharply in a navy blazer over a crisp white blouse, she exuded professionalism.

Her dark hair was tied back neatly, and her sharp eyes scanned the remnants of the training ground before locking onto Marcus.

"Marcus?" Her voice was clear and firm, cutting through the quiet evening like a whistle.

"Hi, Ms. Harper! How are you doing?" Carl shouted at the familiar face, this was their scout, Lucy Harper who recruited both Carl and Marcus into Manchester United.

"I am fine, Carl. I hope you are training well. Now, if you excuse us I have something to discuss with Marcus Hall here."

"Go one, Carl. I will catch up with you on the cafeteria."

Marcus followed Lucy toward the edge of the training ground, where the floodlights cast long shadows. Carl, after waving towards Marcus in agreement left the training grounds.

Lucy turned to face Marcus, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "All right, Marcus. You've got my attention. What's this about?"

Marcus took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "First off, thanks for coming, Ms. Harper. I wasn't sure if you'd see my message."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her professional demeanor softening slightly. "You've always been straightforward with me, so when I saw the text, I figured it must be important. Now, out with it—what's going on?"

Glancing around to ensure they weren't being overheard, Marcus lowered his voice. "I wanted to talk about Ian... and his father. Chief Scout Martin."

At the mention of Martin's name, Lucy's expression hardened. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she leaned in slightly.

"So, that's why you requested me to come to the training ground, huh. Go on. "

"You recruited Carl and me because you saw something in us," Marcus began, his tone firm. "But ever since we've been here, it's like there's this invisible wall."

"Ian and a few others act like they own the place, and every time there's an evaluation or promotion, it feels rigged. I don't think it's just favouritism. It's... corruption."

Lucy's jaw tightened, and her eyes flickered with restrained frustration. "I've suspected something was off for a while now, but I've never had solid proof. If Martin's involved... this could be big."

Marcus nodded, "I don't have hard evidence, but I know where you can start looking. Ian brags a lot when he thinks no one's listening. He mentioned his dad fixing trials for him and his friends."

"And the other day, I overheard him talking about some files on his dad's laptop—player evaluations, scouting reports, and payment records."

Of course not. Ian wasn't a fool to spill the beans to his friends, the information of Martin's corruption would all end up getting revealed in the future, by this same person who is standing before him.

Lucy tilted her head, her gaze sharp with a little doubt hinting in her voice. "You overheard this?"

Marcus nodded without hesitation. "It's not like he was quiet about it. He thinks he's untouchable because of his dad."

A flicker of anger crossed Lucy's face, but she quickly masked it with her usual calm professionalism. "Do you know where this laptop might be?"

Marcus glanced toward the training facility. "Ian mentioned his dad keeps it in his office here. There will be passwords, people and lock…but I am sure the evidence is inside the laptop."

Lucy let out a quiet sigh, crossing her arms again as she considered the information. "This is risky, Marcus. If Martin catches wind of this, it could blow up in your face—and mine. Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure," Marcus said firmly. "I've worked too hard to let guys like Ian walk all over me—or players like Carl, who deserve better. If we don't do something, it'll just keep happening."

Lucy studied him for a moment, her sharp gaze softening slightly. "You've got guts, Marcus. I'll give you that."

She paused, then added, "I'll handle this. But if you're right, and there's something to this, you need to stay out of it. No more messages, no more involvement. Let me do the heavy lifting."

Marcus hesitated but nodded. "I just want things to be fair. That's all."

Lucy placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You've done your part. Now let me do mine."

As she turned and began walking back toward the facility, Marcus felt a mixture of relief and satisfaction.

He had taken the first step, but what came next was out of his hands. For now, all he could do was wait—and keep proving himself on the pitch.

"Sigh, I hope Martin and Ian get fired as soon as possible!"