Chapter Five: The Promotion Line

His body launched forward while agony tore through his knee. A Red Star midfielder prepared to slide. If Lin continued, the joint would break. Emma raised a handwritten board: TOUCH, NOT SPEED. Lin seized the other template inside his mind. “Replace. Idriss—first touch.” The neural commands collided. His sight went black; glass seemed to shatter inside his ears. Then the speed vanished. Sami's long ball fell through the rain, and Lin cushioned it on his chest as if the ball had been caught by a hand. With his back to the defender, he hid it on his right and backheeled through the man's legs. Abou delayed half a beat, cut behind the line, and scored. Two-one.