Raghav Khanna was no stranger to feeling like an outsider. In the small town of Akashpur, where everyone either played cricket or talked about cricket, his love for football was an anomaly. To make things worse, his father, Arjun Khanna, had been a well-known cricket player in his youth, and his older brother, Kunal, was already making waves as a state-level cricketer. The pressure to follow in their footsteps was always present, but Raghav's heart was set on something different.
He had fallen in love with football the moment he saw an old World Cup match on TV. The way the players danced across the field, controlling the ball with such grace and precision, made him feel something he had never felt before. Cricket was fine, but football—it made him feel alive.
But in Akashpur, football was a joke. There were no proper facilities, no coaching, not even enough players to form a team. Raghav spent most of his time kicking a worn-out ball against a wall near the dusty field by his house, training himself in whatever way he could. He practiced for hours, hoping that one day, he would be good enough to escape this town and make it to the big leagues.
That hope had started to fade recently. Now 18, he was in his final year of school, and with no real opportunities for football in the future, the dream was slowly slipping away. He would lie in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he should just give up and follow the path his father wanted for him. But something inside him kept pushing him to hold on just a little longer.
It was a regular evening after school when something strange happened. Raghav had just finished another tiring session of solo practice. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the empty field. He was about to head home when he noticed something unusual in the middle of the field.
A football—glowing faintly—sat there as if waiting for him.
Raghav blinked, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The ball was still there, glowing softly. Curiosity got the better of him, and he slowly walked toward it.
As soon as he touched the ball, a strange sensation washed over him. His vision blurred, and then, as if from nowhere, a digital screen appeared in front of his eyes. The words on the screen startled him:
**"Welcome to the Football System."**
Raghav froze, staring at the glowing text. A system? What did that even mean? He had read about "systems" in novels, where characters gained special abilities through some magical or futuristic means, but that was fiction. This couldn't be real… could it?
Before he could process what was happening, a voice, calm and robotic, echoed in his head.
**"You have been chosen to achieve greatness in football. Your journey begins now, but it will be far from easy."**
Raghav's heart raced. "Chosen? For what?"
The screen changed, and new information appeared. A list of attributes, each with a number next to it:
- **Speed: 40**
- **Dribbling: 35**
- **Stamina: 38**
- **Passing: 30**
- **Shooting: 32**
He stared at the numbers. They were all below average, and he knew it. These were the stats of someone who had never played football seriously, someone who lacked formal training. It was a harsh reminder of how far he had to go.
The voice returned. **"You will earn skill points by completing challenges. Points can be used to improve your abilities. But beware, the more you progress, the more difficult the challenges will become."**
Raghav's mind spun. This was insane, right? A voice in his head was telling him that he had a system to help him become a football player. It was the kind of thing that only happened in books or movies, but here he was, standing on an empty field, facing a glowing ball and a screen showing his football stats.
He took a deep breath, unsure whether to laugh or be afraid. "Okay, let's say I believe you," he muttered. "What's the first challenge?"
The screen flickered, and the voice answered. **"Complete 100 consecutive accurate passes against the wall."**
Raghav looked at the wall he had practiced against for years. He had passed the ball countless times, but this was different. He would have to hit the same spot, accurately, 100 times without messing up.
"Alright," he said, more to himself than to the system. He grabbed the ball, positioning himself a few feet away from the wall. His heart was still pounding, but there was a spark of excitement too. If this was real—if this system could help him—maybe he had a chance after all.
The first few passes were easy, almost too easy. But as he reached 30, his legs started to feel the strain. By the time he hit 50, his arms were heavy, sweat dripped down his forehead, and his focus began to waver.
"Just 50 more," he whispered, trying to block out the exhaustion creeping into his muscles.
At 75, he missed. The ball veered slightly off course, missing the mark on the wall by inches. The screen flashed red, and the system's voice echoed in his head again.
**"Challenge failed. Restarting."**
Raghav groaned in frustration. He wiped the sweat from his face and positioned himself again. This was going to be harder than he thought.
---
The sun had long set by the time Raghav finally completed the challenge. His body ached, his muscles burned, but as he hit the 100th pass, the screen flashed green.
**"Challenge complete. One skill point earned."**
The sense of accomplishment washed over him, but before he could celebrate, the voice returned.
**"Allocate your point. Speed, Stamina, or Passing?"**
Raghav didn't hesitate. He had always struggled with endurance, so he chose Stamina. Instantly, he felt a subtle change in his body, as if his muscles were just a little bit stronger, a little more resistant to fatigue.
He dropped to the ground, panting, staring up at the stars in the sky. This was crazy, but it was real. He had a system, and for the first time in his life, he felt like his dream might not be so impossible after all.
As he lay there, a smile crept across his face. This was just the beginning.
The field of dreams was no longer a distant fantasy—it was right in front of him.