The Art of Pretending to Be Systematic
Chapter 4: The Art of Pretending to Be Systematic
The weather was splendid, with warm breezes gently caressing the poolside of the villa. Quaresma lay back, relishing a life of comfort that had eluded him in his previous existence.
Porto Club had rented this luxurious villa for him. It boasted six bedrooms, four bathrooms, an indoor game room, and an outdoor swimming pool. Additionally, there was a mini football field where Quaresma could keep up his training even during his downtime.
The rent for such a spacious villa was a mere 4000 euros per month. Converted into local currency, it amounted to roughly 4500 dollars —a sum not to be scoffed at.
Quaresma felt no financial strain. In Porto, his after-tax annual salary amounted to 1.1 million euros—not quite the pinnacle of top-tier stars, but certainly more than enough to place him comfortably in the top 5% of income earners.
With his material needs well taken care of, Quaresma now sought to fulfill his spiritual desires—a natural evolution of human instinct.
—Indeed, what use was such a luxurious villa if not for hosting parties?
Quaresma couldn't recall who had said that, but he wholeheartedly agreed.
It was often said that the amateur lives of professional players consisted of embracing partners and young models at parties, indulging in vibrant nightlife, and then sleeping through the day, only to repeat the cycle again the following evening.
Such a life seemed incredibly enticing!
Though slightly exaggerated, Quaresma wasn't one to dive headlong into wild excesses.
The unbridled nightlife had been the downfall of many talented athletes in his previous life. Quaresma understood this perhaps better than most.
Thus, if he truly aspired to be a superstar, he knew he had to remain disciplined.
With a football in hand, Quaresma strolled over to the mini training ground in the villa's yard. It was his first time touching a football since his reincarnation.
He wondered: Since he now inhabited Quaresma's persona, would he inherit Quaresma's skills?
The anticipation in Quaresma's heart was palpable, akin to a child eagerly awaiting a long-desired toy, bubbling with genuine joy.
—Time to practice those fancy footwork!
He tossed the ball lightly into the air, let it drop, extended his right foot, and crisply struck it with the instep—a textbook move. In that moment, Quaresma felt he could keep at it for hours without pause.
But reality often falls short of imagination, sometimes even disappointingly so.
Perhaps Quaresma hadn't fully assimilated Quaresma's skillset, or maybe he was just too excited. When he swung his leg with a touch too much vigor, the ball didn't sail as intended. Instead of a graceful curve, it shot straight up into the air.
—Straight up and down!
*Snap!*
Caught off guard, Quaresma took the full brunt of the ball square in the face.
In that moment, Quaresma experienced firsthand what it meant to be utterly defenseless—his nose throbbing painfully, tears and mucus mingling freely. Had anyone witnessed his sorry state, they would have thought him a pitiful sight indeed.
—A failure through and through. Unable to even control a simple ball. What chance did he have at dominating football?
But undeterred, Quaresma steeled himself to make amends right then and there.
—Keep going!
And so, at the mini stadium of Villa Quaresma, a scene unfolded—a determined Quaresma striving to reacquaint himself with the ball, albeit with initial clumsiness.
*Snap!*
Quaresma clutched his face, tears flowing anew.
*Snap!*
This time, he covered his groin, sinking to his knees in agony, trembling all over, tears unabated.
*Snap! Snap! Snap!*
...
He persisted in his practice for over an hour, enduring a bruised nose and battered shins.
Meanwhile, hidden from view, an insatiable urge simmered, seeking an outlet.
—What madness was this? Was this self-harm disguised as practice?
Quaresma now understood the immense challenge of mastering the art of ball control.
Yet practice bore fruit. He had managed to string together 100 consecutive touches—a feat worthy of celebration!
Post-exercise, Quaresma headed straight to the bathroom to wash away the sweat, all the while mumbling incomprehensible rap lyrics under his breath.
"Uncle's uncle and uncle's aunt, all wooden tables and chairs!"
"Criticize the referee, foul the referee, free kicks always find the net!"
"Quick, execute the Marseille turn, hum-ha-ha!"
...
Suddenly, Quaresma's impromptu concert came to an abrupt halt. His expression turned quizzical as he pondered a nagging question.
—Wait a minute, wasn't there something important I've forgotten?
Where was my 'golden finger'?
In most stories, crossing into another world usually entailed gaining some extraordinary advantage—a World Mall system, a Superstar System, or even a Big Amusement System, all serving to facilitate one's ascent to greatness.
But here he was, utterly bereft of any such advantage.
Had the gods of fate forsaken him? Had they forgotten his system?
My demands are modest. Even a single season's worth of tasks and upgrades would suffice to elevate me to the pinnacle of football.
Isn't that too much to ask?
This must be a mix-up. Although I believe in my own abilities to reach the top, why spurn the shortcut if one presents itself?
And if word got out that I lacked a system, wouldn't they all laugh at me?
Please, how does one pretend to possess such a golden finger?
Quaresma's most fervent wish now—*ding!*—was to hear: "Your plugin has been successfully recharged. Binding now..."
Of course, there was the possibility of a different outcome: "Ding! Due to the host's insufficient operational value, the system deems him unworthy of binding and will disconnect in 10 seconds... 10... 9... 8... Farewell!"
Oh, what a tale of woe!
...
No, this won't do. The mysterious figure had assured him that he would handle everything from now on.
I refuse to be stranded!
I demand restitution!
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the mysterious voice finally resounded, tinged with weariness this time.
—Is this guy for real?
"My apologies for the tardiness. As the overseer of cosmic crossings, my schedule's been quite tight. I've only just managed to address your predicament."
Quaresma, despite harboring doubts, accepted the excuse. Yet, he couldn't shake a nagging suspicion that the figure might not be entirely truthful.
"Let me clarify: Since you've become Quaresma, there's no going back. That's a fact," the voice continued, earnest in its explanation, albeit tinged with apprehension. "But rest assured, I can offer you compensation."
Upon hearing the promise of compensation, Quaresma's interest was piqued. He hadn't initially planned on such, but the prospect of recompense was indeed intriguing.
"The last time you mentioned compensation, I wound up as Quaresma instead of Ronaldo. Suffice it to say, your track record isn't stellar," Quaresma quipped, derision coloring his tone, even managing to fluster the mysterious figure.
"Rest assured, no temp workers this time. I'm personally overseeing this, and I guarantee satisfaction," the figure declared, almost beating his chest in assurance.
Quaresma smirked. "In that case, I'll take 100 billion dollars in wealth this time!"
The ensuing silence stretched on, before the voice responded with a hint of resignation, "Actually, that wouldn't be half bad..."
Quaresma wasn't about to back down. "Fine, how about arranging for me to become a second-generation heir, with a monthly spending task of 1 billion and a 30 billion inheritance upon completion?"
"Don't be absurd," the voice retorted, exasperation evident.
"Even after crossing over, must I endure such deprivation?" Quaresma's displeasure was palpable.
After a prolonged standoff, the mysterious figure relented.
"Enough of this. I can offer you two fixed compensations. Will you hear me out?"
"Very well," Quaresma acquiesced, wary of pushing his luck and coming away with nothing.
"The first compensation: You'll inherit Quaresma's predecessor's abilities in full. I realize you haven't been able to tap into those skills yet. Consider it resolved. At the very least, you'll have no trouble in the Portuguese Super League from now on!"
Quaresma felt a surge of elation. Just moments ago, he'd been humbled by his ball-handling debacle. Now, this compensation felt like a timely gift.
"The second compensation: A legitimate system—no frills attached. With diligence, you can continually enhance your abilities."
At this declaration, Quaresma couldn't contain his emotions.
A thousand thanks, a thousand blessings—the system was finally within his grasp!
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone