I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Greenwood has one physical education class per week.

The boys played soccer in the southern half of the playground, while the girls did gymnastics and walking in the northern half.

The two venues were separated only by a white line drawn on them, about two fingers wide. When the wind blew, it would turn powdery, making it almost as if there was no line at all.

Richard's usual practice during physical education classes is to stay still as much as possible.

His former physique would leave him breathless after just two laps, and the PE teacher's expectations for him had tacitly fallen to a low level.

If you just sit on the sidelines and don't get heatstroke, faint, or make me write an accident report, then we're even.

Richard was happy to cooperate.

During every PE class, he would find a shady spot to sit on the sidelines, flip through a couple of pages of his book, and occasionally look up to watch his classmates running on the field.

The same plan was originally intended for today.

I had the book "From the Temple to the Pulpit" in my bag, which I could use the class time to read a few pages.

But the plan was interrupted.

About ten minutes into the game, Hugh was dribbling down the right wing when a burly guy from the opposite side tackled him from the side.

It wasn't a malicious foul; it was simply that he was a beat too slow in pulling his foot back.

Hugh rolled half a circle and squatted on the sidelines, clutching his left knee with both hands, his face contorted in pain.

"Are you alright?" Richard looked up from the pile of books.

"My knee hit the ground...it hurts terribly." Hugh grinned. "Could you ask Mr. Thompson for a day off for me?"

Before he could even get leave, Warren had already run over from the stadium.

His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his face showed a determination to never give up until he achieved his goal.

"Fenton's done for? Then we're short one person."

His gaze fell on Richard.

Richard shook his head.

"Come on." Warren bent down, grabbed his arm, and lifted him up:

"Just stand in the back, kick the ball back when it comes, and don't worry about anything else."

"I don't play football."

"Just kick it once today, consider it helping out."

"I……"

"Please, they have one more player on the other side. Our defense is like a sieve."

Warren had already half-dragged, half-pulled him up from the ground.

Hugh, clutching his knee, gave him a thumbs-up, meaning, "Go, brother, avenge me."

Richard was pushed onto the field.

Physical education teacher Thompson glanced at him from the sidelines, frowned, and probably wondered in his mind whether the kid would faint on the grass as soon as he went on the field.

But he didn't stop it; he just blew his whistle to let the game continue.

Richard was positioned in the right corner of his own half of the field.

Warren marked out a small area for him, about five steps long and three steps wide, roughly the size of a parking space.

"Stay here. If the ball comes to you, kick it away. If the ball doesn't come to you, just stand there and don't run around."

Richard accepted his role as a "human roadblock."

Nothing really happened for the first few minutes.

The ball moved back and forth in the midfield, and occasionally it would fly over his head but was always a high ball that was caught by someone else.

He was even a little bored and started paying attention to the scenery around him.

The white and gray line at the edge of the playground had been worn down by repeated trampling and was now broken. On the other side of the line, girls were lining up to do calisthenics.

The female teacher leading the exercises had a very loud voice; her rhythm could be heard throughout the entire street.

The second group of girls who had finished their exercises began to walk in twos and threes along the edge of the field, circling around to digest the exercise.

Lillian walked side by side with two female classmates on the outermost circle, close to the boys' basketball court.

She was wearing a sporty mini skirt, revealing a glimpse of her fair calves beneath the hem. She walked with small but even steps.

The three girls were talking in hushed tones, with occasional bursts of laughter.

The incident occurred in the fifteenth minute of the match.

Warren received the ball in midfield and dribbled past two players.

Once the momentum was building, he took a long-range shot from about thirty paces from the goal.

Too much force was used, and the angle was also off.

The ball, spinning wildly, flew out of the goal area and headed straight for the girls' field on the other side of the white and gray lines.

In that direction, Lillian was walking with her back to the court.

The ball was about chest height, spinning rapidly, whirring and cutting through the air.

We were about five or six steps away from Lillian's back.

Warren was already shouting, "Watch out—!"

Mr. Thompson was at the other end of the field, with a whistle in his mouth but no time to blow it.

The two girls next to Lillian saw the trajectory of the ball and screamed as they scattered to the sides.

Lillian herself hadn't even reacted yet; she had just begun to slow her pace after hearing the shout.

Richard's body reacted before his brain did.

He used to have weak legs and slow reactions. After his brain issued the "move" command, his body would be sluggish for half a second before it began to execute it.

The improved coordination after breaking through to the "newcomer" stage was evident at this moment.

Without hesitation, he focused his etheric energy on strengthening his legs and slashed horizontally with his feet.

The first step was taken at a very precise angle, cutting directly into the ball's flight path.

With the second step landing, the center of gravity has already shifted, and the right foot is lifted off smoothly.

Just before the ball hit the girl's back, he gently tapped the ball with the outside of his foot.

There was no large leg swing, and it didn't require much skill; it was purely about the angle and timing being perfect.

The ball's trajectory was altered, and the original rotation and the new torque generated by the impact combined.

The ball arced back across the field and landed right at Warren's feet.

Warren stood frozen in place as the ball bounced twice on the top of his foot.

"...My ball?"

Startled by the shouts, Lillian turned around.

The two female students retreated to the left and right sides respectively, their faces still showing signs of shock.

The girl then looked behind her, following her classmate's gaze.

Richard stood two steps behind her, his left shoelace untied.

The boy had a faint blush on his cheeks, and the wind ruffled his brown hair.

"...What happened?" Lillian asked.

"Warren kicked it wide." Richard squatted down to tie his shoelaces.

Did you kick me?

"no."

Warren was waving his hands frantically, saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," his face showing a mixture of guilt and relief.

She glanced down at Richard, who was squatting on the ground tying his shoelaces.

"Thanks."

Richard tied his shoelaces, stood up, and patted the grass clippings off his trousers.

"fine."

Lillian turned and walked back to the girls' area, her steps quicker than usual.

Two female classmates quickly gathered around her, one on each side, and started talking to each other.

One of them kept looking back at the court, while the other covered his mouth and laughed.

The girl's ears turned red, and she elbowed the one who was laughing hard.

………………

The news spread faster than the ball traveled.

There were thirty or forty people present who witnessed it firsthand. Once everyone dispersed into their respective small groups, the story began its first round of development.

The initial version was relatively faithful to the facts: "Richard ran over and blocked a ball for Lillian."

The ball was passed around the second lap and became: "Richard rushed out and kicked the ball back, landing precisely at Warren's feet."

Third lap: "Richard leaped and delivered a spectacular bicycle kick, sending the ball back into the air."

The fourth lap was completely outside the gravitational pull of reality:

"Richard ran from halfway across the field and stopped the ball with his chest just as it touched Lillian."

At lunchtime, the restaurant was busier than usual, with people at several tables talking about the matter.

Warren slammed his plate on the table and, before he'd even settled into his seat, began to argue:

"First of all, I want to clarify that the ball wasn't kicked wide; my foot slipped because there was mud on the ground."

"Come on, what's done is done." Mason was more interested in the person who received the ball.

"Speaking of which, Richard's kick was just like Stanfield's."

Warren stuffed a potato into his mouth.

"You used to sit on the sidelines and flip through books during PE class, when did you become so quick-witted?"

"I'm feeling better lately."

"You can run so fast now that you're feeling a little better? You couldn't even walk a lap around the track before."

"I couldn't even understand the Latin conjugation chart before," Richard said, taking a sip of hot tea.

Warren was momentarily speechless.

Mason, however, wouldn't let the topic rest, slamming his fist on the table and saying:

"Honestly, if you were to come and play football, I think you could play as a full-back."

Quick reflexes, accurate positioning, although physical fitness is a bit lacking...

"I won't kick him." Richard replied decisively.

Why?

"Playing in competitions is prone to injury, and my health has just started to improve, so it's not worth it."

"...That's true."