Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

He had 350 System Points, a small fortune earned through his chaotic, two-goal performance against Accrington Stanley. He browsed the skills, his mind racing with possibilities.

The 'Knuckleball' was a tantalizing, expensive dream.

The 'Leadership' trait felt like a responsibility for a future, older Leon.

But at the bottom of the list, the 'Alpha's Presence' trait glowed with a magnetic, arrogant light.

Cost: 3000 SP. Requires: Current Ability 90.

It was the end-game goal, the final boss of his own evolution.

He couldn't afford it now. But he could start building the arsenal he would need when he got there. He needed to be more than just a playmaker.

He needed to be a threat. He navigated back to the 'Shooting' category. 'Finesse Shot' was tempting, the path of the artist. But he already had that in his locker.

He needed something more. Something... definitive.

[Power Shot - Level 1]: Increases shot power by 5%. Cost: 100 SP.

It was a simple, brutal, and beautiful upgrade.

With a firm, decisive mental command, he clicked 'Purchase'.

[100 SP deducted. 'Power Shot - Level 1' acquired!]

A flash of golden light, visible only in his mind's eye, seemed to surge down his spine and settle in his right leg.

It didn't physically change, but he could feel it, a low, thrumming hum of potential, a coiled spring waiting to be unleashed.

He smiled, a slow, predatory grin. He had just bought himself a cannon.

He still had 250 SP left. He could buy another skill.

But he decided to wait. To save. The path to becoming an 'Alpha' was long, and he would need every point he could get.

He closed the store, the quiet hum of his new power a comforting presence, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He woke up the next morning feeling like a supercar that had just had its engine upgraded. He didn't know if it was real or just a placebo effect, but his legs felt... explosive.

He walked into the kitchen, where his mother was preparing his pre-match breakfast.

"Buongiorno, my champion," she said, before doing a double-take.

"Mamma mia, you are walking with a different... energy. Did you do extra leg exercises yesterday?"

"Something like that, Mom," he grinned, feeling a surge of affection for her uncanny ability to notice everything. "Just feeling good."

His phone buzzed. It was a video call from Byon, who was already in his Man City training kit.

"There he is! The FA Cup hero!" Byon's cheerful face appeared on the screen.

"Ready for the big one today? Tottenham, huh? A proper test."

"We're ready," Leon said, taking a bite of toast.

"You got any secret tips for us? You guys play them all the time."

"Tips?" Byon scoffed, a mischievous grin on his face. "Yeah, I've got one. Don't let Richarlison get in your head. The guy is a tactical genius of pure, unadulterated annoyance. He'll pull your shirt, he'll whisper confusing things in your ear, he'll celebrate a throw-in like he's just won the World Cup. He's a master of chaos. Tell Virgil to bring a book to read, because he's going to be doing a lot of standing around after he puts that guy in his pocket."

Leon laughed. "And Kudus? He was a monster in Italy."

"Ah, Kudus," Byon said, his expression turning more serious.

"He's different. Fast, tricky, direct. He's a real problem. That's a job for your Scottish bulldog, Robertson. It'll be a great fight."

The atmosphere in the Liverpool dressing room before the match was electric.

The Premier League was back in full swing, and this was their first major test, an away trip to a London rival.

"So," Trent Alexander-Arnold said to Andy Robertson as they were getting dressed. "You've got Kudus today. Ready for a run?"

"Ready?" the Scotsman shot back, a fiery glint in his eye.

"I'm going to run him all the way back to the airport. He won't know what hit him."

"And I," Virgil van Dijk said, his voice a calm, deep rumble of pure confidence as he overheard their conversation, "will be dealing with the 'master of chaos'." He said the words with a small, amused smile. "I think I can handle it."

Arne Slot walked in, his expression calm and analytical.

"Alright, lads," he said, and the room fell silent.

"Tottenham. A good team. An aggressive team. They play a high line, they press with intensity. This is both a danger and an opportunity."

He looked around the room.

"They will leave space behind them. Our job is to be intelligent enough to find it, and ruthless enough to punish it." He looked at his front three.

"Mo, Leon, Isak. I want you three to be a nightmare of interchangeable movement. Don't stay in one position. Confuse them. Create the space. The rest of the team," he said, his gaze sweeping the room, "win your battles. Be brave. Be Liverpool. Let's go."

They stood in the tunnel of the magnificent Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, the roar of 60,000 Londoners a hostile, deafening wall of sound.

The commentator was ready for a war.

"A COLOSSAL CLASH in the capital! A rejuvenated Tottenham, with their new superstar signing Mohammed Kudus, face the might of the champions, Liverpool! It is a battle of philosophies! A battle of titans! And for Liverpool's world-record signing, Leon, it is his first taste of a true, top-of-the-table Premier League dogfight! THE STAGE IS SET!"

The whistle blew.

And from the first second, it was clear that this was a different level.

The speed was breathtaking, the tackles ferocious. Spurs, feeding off their home crowd, came out of the gates like a team on fire.

Kudus, on the wing, was an electric blur, his every touch a threat. Richarlison was a non-stop engine of aggressive energy, already getting into a friendly, shirt-pulling argument with van Dijk.

The game was a tense, high-speed chess match.

And then, in the 28th minute, Leon found his moment.

He received the ball and, with his new, simplified Vision, he scanned the pitch. He saw the usual numbers, the 'Po' and 'Cu' ratings.

Kudus, a dangerous 88. Son Heung-min, a clinical 90.

And then his eyes settled on Richarlison.

[Richarlison | Po: 87 | Cu: 86]

But below the standard numbers, a new line of text flickered, a jagged, aggressive font he had only seen a few times before.

It was a Hidden Trait. And as he read the description, a slow, cold, and deeply unsettling understanding washed over him.

[Hidden Trait Detected: 'Mental Disruptor'. When in close proximity to an opponent, has a passive ability to temporarily inflict minor negative status effects ('Frustration', 'Loss of Focus') on players with a lower 'Composure' attribute.]