SSS Alpha Ranking: Limitless Soccer Cultivation After A Century

Normally, returning from the Galactic Cup, finalists, no less would've had the halls buzzing. Students would've run over asking for autographs, faculty would've been smiling like proud parents, and even the senior officials would've walked around with an extra bounce in their step.

But today the atmosphere felt different. Heavy. Like everyone sensed something strange drifting in the air but couldn't name it.

Blaze felt it the moment he stepped into the corridor outside Jason's office.

His brace hugged his ribs under his shirt, not painful but always present, like a quiet reminder he wasn't quite himself yet. The morning rehab session had gone fine, but his mind wasn't on the exercises. He kept replaying last night, Jason pacing his office, that tight look in his eyes, the words Aurion Capital sitting on Blaze's tongue like a stone.

He hadn't meant to overhear the call. But he had. And now everything felt tilted.

Before he could knock, Jason's door swung open.

Jason stood there, fully dressed in his training tracksuit, but something about him looked unusually sharp today. His posture. His eyes. His expression. Like a man who expected trouble.

"You're early," Jason said.

"You texted me at six in the morning," Blaze muttered. "Kind of hard not to be."

Jason almost smiled but didn't fully commit to it. "Come in. There's something you should know before everyone else hears it."

Blaze followed him inside.

Jason closed the door and walked around his desk, but he didn't sit. Instead, he rested both hands on the edge of the wood and drew in a slow breath.

"Aurion Capital sent someone," he said.

Blaze blinked. "To Veridion? Already?"

Jason nodded once. "A representative arrived this morning. The board is scrambling. They're trying to decide if we treat this like an opportunity or a threat."

"What do you think it is?"

"A power grab," Jason said without hesitation. "Plain and simple."

Blaze frowned. He didn't trust Aurion, not after hearing the way the man on the call spoke about him, as if he were a product instead of a person. But he didn't understand the whole picture.

Jason must've seen the confusion in his face, because he straightened and walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of him.

"Blaze, Aurion Capital doesn't invest in players. They acquire them. They build contracts that sound generous and clean on the surface, money, sponsorships, housing, private coaches but underneath it all… they own you. Every decision. Every match. Every transfer. Every part of your career."

Blaze's throat tightened.

"So the 'Elite Development Program'..."

"Is a leash," Jason finished quietly. "And they want to put it on you."

The room went quiet.

Blaze rubbed the side of his rib instinctively, like the brace could shield him from this entire situation. "Why me?"

Jason didn't answer right away. Instead, he gestured toward the couch, and they both sat.

"You showed the galaxy something in that final," he said. "Not just talent. Story. Heart. You pushed through injury, led your team, played like someone twice your age. Investors love that. Corporations love that even more."

Blaze stared at the floor. It should've felt flattering. It didn't.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

Jason leaned back, exhaling slowly. "I'm going to meet their representative today. He requested a private meeting. The board agreed."

Blaze's head snapped up. "Are you going alone?"

"Yes."

"That's not a good idea," Blaze said immediately. "Jason, these people don't talk. They decide. You said it yourself, they acquire things."

Jason gave him a level look. "That's why I'm not letting you anywhere near that meeting. They're already circling you. I'm not handing them a chance to speak to you directly."

"But..."

"No," Jason said, firm but not unkind. "Blaze, listen to me. You don't owe them a single word. Not yet. Not ever, if I can help it."

Blaze sat back, jaw tight.

Jason's voice softened. "I know you want to fight. But right now the smartest move is distance. Let me handle this first."

Blaze didn't like it, but part of him understood. Jason wasn't just his coach. He'd guided him, fought for him, rebuilt him more than once. If anyone could stand toe-to-toe with a corporation, it was him.

Still… his chest tightened again, and it wasn't from the injury.

Jason watched him for a moment. "You look like you're carrying a thousand thoughts. Want to tell me any of them?"

Blaze shook his head slowly. "Not really. Just… thinking."

Jason didn't push. He simply nodded once. "We'll go step by step. I'll update you after the meeting."

Then he stood, and Blaze felt the shift immediately, Jason sliding into his "coach in battle mode" the same way he did before tough matches.

"Go to the analysis room for now," he said. "Scarlett and Aya will run drills with the midfield. Lionel and Ryuji are anchoring the back line today. I want you quietly watching their transitions. No stress on the ribs."

"Yeah, got it."

Blaze left the office with a head full of questions he didn't know how to answer.

The analysis room was tucked to the right wing of the academy, a calm space full of screens, holo-displays, and cushioned seats arranged in a semi-circle. Usually Blaze loved it. Breaking down plays, spotting patterns, noticing things others missed, it felt natural.

But today felt different.

Scarlett and Aya were already on the training turf, running the first midfield drill. Lionel was stretching near the far wall, talking quietly with Mikhail. Grim and Kenji were reviewing past match footage. Zara was tying her boots, while Diego was adjusting his ankle weights.

It looked normal on the surface, but something in the energy felt… off.

Maybe it was him.

Maybe it was the brace under his shirt.

Maybe it was the way the final had ended.

Maybe it was the silent rumor spreading through the academy halls.

He didn't know. But the moment he stepped into view, several sets of eyes flicked toward him.

Scarlett jogged over first.

"You look like you didn't sleep," she said.

"Didn't," Blaze admitted.

Aya followed her. "Is the pain worse?"

"I'm fine," Blaze said. "Really. Jason just wanted me here to watch the drills."

Lionel joined them, arms folded. "We'll make the drills clean. Don't worry."

Blaze frowned. "I'm not here to judge you guys."

Lionel gave him a look. "Not what I meant. I meant you don't have to worry about things falling apart while you're rehabbing. We've got it."

That made Blaze blink.

Scarlett nudged Lionel. "You made that sound way harsher than you meant it."

Lionel sighed. "I'm just saying, we're solid. Heal first. Think later."

Aya added gently, "We know how badly you want to be out here. It's okay to rest."

Blaze didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched them return to the field, moving with confidence and rhythm. They weren't just teammates anymore, they were growing into something stronger. Something that didn't fall apart without him.

And for the first time since the injury…

he wasn't sure if that made him proud or uneasy.

He sat down, pulled up the holo-screens, and began tracking their movements. But his mind kept drifting.

To Jason.

To Aurion Capital.

To the man who had arrived this morning.

To the offer waiting like a shadow he couldn't shake.

He tried focusing on the drills. He really did.

But the feeling wouldn't go away.

The team didn't need him right now.

The academy didn't know what was coming.

And somewhere in the main building…

Jason was facing the start of a storm Blaze knew he'd caused without meaning to.

Jason's meeting was scheduled for ten. Blaze checked the time every few minutes but forced himself not to leave the room. The team didn't need him pacing around like a ghost.

That was when Ryuji approached, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Your mind is somewhere else," he said quietly.

Blaze blinked. "That obvious?"

"To everyone."

Blaze swallowed. He wanted to say something honest. Something real. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Ryuji didn't push, which somehow made it worse.

By the time noon approached, the drills wrapped up and the team trickled out in small groups. Blaze stayed behind, pretending to review footage.

But his foot kept tapping. His fingers drummed against the console. His ribs ached from the tension.

Finally, he stood.

He didn't even make it halfway down the corridor before he saw him.

A man in a charcoal suit walked beside the academy board director, moving with that slow, deliberate confidence that belonged to people who already believed the world was theirs.

Well-groomed. Early forties. Calm expression. Cold eyes.

And he spotted Blaze instantly.

Their gazes locked as they passed each other.

The man's lips curved in a small, knowing smile.

"Blaze Titan. Good to finally see the face behind the match footage."

Blaze didn't answer. His jaw clenched without instruction.

The man's smile widened.

"We'll speak soon."

And then he walked away with the director, leaving Blaze rooted to the spot with a punch of dread settling deep in his chest.

This wasn't interest.

This was hunting.

When Jason finally returned to the training wing, his expression said everything.

He didn't slam doors. He didn't shout. But his shoulders were stiff, his jaw tight, and his eyes carried the kind of weight that only came from saying no to someone powerful.

Blaze walked over to him. "How did it go?"

Jason looked at him for a long, quiet second.

"They're not backing off," he said softly. "Not even close."

Blaze felt something cold crawl down his spine. "So now what?"

Jason took a breath.

"Now," he said, "we prepare for a fight."

Blaze didn't know what kind of fight he meant, political, legal, personal… or something messier.

But he did know one thing:

The Titans' unity wasn't just cracking.

Someone was pushing on the fault line.

And it was only the beginning.