No pain.

No visible issue.

But that didn’t align.

Not with what had been described.

Not with what should have been there.

Nearly thirty minutes passed like that, the routine continuing, data collected, observations made. Plachel said very little during the process, but the way he moved—the extra glances at the screen, the slight pauses before the next instruction—made it clear he wasn’t seeing what he expected to see.

Eventually, he stepped back.

"That’s fine," he said, more to the staff than to Lukas. Then he turned toward him. "You can go."

Lukas sat up, removing the remaining straps as instructed, then slid off the table. He stood, testing his weight again, shifting slightly from one leg to the other.

Still nothing.

No pain.

He nodded once, more to himself than anyone else, then headed toward the adjoining room.

As he stepped through the door, he stopped briefly.

Topmöller was there.

The coach stood near the far side of the room, hands resting lightly on his hips, his expression neutral but attentive. He hadn’t been there when Lukas went in.

Now he was waiting.

"Coach," Lukas said, stepping forward.

Topmöller looked at him, his eyes quickly scanning his posture, the way he walked, the way he carried himself.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Great," Lukas replied simply.

Topmöller held his gaze for a second longer, as if trying to read something beyond the words, then gave a small nod.

At that moment, the door behind them opened again.

Dr. Plachel stepped out.

Topmöller turned immediately. "Well?"

Plachel didn’t answer right away.

He glanced once at Lukas, then back at the coach, as if weighing how to phrase what he was about to say.

"I don’t know how to put this," he began slowly.

There was a brief pause.

Then he shook his head slightly.

"It’s like..." he said, "...it’s like he didn’t play yesterday."

Topmöller frowned slightly, clearly not satisfied with that answer.

"I don’t get it," he said, his tone sharpening just a little. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Plachel exhaled quietly, running a hand across the back of his neck before looking back at the screen, as if hoping it would suddenly make more sense the second time.

"I also find it hard to believe," he admitted. "But his body... it’s like he never played yesterday. In fact, it’s more than that—it’s like he hasn’t played a game for a week."

He turned fully toward them now, his voice steadier, more certain as he continued.

"He’s in top condition. Physically, cardiovascularly—everything checks out. There’s no strain, no micro-tears, no inflammation. Even the usual fatigue markers we expect the morning after a match—they’re not there. Nothing."

Zembrod shifted slightly beside Topmöller, his brows knitting together as he looked at Lukas again.

Plachel gestured lightly toward him. "He could play another ninety minutes right now, and I wouldn’t have any medical reason to stop him."

That hung in the air for a second.

Topmöller and Zembrod both turned toward Lukas at the same time.

Really looked at him.

Lukas raised his hands slightly, almost defensively, shaking his head. "Don’t look at me like that," he said. "I also don’t know why."

Topmöller glanced back at the doctor. "Is it just... because he’s young? Faster recovery?"

Plachel shook his head immediately. "That helps, yes. But not like this. It hasn’t even been fifteen hours since the final whistle. There should be something—fatigue, soreness, minor tissue stress. At the very least, surface bruising."

He paused, then added more firmly, "There’s nothing. No signs that he played a high-intensity match at all."

Zembrod let out a quiet breath under his nose, still studying Lukas like he was trying to find something that explained it.

Topmöller folded his arms, thinking.

"...Genetics, maybe," he said after a moment. "It can’t just be age."

Plachel gave a small nod. "That would be my best guess. A very efficient recovery system, naturally. If that’s the case..."

He didn’t finish the sentence immediately, but the implication was clear.

"...then it’s a huge asset," Topmöller said, finishing it for him. "For his career."

Lukas stood there, listening.

Outwardly calm.

But he thought to himself, "Yeah... it sure would be a huge boost to my career."

[*You’re welcome.*]

TT’s voice slipped into his head so casually it almost made him flinch.

Lukas blinked once, his expression barely changing, but inside he let out a quiet scoff.

Topmöller broke the moment. "Alright," he said, clapping his hands once lightly. "Go join the group. The parade’s about to start."

Lukas nodded. "Yes, coach."

He turned and headed for the door.

As he stepped into the hallway, the quiet of the medical wing followed him for a few seconds before the distant noise began to seep back in—the chants, the movement, the energy building outside.

He walked slowly at first, then more steadily, his mind no longer on his leg.

Instead—

it drifted.

Back.

To earlier that morning.

To the moment he had activated it.

* * *

The gym floor inside the LTC felt solid beneath him as he sat there, one hand resting against his shin, the faint ache still present.

"Activate injury mode," he had said.

For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.

Then—

the system responded.

[INJURY MODE ACTIVATED]

[Condition Identified: Tibial Bone Bruise (Left Shin)]

[Severity: Moderate]

[Estimated Recovery Time (Real World): 2–3 Weeks]

[Injury Mode Adjuster Available]

Lukas had stared at the screen for a moment, his eyes lingering on the recovery time longer than anything else. Two to three weeks. In the middle of everything that was happening outside, that number felt inconvenient, almost unreal.

He shifted slightly where he sat, pressing his fingers lightly against his shin. The pain was still there, deep and dull, not sharp but persistent enough to remind him that it wasn’t something he could ignore.

"Activate injury mode adjuster," he said.

For a brief second, nothing changed. Then the system responded.

[INJURY MODE ADJUSTER ACTIVATED]

[Time Synchronization in Progress...]

[Adjusted Recovery Duration: 21 Days ]

The environment around him didn’t vanish—it evolved. The simple training space expanded outward, reshaping itself into something far more advanced. Walls extended, equipment materialized, and the entire atmosphere shifted from a basic facility into what felt like a high-end medical center designed with impossible precision.

Everything was clean. Structured. Purposeful.

Lukas looked around slowly, taking it in without saying anything.

Then the light appeared.

It started as a faint golden glow in front of him, hovering in the air before gathering into something more defined. Particles of light converged, forming a shape that resembled a human figure but without weight or solidity. It floated just above the ground, its outline clear enough to recognize arms and legs, but its face remained undefined, smooth and featureless.

[Welcome to injury mode.]

Lukas narrowed his eyes slightly. "Is that you, TT? You upgraded your look."

[This is the medical interface,] TT replied. [You will require constant supervision.]

Lukas exhaled quietly, glancing back at the system display. "So I’m here for three weeks."

[Correct. You are not healing faster. You are completing the full recovery cycle without interruption.]

That distinction settled in immediately. He wasn’t skipping anything. He wasn’t cheating the process. He was simply living through it... fully.