Chapter 2:
The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds as Lucius arrived, a leather ball tucked under his arm. He had spent the previous night meticulously stitching it together, using the finest materials his modest wealth could afford. The result was crude by modern standards, but it would serve its purpose.
The gladiators and their trainer, a man named Cassius, were already waiting. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to outright skepticism.
"So," Cassius said, crossing his arms, "this is the great game that will change Rome?"
Lucius grinned. "This is just the beginning."
He placed the ball on the ground and began marking out a makeshift field with chalk. Two goals—simple wooden posts—stood at either end. The rules were basic: no hands, no weapons, just feet and skill. The objective? Get the ball into the opponent's goal.
"Seems simple enough," muttered one of the gladiators, a wiry man named Drusus.
"Simple to learn," Lucius agreed, "but difficult to master."
He divided the men into two teams, positioning himself among them. For a moment, they stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Then Lucius took the first kick.
The ball rolled forward.
And chaos erupted.
Gladiators, trained for combat, lunged at the ball with the same ferocity they used in the arena. Shoulders clashed, legs tangled, and within seconds, three men were sprawled in the dirt.
Cassius barked a laugh. "This is your grand vision? A brawl with a ball?"
Lucius wiped sweat from his brow, shaking his head. "No. It's supposed to be about control, teamwork—"
A massive gladiator named Titus barreled past him, snatching the ball mid-air before hurling it like a discus into the goal. The men cheered.
Lucius groaned. "That's not how it works!"
---
By midday, the game had devolved into something between wrestling and a riot. The ball was more of a suggestion than a focal point. Yet, despite the chaos, something unexpected happened—the men were enjoying themselves.
Laughter rang out between grunts of effort. Rivalries formed not out of hatred, but playful competition. Even Cassius, who had watched with crossed arms, eventually joined in, his old legs carrying him with surprising agility.
When they finally collapsed in exhaustion, the ball—now battered and misshapen—lay forgotten in the dirt.
Drusus, panting, turned to Lucius. "That was… fun."
The word sounded foreign coming from a gladiator. These men lived and died by the sword. Fun was a luxury they rarely indulged in.
Lucius seized the moment. "Imagine this on a grand scale. Stadiums filled with thousands, cheering not for blood, but for skill. Teams representing cities, provinces—even the legions."
Titus, the hulking gladiator who had thrown the ball earlier, frowned. "The crowds love the games. Why would they give up the arena for this?"
"Because," Lucius said, "this is something they can *be* a part of, not just watch. Every boy in Rome could dream of being a champion, not just a survivor."
A silence settled over them. The idea was audacious. Impossible, even.
Then Cassius stood, brushing dust from his tunic. "You'll need more than a ball and chalk to convince Rome."
Lucius nodded. "I know."
---
That evening, the system's voice echoed in his mind.
[Progress detected. New objective: Establish the first official team. Reward: Enhanced physical conditioning for all players.]
Lucius exhaled. One step at a time.
He unrolled the stadium blueprints again, studying them under flickering lamplight. The design was a marvel—a circular arena with tiered seating, but instead of sand for bloodshed, it held a lush green field.
But blueprints alone wouldn't be enough. He needed influence. Money. Patrons.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. A messenger stood outside, holding a sealed scroll.
"From Senator Gallus," the man said. "He requests your presence at his villa tomorrow."
Lucius's pulse quickened. Senator Gallus was a powerful man, known for his love of spectacle and his deep pockets.
Perfect.
As the messenger left, Lucius allowed himself a small smile.