The glowing blue screen floated silently in the dark room. It was like a ghost made of light. Tristan lay in his bed, holding his thin blanket right up to his chin. His heart was beating so fast and so hard that it felt like a drum inside his chest.
He looked at the small clock on his wall. It was 4:00 AM.
The city of Dasmariñas was still in a very deep sleep. The usual loud noises of the city, the roaring tricycle engines, the shouting street vendors, the loud music were all gone. Everything was quiet. The only sound was the soft, lonely bark of a stray dog somewhere far down the street. The air inside his small house was cool. It was January in the Philippines, a month known for cold morning winds. Tristan could feel the chill coming through the small cracks in their wooden window.
He looked back at the floating screen. The words on the screen were bright and scary.
MISSION 1: FUNDAMENTAL TRAINING
Objective:
- 10 Push-ups
- 10 Sit-ups
- 10 Squats
- 10 Kilometer Run
Time Limit: 1 Day
Failure: System Deletion
Tristan did not fully know what "System Deletion" meant. But the words sounded cold, angry, and final. It felt like a deadly threat. He knew, deep down in his stomach, that this was not a simple game. If he failed, the magic would disappear forever. He would lose his only chance to become great.
His classes at Dasmariñas National High School started exactly at 7:00 AM. That meant he only had three hours to finish the hardest part of the mission. He had to do a ten-kilometer run, get washed, and walk to school before the bell rang.
A ten-kilometer run. The thought of it made his thin legs ache. He could barely run a few small circles around the local basketball court without feeling sick. Running ten kilometers felt like climbing a giant mountain.
But what was the other choice? He could pull the blanket over his head, go back to sleep, and ignore the screen. If he did that, he would stay the same forever. He would always be the small, weak boy sitting at the end of the bench. He would always be the boy who missed his shots.
He thought about his parents sleeping in the next room. He thought about his father driving the tricycle all day in the hot sun and dirty smoke. He thought about his mother washing heavy clothes until her hands bled. They worked so hard for him. This was not just about his dream to play basketball anymore. This was his chance to become someone strong. This was his chance to make them proud.
Slowly and carefully, Tristan pushed the blanket away. He placed his bare feet on the wooden floor. The floor gave a small squeak. He stopped moving and held his breath. He listened carefully. He could hear his father snoring softly. Good. He did not want to wake them up. They needed all the sleep they could get before their long, hard day of work began.
He walked on his tiptoes out of his bedroom. He moved quietly like a cat. He went into the small bathroom and splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up. The water was freezing, but it helped clear his mind. He walked back to his room and put on the same old, cheap sneakers he had worn the day before at the basketball court. He found a faded old t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts.
He stopped for a second and looked at himself in a small, cracked mirror on the wall. He felt very foolish. Was he really going to do this? Was he really following orders from a glowing, floating blue screen that appeared out of nowhere?
He looked to his side. The glowing screen had followed him. It hovered just a few feet away, waiting patiently. The timer at the bottom of the screen was moving.
Time remaining: 23:59:45.
The clock was ticking. He had no more time to think.
Tristan grabbed the house keys. He looked one last time at the closed door of his parents' bedroom, sending them a silent promise. Then, he opened the front door and stepped outside.
The cold morning air hit him hard. It felt like a physical push against his chest. He closed the door carefully, making sure the lock made a very quiet click. In the silent morning, even that small noise sounded loud.
The streets of Dasmariñas looked totally different at four in the morning. The busy, crazy chaos of the daytime was completely gone. The yellow streetlights made long, dark shadows on the empty road. There were no cars. There were no people. There was only the sound of the wind blowing through the trees and the quiet chirping of small bugs hiding in the grass.
Tristan took a deep breath of the cold air and started to run.
His first steps were slow and awkward. He was not a real runner. He did not know how to breathe properly. He did not know how to swing his arms. His shoes were old and the rubber was hard, offering no soft bounce against the rough cement street. All he had was a desperate, burning fire inside his heart, and the floating blue screen that moved beside him as he ran.
He decided to keep a slow, steady pace. He ran past his neighbors' houses. He ran past the closed sari-sari stores. The January wind blew against his face, making his skin very cold and giving him goosebumps on his arms. He followed the main road, heading toward the center of the city. He did not know exactly how far ten kilometers was, but he knew he just had to keep moving forward.
After what felt like a very long time, his body started to fight back. His thin calves began to burn like they were on fire. His chest felt tight. Every time he breathed in, the cold air stung his throat and lungs.
He had to stop.
He slowed down to a walk and leaned heavily against a tall, grey lamppost. He was breathing so fast. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and stinging his eyes, even though the wind was cold. He looked at the glowing blue window waiting in front of him.
Run: 2.1 km / 10 km
Tristan groaned out loud. Two kilometers? Only two? He felt like he had been running for an hour. He had barely started the mission, and his body was already screaming at him to stop and go back to bed.
He closed his eyes and thought about Marco's easy, perfect jump shot. He thought about the threat of System Deletion. He opened his eyes, pushed himself away from the cold lamppost, and started jogging again.
The next few kilometers were pure torture. He was no longer running for fitness; he was just surviving. His form got worse. His feet dragged against the dirt and cement. The sky slowly began to change color. The dark black sky turned into a deep blue, and then a soft purple. The sun was waking up, and so was the city of Dasmariñas.
He heard the familiar sound of a tricycle engine starting up in the distance. He smelled the sweet, warm smell of fresh pandesal bread baking in a corner bakery. Street sweepers appeared with their long brooms, sweeping dry leaves off the road. People were waking up to start their day.
Tristan just kept running. His legs felt like they were made of heavy lead. His feet were covered in painful blisters from his old shoes. He was far away from his neighborhood now. He was running past large schools, big churches, and open fields he had never seen before.
He checked the floating screen again.
Run: 8.5 km / 10 km
'Just a little more', he told himself in his mind. 'Just a little more. Don't stop now'.
His entire body was in agony. His stomach cramped. His breathing sounded like a broken machine, just ragged gasps for air. He was running purely on willpower.
He turned a corner and saw a familiar street sign. It was the entrance to his barangay. He was almost home. The sight of his own street gave him a sudden, tiny burst of energy. He pushed his heavy legs to move just a little bit faster.
The last kilometer was a total blur. He did not feel his feet hitting the ground. He just saw the front door of his small wooden house getting closer and closer.
When he finally reached his front gate, his legs completely gave up. They folded under him like wet noodles. Tristan collapsed onto the dusty ground in front of his house. He fell on his hands and knees, his whole body shaking violently. He was covered in sweat and dirt.
He slowly lifted his heavy head and looked at the floating screen.
Run: 10 km / 10 km
Objective: Completed
- 10 Kilometer Run - SUCCESS
A bright, happy electronic chime sounded in his ears. It was the best sound he had ever heard. The screen flashed, and new words appeared.
Reward: 5 Points
Mission Log Updated: Push-ups, Sit-ups, Squats remaining.
Tristan did not care about the points right now. He did not care about the other exercises. He just wanted to lie in the dirt and sleep. But he looked at his watch. It was 6:15 AM. He had to get ready for school.
He dragged himself up off the ground. Every single muscle in his body pulled and ached. He unlocked the door with a shaking hand and went inside. His parents were already awake and in the kitchen.
"Tristan? Where were you?" his mother asked, looking at his sweaty, dirty clothes with wide eyes.
"Just... just exercising, Ma," he lied, trying to keep his voice steady. He walked quickly to the bathroom before she could ask more questions.
He took a shower using a plastic dipper and cold water from a bucket. The cold water felt amazing on his hot, sore muscles, but it also made him realize how much pain he was in. Getting dressed in his clean white school uniform was a huge struggle. Lifting his arms to put on his shirt sent sharp pain through his shoulders.
He went to the small kitchen table. His mother had prepared a plate of garlic rice and a fried egg. Tristan managed to force the food down, even though his stomach was too tired to feel hungry. He needed the energy.
He said goodbye to his parents and started the walk to Dasmariñas National High School. Every step he took was a careful, slow movement. He walked with a noticeable limp. His thighs felt tight, and his feet were sore.
When he reached the large metal gates of the school, Marco was already there waiting for him. Marco looked tall, relaxed, and full of morning energy. When Marco saw Tristan slowly walking up, his smile disappeared.
"Hoy, Tris! What happened to you, man?" Marco asked loudly. "You look like you just fought a wild carabao and lost! Did you fall down the stairs?"
Tristan managed to make a small, weak smile. "Something like that," he mumbled softly. "I just went for a really long run this morning."
Marco's eyes went wide with shock. "A run? You went running before school? You are crazy, man. I always tell you, you have too much passion and no practice. Running won't fix your jump shot."
"I practiced," Tristan said quietly. He felt a small spark of pride in his chest. "I ran a lot."
Marco just shook his head, looking completely confused. "You are unbelievable, Tris. Come on, let's go inside. Ms. Budbud is going to lock the door and kill us if we are late."
They walked toward their classroom. Marco walked with long, easy steps. Tristan followed behind him, walking like an old man with a bad back. The floating blue screen was gone from his vision for now, but he could still feel it hiding in the back of his mind. It was a silent secret that only he knew.
Their first class of the day was Science. Ms. Budbud was a very strict teacher with a loud voice. She stood at the front of the room, writing long words on the blackboard.
Tristan tried his absolute hardest to pay attention. He opened his notebook and held his pen. But his brain was surrounded by a thick, heavy fog of exhaustion. The sound of Ms. Budbud's voice sounded like a quiet lullaby. His eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds each. He had to pinch his own leg under the desk just to keep his eyes open. His body felt like it was fighting a massive war against sleep, and he was losing.
The entire school day felt like it lasted for a hundred years. He dragged himself from classroom to classroom. He did not play basketball during the lunch break. He just sat under a tree and stared at the grass, trying not to pass out.
Finally, the loud bell rang for the end of their last class, History. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.
Tristan slowly packed his books into his bag. His movements were stiff and clumsy. Marco walked with him back to the main school gate.
"Are you sure you are okay, Tris?" Marco asked. His voice was serious now, full of real worry. "You look completely terrible. You should go straight home and sleep. Do not come to the basketball court today."
"I am fine, Marco. I am just really tired," Tristan said. It was the truth, but it felt like a lie because there was so much more to the story.
"Alright, man. Take it easy. I will see you tomorrow," Marco said. He waved his hand and walked away down the busy street.
Tristan turned and began the long, painful walk home. The afternoon sun in Dasmariñas was incredibly hot. It baked the concrete sidewalks and made the air feel heavy. The walk back to his house felt just as long as the run from this morning.
When he finally reached his house, it was quiet. His father was out driving, and his mother was likely delivering clean clothes to her customers. Tristan walked into his small, hot bedroom and dropped his heavy school bag on the floor.
He just wanted to fall onto his thin mattress and sleep until tomorrow. But instantly, a familiar blue light filled the room. The screen appeared right in front of him.
MISSION 1: FUNDAMENTAL TRAINING
Objective: In Progress
- 10 Push-ups (5 Completed earlier. Remaining: 5)
- 10 Sit-ups (5 Completed earlier. Remaining: 5)
- 10 Squats (5 Completed earlier. Remaining: 5)
Tristan let out a long, sad sigh. The system was smart. It knew he had tried to do some small exercises during his rest breaks on the run, but he had failed to finish them. Now, the remaining numbers stared back at him. Five of each. It sounded like a small number, but to his broken, tired body, five felt like a million.
He could not stop now. The words System Deletion echoed in his head.
He took off his school uniform and put on his shorts. He got down on the wooden floor. He placed his hands flat against the hard wood, getting ready for his first push-up. Just holding himself up in the starting position took all of his strength.
He slowly lowered his chest to the floor. His thin arms shook wildly. He pushed himself back up, letting out a loud groan.
One.
He went down again. Pushed up.
Two.
By the time he reached three push-ups, his arms felt like they were on fire. Sweat dripped from his nose and hit the wooden floor. By number four, he could barely lift his own weight. His face smashed softly against the floor as his arms gave out. He lay there for a minute, panting like a tired dog.
I have to finish, he told himself.
He forced himself back up. He did the last one push-up, taking long breaks in between. When he finally hit five, he collapsed flat on his stomach.
He rolled over onto his back to start the sit-ups. He put his hands behind his head. The first sit-up made his stomach muscles scream in protest. He closed his eyes tight and just kept moving. He did not count out loud anymore. He just threw his body up and down, fighting through the sharp pain in his core, until he heard a soft chime.
Sit-ups: SUCCESS
He let his head fall back against the floor. Only one thing left.
Squats.
Tristan forced himself to stand up. His legs were still completely ruined from the ten-kilometer run. They shook violently just from standing still. He placed his feet apart and looked straight ahead at the floating screen.
He bent his knees and lowered his body. The pain was sudden and sharp. It felt like needles were poking into his knee joints and his thighs. He pushed back up. He did another one. And another one.
Every single squat was a new kind of hell. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes from the pure pain. But he kept seeing Marco's perfect shot. He kept seeing his father's tired face. He pushed through the pain. He did three. Then four.
When he pushed up from the fifth squat, his legs completely died. He fell hard onto the floor, unable to catch himself.
He lay on his back, staring up at the tin roof of his house, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, the room lit up with a bright, beautiful golden light. A loud, victorious sound played in his head, like a cheering crowd in a giant basketball arena.
MISSION 1: FUNDAMENTAL TRAINING - COMPLETE
Reward: 5 Points
The screen changed again, showing a new page that he had never seen before.
STATUS
Name: Tristan Herrera
Age: 14
Total Points: 10
Physical Stats:
Speed: 25
Acceleration: 12
Strength: 8
Vertical Jump: 11
Stamina: 13
Agility: 21
Tristan stared at the numbers. He did not know much about video game stats, but he knew enough to realize these numbers were incredibly low. A normal basketball player probably had stats in the seventies or eighties. His strength was only an eight.
But as he looked at the screen, he did not feel sad. He felt a giant wave of relief and a quiet, powerful sense of pride. He had done it. He had faced an impossible task and he had won. The system had tested him, and he did not quit.
He slowly dragged his broken body off the floor. He crawled to his small mattress and pulled his old blanket over himself. He did not even care about eating dinner. He just wanted to close his eyes.
His muscles hurt more than they ever had in his entire life. His head throbbed. But inside his chest, the fire was burning brighter than ever before. He was no longer just Tristan, the weak boy with no talent. He was a player inside a magical system.
He had ten points. He did not know how to spend them yet, but he knew they were his key to a new life.
As his eyes finally closed and sleep took over his mind, a small, proud smile appeared on his face. The journey to greatness had finally begun.