I woke up to a sharp ache running from my knees all the way up my thighs. Rolling over in bed was a mistake; every movement sent stabbing reminders of yesterday's humiliation. My alarm blared like it had a personal vendetta against me.
"Great," I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "My life is officially a pain montage."
Then I saw it.
A faint, glowing panel hovering above my desk—like something out of a sci-fi movie. The words floated, precise and mechanical:
[Good morning, Leo Carter. First mission for today: 5 kilometers run.]
[Reward: +1 Stamina, Beginner Striker Package.]
[Current Stats: Strength 2, Stamina 1, Technique 1, Mental Focus 1]
I rubbed my eyes, convinced I was still half-asleep. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe I'd hit my head yesterday and this was some weird fever hallucination. But no. The panel didn't vanish.
I groaned. "Run… 5 kilometers? Are you kidding me? My legs are dead. I can barely walk to the bathroom without wincing."
A small ping sounded in my head.
[Leo, hesitation detected. Remember: failure carries penalties. Temporary fatigue, minor stat reduction.]
I blinked. Well, okay then. No pressure. Just a glowing AI threatening to punish me if I quit before breakfast. Fantastic.
I swung my legs into my sneakers, stretching until my muscles protested loudly. The first steps outside were brutal. My lungs screamed as if I'd just sprinted a hundred meters, and my legs felt like lead. Every stride reminded me of every failed match, every coach who had shouted at me, every time I'd been left behind.
[Tip: Maintain steady pace. Focus on breathing. Visualize success.]
I scoffed. "Visualize success? Great advice for someone who's gasping like a dying fish."
But I kept moving. Slowly. Every step felt like climbing a mountain, every breath a battle. I passed empty streets, early morning joggers giving me confused looks. Maybe they could see the glowing panel floating in front of me. Maybe they just thought I was crazy. Honestly, I wouldn't have argued either way.
By the time I hit two kilometers, I was ready to quit. My lungs burned. My legs shook. My brain screamed, this is pointless, just stop. And for a second, I almost listened.
[Warning: Failure imminent. Attribute decrease if mission abandoned.]
The threat of losing something tangible made me grit my teeth. Fine. I'd do it. I couldn't quit. Not here. Not yet.
I thought back to my first soccer practice, when I was seven and I had kicked a ball so hard it went straight through the neighbor's window. I'd laughed then, thought I was invincible. I'd wanted that feeling back. Not the glory or the cheers—but that spark, the pure thrill of pushing myself and feeling alive.
So I ran.
Half a kilometer later, my pace picked up slightly. The system gave me little encouraging notifications:
[Good, Leo. Heart rate optimal. +0.2 Mental Focus.]
[Keep breathing steadily. You're stronger than you think.]
Somehow, that tiny reassurance—mechanical, impersonal—made me keep going. Every ping felt like a nudge, reminding me that this wasn't just pain. This was progress.
Three kilometers in, I almost tripped over a cracked sidewalk. I cursed loudly. A stray dog barked at me, and for some reason I laughed—loud, hysterical, exhausted laughter. Me, laughing while dying on a sidewalk at 7 a.m. I was pathetic. And yet… I felt alive.
The last kilometer was agony. My legs burned like fire, my lungs were hollow, and sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes. I wanted to collapse, curl into a ball, and never move again. But the system… the system wouldn't let me.
[Mission Complete. +1 Stamina, Beginner Striker Package unlocked.]
I staggered to a stop, hands on my knees, panting like a dog. My vision swam. But then I noticed something: my legs weren't as heavy as before. Not much, but enough. Enough to remind me that I hadn't failed. Enough to make me believe I could improve.
I sat down on a nearby curb, staring at the notification floating above me. Beginner Striker Package. I had no idea what it meant yet, but somehow it felt important. Real. Tangible.
For the first time in months, maybe years, I smiled. Not a fake, "oh I'm fine" smile, but a real one, shaky and exhausted but proud.
I checked the system for new missions. The list was long: dribbling drills, shooting accuracy, tactical exercises. I scrolled through them like a kid in a candy store.
And then I felt it—a spark I hadn't felt since I was seven, kicking that first ball: hope.
"Alright," I muttered under my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "If this system can make me better… then I'm going all in."
I didn't know what awaited me. I didn't know if I'd fail tomorrow, the next day, or the day after. But for the first time in a long time, I wanted to find out.
The game wasn't over. Not yet.
And I was ready to fight.