Elena positioned him at the starting line.
"You see that line down there?" She pointed to the white finish line one hundred meters away.
Darius stared at it. This was it. His first real run. Not toddler playing. Not accidental movements. An actual purposeful sprint with his mother watching. An Olympic athlete watching.
No pressure there.
Twenty-two years paralyzed and unable to move. Three years as a baby with limited control. Twenty-five total years of waiting. And now he was standing at a starting line about to run one hundred meters.
Just one hundred meters. It felt like the world.
He could feel his tiny legs beneath him. His body was so small, so weak compared to what he remembered from watching athletes on TV. But it worked. His legs responded. His arms responded. He could move.
The abilities were there. He knew he had them. The system had integrated them. But he'd never actually used them. Muscle memory for muscles he'd never had. Knowledge for a body that didn't exist until now. Time to find out if they worked.
"When I say go, you run. Okay?"
He nodded. Couldn't speak. Too excited. Too nervous. Too everything.
"Ready?"
Darius got into a ready position and his body knew what to do. Block Start Technique at Good tier. Information flowed into his muscles. Slight crouch. Hands forward. Weight on his toes. He wasn't thinking about it. Just knowing.
The system abilities weren't just knowledge. They were instinct. His body understood even at three years old, even with limited strength and coordination. The technique was there.
"Set."
Race Focus at Good tier kicked in. Everything else faded away. Not thinking about Elena. Not thinking about the track. Not thinking about his old life. Just the white line one hundred meters away. Just the run. Complete concentration.
The wait felt like forever. His body was coiled and ready to explode. Explosive Power at Good tier was waiting. He could feel it. Potential energy stored in tiny muscles.
"Go!"
Explosive Power fired. His legs drove forward. Not thinking. Just moving. First step. Second step. Third step. His body knew exactly what to do.
This was Explosive Power. He could feel it. Not just running. Exploding. Every muscle firing in sequence. Efficient. Powerful for a toddler. Working.
He was running. Actually running. After twenty-five years. The wind on his face. The track under his feet. The movement. He almost cried from the joy of it.
Block Start Technique was in action. First ten meters. Drive phase. His body stayed low. Head down. Arms pumping. Exactly like the skill had taught him. Exactly like he'd watched for years. But he was doing it now. Not watching. Doing.
Stride Efficiency kicked in and he could feel it happening. His steps weren't wasted. Not flailing like a normal toddler. Each movement had purpose. Arms at ninety degrees. Legs driving efficiently. Core stable. Minimal wasted motion. Good tier meant it wasn't perfect, but it was there. The foundation was solid.
But he was still three. His legs were short. His muscles were weak. He wasn't fast by any real standard. He could feel the gap between what his mind knew and what his body could do. Frustrating. But also, he was only three. This was just the beginning.
The transition phase came as he was coming upright now. Out of drive phase and into top speed mechanics. His body shifted automatically. Head came up. Stride lengthened as much as it could. Maximum velocity phase.
He reached his top speed around forty meters. For a three-year-old, it wasn't impressive objectively. But subjectively, he'd never moved this fast. Never. In either life. This was his top speed. His. Earned through the system. Through his choices. Through waiting.
Stride Efficiency was maintaining. His form stayed consistent. Arms still pumping properly. Feet still landing midfoot. Not breaking down yet. This was what Good tier meant. Solid foundation. Reliable technique. Even under effort.
Fifty meters. Halfway. He was starting to feel it. The fatigue. A toddler body had no endurance. A three-year-old cardiovascular system. But Speed Endurance at Good tier helped. He wasn't collapsing. Not falling apart. Maintaining some of the speed. Better than he would have without it.
His mind remembered watching 100-meter races. 9.58 seconds for Bolt's world record. Sub-10 seconds for elite men. He was going to finish in 24-plus seconds. So slow compared to that. But he was three. And he was running. That's what mattered.
Seventy meters. He was really slowing now. His legs were burning. Lungs burning. Arms getting heavy. Form starting to break down. He couldn't help it. His three-year-old body was giving out.
Pain Threshold at Excellent tier. Here it was. The pain. Lactic acid. Fatigue. Everything screaming for him to stop. But Pain Threshold kicked in. Excellent tier. Not just Good. This was his signature ability. And he felt it.
A normal three-year-old would stop. Would slow down drastically. Would give up. But he didn't. The pain was there. Sharp, burning, intense. But manageable. Not overwhelming. He'd felt worse. Twenty-two years of worse. This pain had purpose. This pain meant he was moving.
Eighty meters. Still going. His form was broken now. Arms flailing a bit. Stride shortening. But still pushing. Still trying. Because Pain Threshold at Excellent let him. Let him push past what his body wanted. Past what felt comfortable. Toward the line.
Race Focus was maintaining. Eyes on the white line. Only thing that mattered. Not Elena watching. Not how he looked. Not how slow he was objectively. Just the line. Get to the line. That's all.
Ninety meters. Almost there. Everything hurt. Everything was tired. But the line was right there. He could see it. Could reach it. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.
One hundred meters. White line. He was across. Done. His first 100 meters ever in twenty-five years of existence. His first sprint.
His body shut down. He stopped running and bent over automatically with his hands on his knees. Breathing so hard. His little chest was heaving. Lungs screaming. Legs shaking.
But he was smiling. Couldn't help it. Huge smile. Because he'd just run. Actually ran. A purposeful sprint with technique. With speed, his speed. With his mother watching. And it worked.
All the system abilities worked. Explosive Power got him out fast. Block Start Technique made his first ten meters solid. Stride Efficiency kept his form longer than it should have held. Top Speed reached his maximum for now. Speed Endurance prevented him from collapsing at fifty meters. Race Focus kept him concentrated the whole way. Pain Threshold pushed him through when his body said stop.
5,250 AP well spent. The foundation was solid. Good tier across the board meant competence. Excellent tier Pain Threshold meant an edge. He was three years old with collegiate-level technique in a toddler's body. The disconnect was huge. But the potential...
He could feel tears wanting to come and held them back barely. Elena was watching. He couldn't break character too much. But inside, he was crying. Happy tears. Relief. Joy. Gratitude for the system, for the second chance, for this moment.
He heard Elena's footsteps approaching and looked up. Still couldn't speak. Too overwhelmed.
"Did I do good?" He managed to ask, needing to hear it from an Olympic athlete, from his mother. Did the abilities work? Did he do it right?
"You did amazing, baby." She picked him up and hugged him. "So fast."
And he believed her. Not because of the time, but because he knew he did do amazing. For a three-year-old. For someone who couldn't move for twenty-two years. For his first real sprint. Amazing.
Being carried by his mother, an Olympic bronze medalist, after running one hundred meters with system abilities making him better than he should be at three years old with years and years ahead to grow and train and upgrade abilities and earn more AP and get faster and stronger and better.
This was just the start. The very beginning.
And he couldn't wait.