Mary looked between them, then back at David. "He's been saying that," she said. "About wanting to sprint."
The teacher nodded slowly, his attention no longer casual. "Well, he should. Proper structure, proper coaching… it makes a difference. You can see it already. He's not just quick, he's controlled. That's not normal at his age."
David listened, but didn't interrupt.
He had already decided that long before today.
Mary exhaled quietly, folding her arms again, though this time it wasn't dismissive. It was thoughtful, her gaze lingering on David a little longer than before.
"We'll see," she said, but it carried weight now. Not avoidance. Consideration.
In his last life, it had taken months to even get a conversation like this. Even then, everything came with limits. Training was allowed, competing was not. There was always something more important. School. Stability. Timing.
This time, things were moving without him needing to force them.
The teacher adjusted his clipboard and spoke again, more casually, but with intent behind it. "I help out at a local club. Cambridge Harriers. If you're open to it, I can pass your details on to one of the head coaches. They'll want to take a look at him."
David's head turned slightly, the reaction immediate.
That was his club.
The same place he had ended up years later in his last life. The same track. The same system. For a second, it felt too aligned to be coincidence.
Mary hesitated. "I don't know…"
"No pressure," the teacher said, steady, not pushing too hard. "Just a conversation. Let them see him. That's all."
She looked down at David again.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
After a few seconds, she sighed quietly. "Alright. You can pass it on."
The teacher nodded, satisfied, and quickly took her details before moving off to organise the next event.
As he walked away, David's eyes caught the clipboard in his hand.
Boys Yr5 100m Final1st David – 12.72nd Ryan – 16.63rd Kevin – 16.94th Tosin – 17.3
The gap stood out more than the time.
He hadn't pushed to his limit.
That was clear.
The rest of the day passed without anything else sticking. Other races, other events, other kids celebrating or complaining. For most of them, it ended there.
For David, it didn't.
Mary's phone rang later that evening.
They were at home, the light fading slowly through the window, the day settling into something quieter. She picked it up without much thought, but her expression changed as the call went on.
David noticed immediately.
She paced slightly as she spoke, asking short questions, giving measured answers. When the call ended, she stood still for a moment before looking at him.
"That was one of the head coaches," she said. "From that club. Cambridge Harriers."
David sat up slightly.
"They want you to come down. Just to watch at first. See how you get on."
There was a pause.
"You're nine," she added, almost to herself. "This is… early."
David nodded once. "Okay."
She studied him again, but this time there was less resistance in her expression.
"We'll try it," she said. "Nothing serious yet."
That was enough.
That night, David fell asleep quickly. His body was tired from the day, but his mind was alive, replaying every step of the race in sharp detail. The start, the drive, the way his knees lifted, the way his arms pumped. He could feel the ground beneath his feet even now. Nothing about it had felt like luck. Every detail had been earned.
Then the darkness shifted. It was deeper than normal sleep, heavier, yet somehow clearer. David realized he wasn't just dreaming. He was somewhere else entirely. The space around him had no walls, no floor, no ceiling, only emptiness that stretched endlessly in every direction. It was quiet, but in a way that made him more aware of himself than he had ever been.
A shape appeared before him. First faint, then clear: a lock, suspended in the void, its edges precise and unyielding. David didn't move backward. He didn't panic. Instead, he stared at it, studying it, feeling the weight of its presence. It was not a dream he could push through or ignore. This was deliberate.
Text formed beneath the symbol, crisp and unblinking:
System: LOCKED
ENTRY REQUIREMENTS:
Win a Race with a 30m Gap ✅
Set an Age Grade World Record (Unratified)
Win an Outdoor National Championship
David's eyes locked on the first condition. Win a Race. He had done that today. Not some trivial school sprint, but the 100 meters final, clean and undeniable. The memory of it sharpened in his mind, the exact start, the separation from the other kids, the way his stride opened naturally, the way he crossed the finish line. That race had earned him this.
But David started to think.
Why were the requirements so hard?
Even if he was to focus on the one he just completed, the only way he would've been able to actually do that would be when he was 3 seconds ahead of the next best competition. Yes with his experience, this was guaranteed, but if it was him in his last life, this would've been an impractical milestone to hit.
You can race against 13 second guys, but not ever really 14 and above, and for him to even achieve it with a 13 guy lets assume 13.5, he would need a 10.5, a time he never achieved and he would need to lie about his season's best to even get to go against such a person.