The other conditions were just as impossibly high. Set an Age Grade World Record. Win an Outdoor National Championship. His chest tightened slightly as he considered them. Those were milestones far beyond anything a nine-year-old had the right to think about. But the first step was done. He had proven himself in a way that mattered to this strange, silent system.
He shifted slightly in the void, exploring the edges of the darkness, testing if the lock would move, testing if he could reach it. It remained fixed, immutable. There was no guide, no hint, no instruction beyond the list itself. The system had acknowledged him, but it had not yet granted him access. He realized that this was the way it worked: proof first, reward later. Merit, not desire, triggered the unlocking.
David exhaled slowly. He did not feel frustrated or disappointed. Instead, he felt something sharper, heavier, and more focused. The void was silent, but in its silence, it allowed him to see clearly. His recent win had unlocked recognition. Nothing more. Everything else still depended on what he would do next.
The lock and the text lingered for a moment longer, then dissolved slowly into darkness, leaving him in the quiet, empty space again. David did not move immediately. He let the absence settle around him, let his thoughts trace the implications of what he had seen. He had one clear truth: the system was real, and it was watching, waiting, measuring.
When he finally woke, he lay for a few moments staring at the ceiling. His room was the same as it had been all day. Light filtered through the curtains. Quiet surrounded him. Nothing had changed outwardly. Yet inside, everything had shifted. He had a target now, one defined not by desire, not by imagination, but by something objective: proof of capability.
It was a bit late in the season to aim for his current age, especially since his birthday was in August, hence he would focus on the 10 year old record which was around 12.4 which he was remarkably already very close to.
For the outdoor National championship, he doesn't meet the age range for England Champs of 14 minimum or English Schools(ESAA from hence forth) of 13 hence this would take at least 3 years to even unlock assuming he wins first try.
The following Saturday, David found himself at Cambridge Harriers. The sun was bright but not harsh, a gentle warmth across the red track that stretched before him. He had been here in his last life, but this time, nothing was unknown. Every lane, every curve, every fence and hurdle felt like a part of a path he had already seen.
His mother stood at the edge of the track, her arms folded, watching quietly. There was a mixture of pride and apprehension in her posture. She knew he was different. She had always suspected it, but seeing him here, in a real club setting with proper coaches and athletes who had already spent years running, made it tangible.
The head coach approached, a tall man with sun-darkened skin and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He smiled warmly at David and his mother. "So, this is the young man we've heard about," he said. "Ready to see what we do here?"
David nodded. He didn't say much; words felt unnecessary. His mind was already mapping the track, judging distances, imagining splits, and noting every detail of posture and cadence in the other kids.
The session began with warm-ups. Jogging drills, high knees, butt kicks, bounding exercises. For most of the other children, it was play. For David, it was instruction without words. Every movement had a purpose. Every step, a reminder of how his body could move faster. He noted the rhythm of his breathing, the tension in his shoulders, the engagement of his core.
The coach moved around, correcting arm angles, stride length, and foot placement for the group. David watched, absorbing. When the coach passed him, he barely touched him. A slight adjustment to his arm swing, a nod of acknowledgment. That was all he needed.
Next came acceleration drills. Explosive starts from blocks and crouched positions, short sprints over ten and twenty meters. David executed each with meticulous control, focusing not on beating anyone around him, but on the mechanics of the motion. His mind analyzed the sensation of driving from his toes, the stretch in his hamstrings, the smooth pull of his arms. Even at nine, he understood the importance of micro-efficiency.
He felt the familiar spark of competition when other kids raced around him. It was small, restrained, because he wasn't concerned with being first yet. He was concerned with perfecting himself, one repetition at a time.
After the sprints, they moved to technique work and light drills over hurdles. David approached them differently than the other children. Where most kids treated them as obstacles to jump over, he studied how each movement flowed. He felt how his hips rotated, how his knees drove, and how every inch of height and distance could be gained through posture and timing.
During a short break, he sat on the grass beside his mother. "It's… fun," she said cautiously. "But you really know what you're doing."
David didn't smile. He shook his head slightly. "It's not fun. It's training. I need to be ready."
Mary tilted her head, slightly taken aback. "Ready for what?"
He looked at her calmly. "Everything. Records. Championships. I've already started."