The hallway buzzed with life students laughing, lockers slamming shut with metallic clanks, sneakers squeaking against polished tile like frantic heartbeats. Voices overlapped in a chaotic, familiar chorus, echoing through the corridors of Shujin High.
And yet, Jordan Kai stood frozen in the middle of it all.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. Each breath trembled.
No way. This can't be real.
The light flooding through the windows bathed the hall in a soft golden glow. Dust motes danced in the air like suspended sparks. His eyes scanned the crowd of high schoolers around him some running late for class, others leaning against lockers with oversized headphones, trading snacks and secrets.
He pressed a hand to his face.
Smooth. No beard stubble. No stress lines etched into his brow. No tired shadows beneath his eyes.
Just youth.
Lean muscle.
Hope.
"Seventeen..." he whispered.
A rush of sensation hit him like cold water waking him from a coma. He turned his hand over slowly, staring at the strength in his fingers. His joints didn't ache. His back didn't throb. His lungs didn't burn.
His heart, though that was pounding like a war drum.
Then
"Yo, Kai! You good, bro?"
Jordan blinked and turned.
A familiar voice. A familiar face.
Marcus Lee jogged toward him, a volleyball bag bouncing against his back. His brown hair was wild, his uniform shirt half untucked. His boyish smirk was exactly how Jordan remembered it before the limp, the knee injury, and the warehouse job.
"Marcus…?" Jordan breathed, eyes wide.
Marcus grinned. "Duh? You high or something? You've been zoning out for like five minutes, man. Coach'll bench you if you're late. Regional warm-ups start in thirty."
Regional warm-ups…?
Jordan's breath caught in his throat.
No. No way. This is the day I
He swallowed hard. "Right. Yeah. Just… thinking."
Marcus gave him a playful shove. "Save the thinking for after we win. Let's go!"
As they walked down the corridor together, Jordan's mind spun.
The scent of pine-scented disinfectant.
The low murmur of teachers behind closed doors.
The sound of wind rattling the flagpole just outside.
This is real.
He felt the warmth of sunlight brushing against his skin. The familiar crack in the floor tile near the science wing. The chipped paint on the old lockers.
I'm really here… I'm really seventeen again.
And this time
I'm not quitting.
[System Notification]
Daily Quest: Touch the rim of the gym net ×10
Reward: +1 Vertical Jump
Bonus: +2 if completed before practice
Skill Active: Skybound Jump Lv.1 – Slight enhancement to vertical leap during instinctual jump movements.
The gym smelled like sweat, sawdust, and memories.
The waxed wooden floor gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. The walls echoed with the sharp thuds of volleyballs and the occasional barked instruction. Every bounce of a ball, every shuffle of sneakers it all hit Jordan's ears like music.
He stepped inside, heart fluttering.
"Let's see what this system can do…"
He approached the net. The gym was alive with warm-up chatter, players stretching, laughing, tossing balls lazily to one another. No one noticed him at first.
He crouched.
Breathed.
And jumped.
Whap!
His hand slapped the white band at the top of the net clean and easy.
A couple players glanced over, eyebrows raised. Jordan didn't care. He landed lightly, crouched again, and jumped.
Whap.
Again.
Whap.
Over and over. Ten times.
With each leap, he felt lighter. Stronger. His legs were springs. His core locked in. His instincts sharper.
He didn't have to think his body moved on memory, enhanced by something more.
Something supernatural.
[Quest Complete!]
+1 Vertical Jump
Bonus Reward Unlocked!
+2 Vertical Jump
New Stat: Vertical Jump – 35" → 38"
Trait Unlocked: "Awakened Instinct" – Slight reaction boost during aerial movements.
"Yo, Jordan!" Marcus called from across the court. "You okay? You're grinning like a psycho over there."
Jordan turned toward him, sweat beading at his temple, heart pounding not from exhaustion, but exhilaration.
"Just feels good to jump again," he said, voice low, almost reverent.
Marcus chuckled. "Man, you're weird today."
A sharp whistle pierced the gym.
"Let's go, let's go!" Coach Tanaka barked, clipboard in hand. "Regionals are around the corner, and half of you still move like corpses. Hustle up!"
Jordan joined the team as they formed lines for warm-ups. But he couldn't stop looking around noticing the people he hadn't thought about in years.
Tyrell Washington middle blocker, 6'3", ego the size of a freight train. Always trying to out-jump him.
Jin Mori the sarcastic libero with the sharp tongue and faster hands.
And then…
Her.
Naomi Sato.
Team manager. Short dark hair, thin glasses, the ever-serious clipboard in hand. Her voice had always been soft, but her presence... commanding. Jordan remembered how she used to hand him water bottles with a hint of worry in her eyes.
Back then, he'd almost confessed his feelings to her before he vanished without a word.
Now, she stood near the benches, scribbling notes.
He caught himself staring.
Maybe this time… I don't run.
"Scrimmage time!" Coach clapped sharply. "Starters versus bench squad. Full set. Let's go."
Jordan stepped forward.
But Coach raised a hand. "Not you, Kai. Bench."
Jordan stopped. "What?"
"You've been dragging through practices for a month," Coach said, not unkindly. "You're not the same player anymore. I can't risk today's prep on someone who's lost their fire."
The words hit like a slap.
He heard the murmurs. Saw the sympathetic looks.
And just like that, old instincts flared the urge to sit down. To stew. To disappear.
But this time
Jordan didn't fold.
"Let me prove it," he said, voice level. "Give me one set."
Coach blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Just one. Let me show you what I've got."
Coach's jaw tightened. "You think I'm running a charity now?"
"No," Jordan said, his tone steady, "I think you're running a team that wants to win. And I can win for you."
Silence.
Tyrell snorted. "This guy serious?"
A few chuckled.
But Coach didn't laugh.
He stared at Jordan searching. Measuring.
Then sighed. "Fine. One set. You screw it up, you're benched for regionals."
Jordan nodded. "Fair."
The whistle blew.
Game on.
Jordan stepped onto the court, his pulse thrumming through his fingertips.
Across the net, Tyrell smirked. "What's this, senior revival day?"
Jordan returned the smile. "Still afraid of me?"
Tyrell barked a laugh. "Please. Your legs still work?"
"We'll see," Jordan said, rolling his shoulders. "Try and keep up."
The serve came fast Jin diving to receive.
The ball floated. Marcus set it clean.
Tyrell leapt slam.
Point for the starters.
Jordan shook it off.
Next play.
Ball returned.
Marcus, grinning, sent it high and tight to Jordan's zone.
Jordan stepped in.
Breathed.
And jumped.
Higher than ever before.
Time slowed.
The net dipped beneath his shadow.
The ball met his palm
CRACK.
It exploded onto the other side of the court, untouched.
The gym fell silent.
Then
Cheers.
A few players hollered. Tyrell stared, stunned. Even Coach Tanaka stood straighter.
Jordan landed like a storm, adrenaline crashing through him.
He turned, tossed the ball back with a flick of his wrist.
Coach met his eyes.
"You wanted fire?" Jordan called out.
He stepped back into position, sweat shining on his brow, a smile curling on his lips.
"Then watch me burn."