Morning in the orphanage was always the same.Gray light.Cold air.Children dragging their feet like tiny zombies.
But today, Rafe felt something different.
Not strength.Not power.
Resolve.
His body was weak — painfully so — but he refused to let that be an excuse.
If he wanted to survive long enough to enter Zenith Academy, he needed to start now.
He slipped away from the cafeteria after breakfast, heading to the small backyard behind the orphanage. A place no one bothered to watch because nothing "interesting" ever happened there.
Perfect.
The backyard was a patch of dead grass, mud, and a rusted swing set that squeaked when the wind nudged it.
Rafe stretched his arms.Or tried to.
His muscles protested instantly.
"…Right. Six-year-old body. This is going to be fun."
He started small.
Push-ups.Or what should have been push-ups.
He lowered his body once—and his arms gave out.
He face-planted the dirt.
Thump.
"…Fantastic start."
He pushed himself up, spitting grass out of his mouth.No quitting.Quitting meant death.
He tried again.
One… terrible… shaky push-up.Then collapsed.
Again.And again.
By the tenth attempt, his arms trembled like wet noodles.
By the fifteenth, he saw stars.
By the twentieth, he was lying flat on his back, gasping like a fish.
That's when—
DING!Quest Progress: 20%Pathetic, but acknowledged.
Rafe glared at the sky.
"Thanks for the moral support, System."
He sat up, breathing heavy… when he felt a presence watching him.
He turned.
The girl from earlier stood by the fence, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
She had followed him.
Rafe blinked.
"…Can I help you?"
She tilted her head.
"You're weird."
Rafe smirked.
"That's not a no."
She took a cautious step forward.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying not to die before adulthood."
She blinked twice."…Okay… but why are you sweating so much?"
"I'm training."
"Training for what?"
Rafe wiped the dirt off his face.
"For the future."
The girl looked at him for a long moment.And then she did something unexpected.
She sat down beside him.
Quiet.Calm.Hands folded neatly on her lap.
"…Can I watch?"
Rafe raised an eyebrow.
"You enjoy seeing people suffer?"
A tiny smile appeared on her lips.
"Maybe."
He actually laughed.
Short.Soft.But genuine.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm about to suffer a lot more."
He pushed himself to his feet, body wobbling like a newborn deer.The girl watched him intently, as if analyzing every move.
"By the way," Rafe said, "we never exchanged names."
She hesitated… then lowered her gaze.
"…My name is Mara."
Rafe repeated it quietly.
"Mara."A future warrior.A girl forgotten by everyone except destiny.
He offered a faint smile.
"I'm Rafe."
She nodded once."…I know."
He raised a brow."You do?"
"You're the orphan who never cries," she said simply."Everyone here cries."
Rafe blinked.
That… surprised him.
Mara looked at his small hands — scraped, dirty, trembling.
"…Do you want help?"
Rafe froze.
Help?
In the original story, Mara never helped anyone during the orphanage arc.She was distant. Cold. Cautious.It took years before she trusted others.
But here she was, offering help to an "extra" she'd just met.
This was the first change in the timeline.And it was happening because of him.
Rafe felt something warm flicker in his chest.
"…Sure," he said softly."I'd like that."
She stood up, brushed her hair back, and pointed at the ground.
"Then start again. I'll count."
Rafe blinked.
"…You're going to supervise me?"
"Yes."
"…You know I'm six, right?"
"Yes."
"…And you're eight."
She crossed her arms.
"Do you want the help or not?"
Rafe stared at her for a moment—then laughed again.
"Alright, drill sergeant. Let's do this."
He got into position.Weak arms shaking.Body already sore.
Mara crouched beside him.
"Ready?"
"Never."
"Good. Start."
Rafe pushed himself up.
"One."
Barely.
"Two."
His arms felt like melting wax.
"Three."
He collapsed again.
Mara sighed deeply.
"We have a long way to go."
Rafe groaned into the dirt.
"You have no idea."
But inside—beneath the pain, embarrassment, and dirt in his mouth—
he felt something powerful.
For the first time in this new life…
he wasn't alone.