Everything continued in the same routine until Wednesday.
School in the morning.
Work in the afternoon.
Then home, dinner, and sleep.
At first glance, it was nothing special—just another cycle, the kind of dull repetition I had lived through for most of my previous life. Back then, routine had been a cage. Every day felt the same, and every night I went to sleep knowing tomorrow would bring nothing new.
But now…
Now, repetition felt different.
This routine wasn't trapping me.
It was sharpening me.
Each morning, I woke up earlier than before. The alarm rang at five thirty, long before Clara or Sofia stirred. For a few seconds after waking up, I lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment—the refrigerator, the distant sound of traffic, the faint breathing from the other rooms.
This silence felt precious.
I dressed quietly, careful not to wake anyone, and slipped outside while the sky was still dark. The city hadn't fully woken up yet. Streetlights flickered weakly, and the air was cold enough to make my skin prickle.
The park near our building was empty.
Dew covered the grass, soaking my shoes as I stepped onto the jogging path. I began running slowly, focusing on keeping a steady rhythm. In my old life, my body had always felt heavy, worn down by years of labor.
This body was different.
Lighter.
But also weaker.
After barely ten minutes, my breathing became ragged. My legs started to tremble, and a sharp burning sensation spread through my chest. I slowed to a walk, bending forward with my hands on my knees.
So weak…
The thought came uninvited, sharp and frustrating.
This body was fifteen years old. It should've been full of energy, bursting with potential. Instead, it struggled to keep up with a simple jog.
Doubt crept into my mind.
Was it really realistic to aim for football?
Not just as a hobby—but seriously.
Professionally.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.
I hadn't been given this second life to hesitate.
I straightened up and started running again.
Each step felt heavier than the last. My lungs screamed for air, and my vision blurred slightly at the edges. My muscles protested violently, but I didn't slow down.
I wouldn't stop because it hurt.
I would stop when my body truly couldn't move anymore.
When my balance finally wavered, I stumbled to a halt. Sweat dripped down my face, my heart pounding wildly.
That was when the system activated.
• Physical training detected.
• Agility +1
• Endurance +1
• Points gained: 8
I stared at the screen, my breathing slowly calming.
So effort mattered.
Not age.
Not talent.
Not luck.
Effort.
That realization sent a strange shiver through me.
In my previous life, effort had never been rewarded properly. No matter how hard I worked, the outcome was always the same. But here, the system acknowledged every action, every drop of sweat.
This system was honest.
And that made it dangerous.
After training, I returned home, showered quickly, and prepared for school. The walk there felt different. My legs still ached, but the pain wasn't unpleasant.
It was proof.
Classes passed quietly. I answered questions when necessary, took notes, and avoided drawing attention. My mind, however, was constantly elsewhere—calculating, planning, analyzing.
Stats.
Growth speed.
Efficiency.
After school, I headed straight to my part-time job at the warehouse. The supervisor barely glanced at me before handing out assignments.
"Same as usual," he said.
Sorting boxes. Carrying equipment. Cleaning storage areas.
For most students my age, it was exhausting work.
For me, it was familiar.
I focused on movement—how to lift without straining my back, how to conserve energy, how to move efficiently. Years of experience from my previous life guided me instinctively.
By the end of the shift, sweat soaked my shirt, and my arms felt heavy, but I wasn't collapsing.
When Wednesday arrived, the supervisor handed me my pay.
A thin envelope.
The amount wasn't impressive, but my grip tightened around it.
This money meant something different now.
It wasn't just income.
It was independence.
As I stepped outside, the system activated again.
• Labor recognized.
• Strength +1
• Endurance +1
• Points gained: 12
I exhaled slowly.
Work strengthened my body.
That meant every hour I spent had value.
That evening, Clara looked as tired as ever. The faint lines on her face told a story of years spent carrying responsibility alone.
After dinner, I stood up and began clearing the table.
She froze.
Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flashing across her face. The old Ryan had never done this.
Sofia watched silently, her gaze sharp and suspicious.
"You're acting weird," she said finally.
"I'm just trying to change," I replied.
She didn't respond, but she didn't mock me either.
That night, I opened the system and studied my stats carefully.
Agility was still my weakest point.
That wouldn't do.
Football was movement. Speed. Balance. Reaction.
The next morning, I added sprint drills to my routine. Short bursts. Sudden stops. Direction changes.
My foot slipped once, and I fell forward, scraping my palm against the ground. Pain flared sharply.
Good.
Pain meant progress.
• Focused training detected.
• Agility +2
• Points gained: 10
By Saturday, my movements felt lighter. My breathing steadier. My body was changing—slowly, but undeniably.
On my way home, I stopped in front of a sports shop.
A football sat in the display window.
I stared at it for a long time.
Buying it wasn't necessary.
But football without a ball was meaningless.
After a moment, I stepped inside.
That night, I trained again. Dribbling. Ball control. Passing against a wall. My touches were clumsy, my control imperfect, but each mistake taught me something.
• Football-related activity detected.
• Ball Control proficiency increased.
• Points gained: 15
Sunday morning, I woke up to a final notification.
• Condition met.
• Profession available: Football Player.
My breath caught.
All stats had reached ten.
Without hesitation, I confirmed the selection.
A subtle sensation spread through my body—my muscles felt more responsive, my thoughts sharper.
• Profession acquired: Football Player (Beginner)
• Training efficiency increased
• Growth rate enhanced
I clenched my fists.
This wasn't power.
It was direction.
This time…
I wouldn't waste my chance.