Six years of medals and trophies filled the shelves in Zen's bedroom. State middle school championships. National age group records. The framed photo of him at twelve standing on the podium at Junior Nationals, gold medal around his neck, time flashing on the board behind him: 49.3 seconds in the 400m, a national age group record.
His development had been nothing short of extraordinary. By ten, he was dominating regional competitions. By twelve, he'd broken the national middle school record in both 200m and 400m. Now, at fourteen, his current personal bests, 21.7 for 200m and 48.2 for 400m, would put him in contention for high school state championships as a freshman.
The system had evolved alongside him. What started as basic performance tracking had expanded into comprehensive analysis of everything from sleep quality to opponent tendencies.
DING
[SYSTEM UPDATE COMPLETE: VERSION 6.3]
[NEW FEATURES: ADVANCED BIOMECHANICAL EFFICIENCY METRICS]
[MENTAL FOCUS ENHANCEMENT PROTOCOLS]
[COMPETITION STRATEGY AND TEAM DYNAMICS ANALYSIS]
Physically, Zen had transformed from that small eight-year-old into a lean, powerful athlete. Six feet tall now, with the ideal sprinter's build, just like his father. His dreads had grown too, falling past his shoulders when untied. Angela was always telling him to pull them back.
"You've got too nice a face to hide," she'd say, but Zen liked the curtain they created. When you're the fastest kid in three counties, a little anonymity feels good.
Marcus and Angela had guided his development perfectly, coordinating with school coaches while maintaining primary control of his training. Meanwhile, Zen had kept his academics strong, honors classes, 3.9 GPA. The system had modules for study efficiency too.
But today marked a new chapter. First day of high school. Westridge High, home of the Eagles, and a track program known for producing collegiate talent.
Zen stood at his bedroom mirror, adjusting his dreads across his forehead.
"You ready?" Marcus called from downstairs.
"Coming!"
He grabbed his backpack. Time to be just another freshman. For a few hours, anyway.
Westridge High was massive compared to middle school. Three floors, nearly two thousand students, hallways that seemed to stretch forever.
DING
[SCHOOL LAYOUT ANALYSIS COMPLETE]
[OPTIMAL ROUTES BETWEEN CLASSES CALCULATED]
[ESTIMATED WALKING TIMES: 2-3.5 MINUTES BETWEEN PERIODS]
Zen followed the map on his schedule, dodging through crowds of students. Several girls looked his way, their gazes lingering a little too long. He adjusted his dreads further across his face, eyes down.
In his previous life, he'd been confident, even cocky. But starting over as a teenager brought back all the social awkwardness of adolescence. His adult mind remembered how to run like an Olympian but had forgotten how to navigate high school hallways.
First period: World History with Mr. Dormer. He found the classroom and slipped into a seat in the middle row, not too front, not too back. Perfect anonymity.
The bell rang, and a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair strode in holding a clipboard.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm Mr. Dormer. Welcome to World History."
He began calling roll, working through the alphabet methodically until he reached the C's.
"Zen Cross?"
"Here," Zen replied, raising his hand slightly.
Mr. Dormer looked up, studying him with sudden interest. "Zen Cross. I've heard about you. You're fast. This track season is going to be a great one."
Twenty-seven pairs of eyes turned to stare at Zen. So much for anonymity.
"Um, thanks," he mumbled.
Mr. Dormer continued with the roll, but the damage was done. Students were whispering, a few looking back at him with renewed curiosity.
DING
[SOCIAL DYNAMICS ALERT]
[ATTENTION LEVEL: ELEVATED]
[NOTE: MR. DORMER APPEARS TO BE TRACK COACH]
Great. His history teacher was the track coach. That was going to be... interesting.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of syllabi and introductions. By lunch, Zen had managed to avoid further attention, turning down invitations to various tables in favor of finding a quiet corner to eat his sandwich.
The afternoon brought more of the same until the final bell, when it was time for what he'd been waiting for all day: track practice.
Zen changed quickly in the locker room, relishing the feel of his training gear after a day in jeans and a t-shirt. He stepped onto the track, momentarily overwhelmed by the scene before him.
Westridge's track program was legendary in the county, and now he understood why. Nearly three hundred athletes filled the stadium, segregated by event groups. Distance runners circled the outer lanes. Throwers occupied one end of the field. Jumpers worked at various pits. And the largest group, the sprinters, gathered near the starting blocks.
DING
[TEAM COMPOSITION ANALYSIS]
[APPROXIMATELY 275-300 ATHLETES TOTAL]
[SPRINTERS: 110-120]
[DISTANCE: 80-90]
[JUMPERS/HURDLERS: 50-60]
[THROWERS: 40-50]
"YO! Is that really little Zen?! Bro, you got tall!"
The voice was familiar but deeper than he remembered. Trey Williams jogged over, no longer the skinny nine-year-old from their first meet. Now a sophomore, Trey had filled out, though his infectious energy remained unchanged.
"Hey Trey," Zen said, grinning despite himself. They hadn't trained together in nearly two years, their middle schools in different districts.
"Y'all!" Trey shouted to a group of runners stretching nearby. "This is the kid I told you about! The one who ran twenty-seven seconds when he was eight!"
Several heads turned, and Zen felt his cheeks warm. He gave an awkward wave.
"Trey, stop embarrassing the freshman," came a calm voice as Andre Johnson approached. Now a junior, Andre had grown into his frame, looking like a collegiate athlete already. His handshake was firm, his smile genuine. "Good to see you, Zen. Ready for the real competition?"
"Been ready," Zen replied.
"Look at you, man," Trey said, circling Zen like he was examining a car. "Six feet already? And the dreads! Looking like a track star!"
"They look good," Andre nodded. "But Coach will make you tie them back during meets."
"Already got the bands ready," Zen said, tapping his wrist where several hair ties sat.
More team members drifted over, drawn by Trey's enthusiasm.
"This is seriously the kid you've been talking about for years?" asked a muscular senior. "The one you said would break records?"
"Just wait till you see him run," Trey promised. "Kid's not human."
"High school's different," the senior warned. "Middle school records don't mean much here."
Andre shot the senior a look. "Let's see what happens today before we start talking."
The massive team began organizing into training groups as several coaches with clipboards moved through the crowd. Mr. Dormer, now in athletic gear rather than the button-up shirt he'd worn in class, blew a whistle that somehow cut through the chaos.
"Welcome to Westridge Track and Field!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the stadium. "For those who don't know me, I'm Coach Dormer, head coach. Break into your event groups with your specific coaches. Sprinters with me and Coach Rivera, distance with Coach Chen, jumpers with Coach Washington, throwers with Coach Patel."
DING
[COACHING STAFF ANALYSIS]
[HEAD COACH: PATRICK DORMER - SPRINTS SPECIALIST]
[ASSISTANT COACHES: RIVERA (SPRINTS), CHEN (DISTANCE), WASHINGTON (JUMPS), PATEL (THROWS)]
The crowd began to separate, and Zen followed Trey toward the sprinter group where over a hundred athletes gathered.
"Stay close," Trey advised. "Easy to get lost in the crowd your first week."
Coach Dormer addressed the sprinters once they assembled. "We've got a strong roster this year. Returning state qualifiers and promising new talent. Today we'll do some basic assessments to see where everyone stands."
He divided them into smaller groups by grade level. Zen found himself with about thirty other freshmen, while Coach Rivera took the upperclassmen.
"First-year sprinters, meet me at the start line in five minutes after you warm up," Coach Dormer instructed.
Trey fell in beside Zen as they jogged a warm-up lap alongside dozens of other athletes. "Coach D is tough but fair. Been here four years. Took the team to third at state last year."
"He's my history teacher too," Zen said.
"Ooooh, teacher's pet alert," Trey teased.
"Shut up," Zen laughed, bumping Trey's shoulder.
After warming up, the freshman sprinters gathered at the start line. Coach Dormer held a clipboard and stopwatch.
"We'll start with 200 meters. Four at a time. We've got a lot of athletes to get through."
The first groups ran solid but unspectacular times, mostly in the 24-26 second range. Finally, Zen's group was called.
"Lane three, Cross," Coach Dormer directed.
Zen took his place, settling into his stance.
DING
[200M ASSESSMENT MODE ACTIVATED]
[RECOMMENDATION: CONTROLLED EFFORT, 90-95% MAXIMUM]
The whistle blew. Zen pushed off, feeling the familiar surge of power. The three freshmen beside him were quickly left behind as he powered through the curve with textbook technique.
As he hit the straightaway, Zen noticed the other groups had stopped to watch. Even some upperclassmen had paused their warm-ups, attention drawn to his smooth acceleration.
He crossed the line well ahead of his group, slowing to a controlled stop.
"Twenty-one point eight, Cross!" Coach Dormer called, looking at his watch in disbelief. "That's the fastest time I've seen from a freshman. Ever."
Zen pretended to be more winded than he was, hands on knees, nodding acknowledgment.
"I TOLD y'all this kid was different!" Trey shouted from the sidelines, jumping up and down. "I've been saying it for years!"
Andre, warming up with the junior group, gave an approving nod.
The team's energy shifted. What had been casual curiosity was now focused attention. Even some of the seniors looked impressed.
"400 meters next," Coach Dormer announced to the freshmen. "Same groups."
When Zen's turn came again, he delivered: 48.6 seconds, nearly five seconds faster than the next best freshman. By now, many of the upperclassmen had gathered to watch, including James Tucker, last year's regional finalist in the 400m.
"No freshman runs 48.6," Tucker said to another senior, though loud enough for Zen to hear. "That's not normal."
Coach Dormer pulled Zen aside after the time trials were complete.
"Cross, those times would qualify for state as they stand. Your middle school coach mentioned you were special, but this is exceptional."
"Thanks, Coach," Zen said modestly.
"I understand your parents have been primarily handling your training?"
"Yes, sir. They were both Olympic medalists."
"I know," Coach nodded. "I competed against your father in college. He was untouchable in the 400. I'll need to coordinate with them, make sure our training approaches align."
"They're expecting your call," Zen confirmed. His parents had prepared him for this transition.
"Good. We've got something special here, Cross. I don't say that lightly."
As practice wound down, the massive team broke into cool-down routines. Zen found himself surrounded by curious teammates, all wanting to know where he'd trained and how he'd gotten so fast.
"Give the kid some space," Andre called, cutting through the crowd. "He's got four years to answer all your questions."
Grateful for the intervention, Zen joined Andre and Trey for cool-down stretches.
"You just made yourself a target," Andre said quietly. "Every sprinter in the county's gonna be gunning for you now."
"Good," Zen replied. "I run better with competition."
"Dinner at my house tonight," Andre added. "My mom wants to see you both. Says it's been too long."
"I'll call my parents," Zen agreed, grateful for the invitation.
"So how was it?" Angela asked when Zen called.
"Good. I ran 21.8 and 48.6 at practice."
A whistle from his father in the background. "Strong opener, son."
"Coach Dormer wants to talk to you guys about training coordination."
"We expected that," Angela said. "And the team? How big is it?"
"Huge. Like three hundred athletes. Way bigger than I expected."
"Westridge always did have numbers," Marcus commented. "Quality too."
"Did you find Trey and Andre?" Angela asked.
"Yeah," Zen smiled. "Andre invited me for dinner. That okay?"
"Of course. Just be home by nine. First day of school, remember?"
After hanging up, Zen walked with his friends to Andre's house a few blocks from campus. Mrs. Johnson welcomed him with a hug.
"Look at you! All grown up! Your mother told me you were getting tall, but my goodness."
Dinner was comfortable, like old times. Trey kept everyone laughing with stories about middle school mishaps, while Andre asked thoughtful questions about Zen's training and goals.
"State championship as a freshman?" Andre asked over dessert.
Zen nodded. "That's the plan. For both of us."
"Three of us," Trey corrected. "I'm making state this year too."
"With your times? You better drop half a second," Andre teased.
"It's the first practice! Give me a break!"
After dinner, Andre walked Zen partway home. The older boy was quiet for a while before speaking.
"High school's different, Zen. Politics, rivalries, pressure. And Westridge isn't just any program. We've sent kids to D1 schools every year for a decade."
"I'm just here to run," Zen said.
"It won't be that simple," Andre warned. "Not with your talent. College scouts will start showing up by spring if you keep dropping times like today."
"I'm just a freshman."
"A freshman running 48.6 in September." Andre shook his head. "Listen, I'm here if you need anything. So is Trey, even if he acts like a clown half the time."
"I appreciate that," Zen said sincerely.
Back home, Zen found his parents waiting in the living room.
"Coach Dormer called," Marcus said. "Seems impressed."
"He wants to meet tomorrow morning," Angela added. "Discuss training philosophy."
Zen nodded, settling into the couch. "The team is massive. Hundreds of kids."
"Westridge always had numbers," Marcus said. "Quality too. Good development system."
"Some seniors aren't thrilled a freshman ran faster than them, but they'll get over it."
"They better," Marcus said. "Your times from today would have placed at regionals last year."
"I saw you adjusting your dreads all day in class," Angela observed. "Still hiding?"
Zen shrugged. "Just not used to the attention."
"You'll need to get comfortable with it," she said gently. "It's only going to increase."
"The high school years are crucial," Marcus added. "This is when college programs start tracking development."
"I know, Dad," Zen said. "One step at a time, right?"
"Right." Marcus smiled. "But those are some impressive steps already."
DING
[DAY ASSESSMENT COMPLETE]
[PERFORMANCE: EXCELLENT - 21.8/48.6 WITH CONTROLLED EFFORT]
[SOCIAL INTEGRATION: POSITIVE - RECONNECTION WITH KEY ALLIES]
[TEAM POSITIONING: DOMINANT - ESTABLISHED AS TOP PERFORMER]
[NEXT OBJECTIVE: FIRST VARSITY MEET - OPTIMIZE PREPARATION]
Zen stared at the ceiling of his bedroom later that night, processing the day. High school was going to be different. More complex socially, more intense athletically. But he had advantages this time around: knowledge from his previous life, guidance from the system, and his parents still alive and well to support him.
And now he had Trey and Andre back too. A team forming around him.
The first varsity meet was only two weeks away. A chance to show what he could do in real competition, not just practice. A chance to begin his high school career the right way.
This time, nothing would stop him from becoming the champion he was meant to be.