Victor shuffled into the dining hall at 7:00 a.m., hoodie up, eyes still heavy with sleep. His body felt like it had been hit by a trailer. Legs sore. Arms jelly. Back screaming. Day 3 of his new routine, and already, the American winter and the System were ganging up on him.
"You are adjusting well," the System said in its annoyingly chipper tone. "Soreness is evidence of adaptation. Muscle fibers are rebuilding."
Victor grabbed a tray and slid into line behind a group of athletes discussing protein shakes and playoff games.
"I feel like I'm rebuilding from scratch," he muttered.
"Correct. Transformation is demolition before reconstruction."
He loaded his plate with scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and pancakes that looked like they had seen better days. Still, he needed the carbs.
"Protein-to-carb ratio acceptable," the System noted.
"Let me eat in peace," Victor whispered.
He found a corner seat by the window and dove into his food. Midway through a bite of pancake, he heard a voice behind him.
"Yo. Is this seat taken?"
He looked up — Benny, holding her tray, smiling that effortless smile.
"Nope. All yours," Victor said, sitting up straighter.
She sat across from him, braids pulled back in a bun, wearing a medical-themed hoodie with a stethoscope printed across the chest.
"You always this early?" she asked.
He nodded. "Trying to build a routine. They say winners wake up before the sun."
"Oh, so you tryna be a winner?" she teased.
Victor grinned. "Something like that."
"What are you studying again?"
"Law."
"Serious guy," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm doing pre-med. Trying to survive organic chemistry without crying."
Victor laughed. "I can barely pronounce half the words in that class. Respect."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Victor caught her glancing at his notebook, open beside his tray. Lyrics scribbled in between notes on constitutional rights.
"You write music?" she asked, gesturing.
"Yeah. Rapping, mostly."
"Any good?"
He smirked. "Decent. Back home, they called me Victor Rex."
"Oh? You famous in Nigeria or what?"
"Just in my neighborhood. I used to freestyle after school, record on my cousin's busted laptop."
"You ever perform here?"
He hesitated. "Not yet. I'm… warming up."
"There's an open mic this Friday. You going?"
He looked up sharply. "You saw the flyer too?"
"I'm performing," she said casually, like it was no big deal.
Victor blinked. "Wait. You sing?"
She smiled. "Gospel. Soul. R&B. A little mix of everything. Been singing in church since I was eight."
Victor felt something shift in the air — not just curiosity now. Admiration.
"You should come. Even if you don't perform," she added.
He nodded slowly. "Maybe I will."
---
Later that afternoon, Victor sat hunched over in the law library, trying to keep his eyes open as he flipped through cases on freedom of speech. The words blurred together. He glanced at the clock. 2:37 p.m. He still had one more class, and then maybe a trip to the gym — if he didn't collapse first.
The System cut in.
"Cognitive fatigue detected. Suggestion: 5-minute break. Hydrate. Stretch. Refocus."
He groaned. "Can I uninstall you for a day?"
"Denial delays development."
Victor stood and rolled his shoulders. He walked to the vending machine, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat near the window, letting the sunlight hit his face.
His phone buzzed — a message from Emeka.
> Emeka: You don chop Yankee burger yet?
> Victor: I'm living on eggs and pancakes, bro.
> Emeka: Victor Rex don turn fitness guru o!
Victor chuckled. His friends always knew how to drag him back to reality.
---
That evening, Victor walked to the campus gym. He didn't know why he was doing this — sore as hell, barely enough strength to lift his bag — but part of him just… wanted to keep showing up.
"Today's goal: Light resistance training. Focus: Form over weight," the System said.
He changed into sweats and joined the weight area. Every corner was filled with gym bros grunting, lifting, flexing. Victor felt small.
He moved to the dumbbell rack, picked up a pair of fifteens, and started bicep curls. Nothing crazy. Just moving, breathing, trying to stay in rhythm.
Halfway through his set, a tall, blonde dude with the physique of a Marvel character stopped beside him.
"Need a spot?" he asked.
Victor blinked. "Uh… no, I'm good. Thanks."
"You're new, right? I've seen you around."
"Yeah. Just started this semester."
"I'm Logan. Football team."
"Victor. Law school."
Logan nodded, then glanced at Victor's form. "Keep your elbows tighter. That'll hit your biceps better."
Victor adjusted. "Like this?"
"Perfect. You'll be repping twenties in no time."
Victor smiled. "Appreciate it."
Logan gave him a fist bump and moved on.
"Social progress: Noted," the System said.
Victor exhaled. Maybe he didn't have to do this whole journey alone.
---
Back at his dorm, Victor sat on his bed, towel draped over his shoulders, sweat still clinging to his skin. His roommate, Ethan, had finally returned, headphones on, gaming furiously.
Victor put on his own headphones, opened his beat-making app, and hit play.
A soft piano loop filled his ears. He nodded along, eyes closed, fingers tapping against his thigh.
He started to mumble:
"Left Lagos with a dream and a mission,
Now I'm battling time like it's competition.
Cold rooms, long nights, no permission—
Still I rise, no cap, no submission…"
He paused, grinning to himself.
The System chimed in, almost proudly.
"Creativity: Flow state achieved. Keep going."
Victor clicked save.
---
As he lay down that night, body aching but spirit buzzing, he opened the tab for the open mic sign-up.
His finger hovered over the form.
Name: Victor Chukwuma
Stage Name: Victor Rex
Genre: Rap
He stared for a long second.
Then hit submit.
"Entry confirmed," the System said.
Victor turned off the light.
In the dark, he whispered, "Let's see what you've really got, V.R."