Arthur had turned six, but his birthday passed without a big celebration. All he got was a small cake and few gifts. His mother kept giving him worried looks because he spent the entire party drawing different motorbike designs on the gift wraps.
Now his bedroom walls were completely covered with pictures torn from motorbike magazines. He had a poster of Casey Stoner starting a race with incredible speed at Phillip Island. He also had the poster of Nicky Hayden holding up his winning cup. Arthur had organized these pictures, sorting the racers by their riding style, not by how famous they were.
His parents had given up trying to interest him things kids his age usually do. He had no desire to play the soccer game that Tommy Brewster kept asking him to join. Art classes at the village hall were a waste of time. Even playing video games seemed pointless when he could be watching a race footage or practicing in the Simulation Suite.
The only thing that was different was the time he spent with Ellie. She learned she needed to bring her camera because Arthur would notice something about motorbikes and focus all his attention on it.
"You're doing it again," Ellie said looking around his room. She'd become a regular visitor over the past year.
Arthur looked up from the notebook he had been using to sketching out different modifications for a bike design that wouldn't exist for another decade. "Doing what?"
"That thing where your brain leaves your body and goes somewhere else entirely." She pouted as she pointed towards his walls with her camera. "You've even added three new posters since yesterday. At this rate, you'll need to start putting them on the ceiling."
"Not a bad idea, actually." Arthur tilted his head in thought and felt that it made sense. Falling asleep while studying racing lines might help with retention.
Ellie sighed and aimed her camera at him. Click. "Your parents are talking again."
Arthur's hand that was on his notebook suddenly paused. "About?"
"You of course. The motorcycle thing. I heard them in the shop this morning." She lowered the camera, her face unusually serious. "They're worried, Arthur. Really worried. My mum said your dad was asking about costs for racing programs."
Of course, they would. Arthur had been expecting this conversation for months. In his past life, the money talk had come later, when he was already invested enough that quitting was a hard thing to do. At this time, he was much more open about what he wanted to achieve.
"They're home early today," Ellie added quietly. " if I were you, I'd prepare for the serious talk which would happen soon."
She wasn't wrong. Twenty minutes later, Arthur was at the kitchen table while his mum and dad stood before him.
"Arthur," his dad started talking, then he paused like he was trying to find the right words. "Your mum and I need to talk to you about this your motorcycle business."
Business?
Arthur kept his face neutral. "Okay."
Sarah Finch leaned forward, speaking with a gentle voice. "My love, we know you love motorcycles. We think it's great that you have a strong passion for something."
There it was. The "but" was coming. Arthur could feel it building.
"But" his father continued, "racing isn't just a hobby. It's not like joining the football team or taking piano lessons. It's expensive, Arthur. Seriously expensive."
"How expensive?" Arthur asked, even though he knew the answer. In his past life, he'd watched his family bankrupt themselves trying to fund his racing career. He'd sworn never to let that happen again.
"We've done some research. Beginner racing for your age group, even the cheapest options, we're talking thousands of pounds just to even start. Equipment, entry fees, travel costs, bike maintenance. And that's before we add the money needed for crashes."
"It's a black hole for money," his mother added softly. "And we're not... we don't have that kind of disposable income, love."
"I understand," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Money is limited. I understand."
"The thing is," Arthur continued, "I'm not asking you to spend a lot of money. Not yet."
"Not yet?" his father repeated carefully.
"If I am going to ask you to spend money on something that costs this much, I should prove it's worth it first." Arthur looked back at them with a calm look that made them feel uneasy. "You need to know I'm serious. That I understand what I'm asking for."
Sarah responded with a calm but dangerous look. "Arthur, you're six. You don't need to prove anything to us."
Wrong. He needed to prove everything. But he couldn't say anything.
"Here's what I'm thinking," Arthur said instead. " You want me to prove I am serious about this? Fine. Give me a challenge. Tell me to find a way to start racing that won't destroy your bank account. Something affordable."
David squinted his eyes and said slowly, "You want us to test you?"
"I want to prove to you all that I'm not just a kid with a fantasy." Arthur moved closer to them, making his voice strong enough to convince them. "Give me a budget limit. Any amount you think is reasonable. If I can find a way to start within those limits, then we'll talk about whether this is something worth doing."
Arthur saw his mother's eyes becoming watery. Arthur hated that he was able to make her feel this way, that he could use her love against her.
"That's very mature of you," his father said. "Honestly, more than most adults I know."
If only his parents knew the truth about who he really was. Arthur was an adult with mature thinking which got him nowhere. This time, he was being strategic.
"We'd need to do research," Sarah said, cleaning her eyes with a tissue. "Find out what the actual costs are for entry-level programs. Set a reasonable budget."
"Of course." Arthur nodded like this wasn't exactly what he'd wanted. "Take your time. Do it properly. I'm not going anywhere."
Except into the Simulation Suite every night, where he was already preparing for this scenario. The Apex Guide had shown him historical data on mini-moto programs and helped him find the cheapest and easiest ways to start racing at beginner level. Arthur knew exactly what he was looking for.
He just needed his parents to think they were the ones setting the challenge.
"Alright," David said. "We'll figure out the costs. Talk to people who know about youth racing. And if we can find something that won't put us in debt..." He trailed off, clearly not believing that would happen.
"Thank you," he said, making sure his voice sounded truly thankful. "For taking me seriously."
His mother stood and pulled him into a hug. "We always take you seriously, love. Sometimes a bit too seriously."
After his parents let him go back to his room, Arthur found Ellie still in his room.
"That was impressive," she said quietly. "Also kind of scary."
"What was?"
"The way you played them." Ellie watched him closely, trying to know what's up with him. "You knew what to say to make them think they were in control when really, you're the one directing the whole conversation."
"I wasn't playing them. I just..."
"Arthur." She cut him off with her face looking strong. "I'm not judging you. I'm just observing. You want something so bad that you're willing to manipulate the people who love you to get it."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it?" She came down from where she was sitting and picked up her camera. "The question is, what exactly do you want so badly that you'd go this far?"
He wanted it all. Arthur wanted everything he had given up and even more. He wanted to stand on winning platforms and raise trophies. He wanted to prove that his past life hadn't been a waste, that he could do more.
"I just want to race," he said simply.
Ellie looked at him closely for a long time. "Alright. Keep your secrets. But for what it's worth?" She started walking to the entrance of his room. "Whatever this thing is that's pushing you, it's not going to make you happy. I can already tell that much."
She left before Arthur could respond.
He turned back to his notebook, to the drawings and plans that covered every page. Ellie was wrong. Winning would make him happy. Success would prove that all his sacrifices and losses had been meaningful.
It had to.
Because if it didn't, then he'd been reborn for nothing.