The bus shuddered as it crossed the old bridge leading toward the industrial district training grounds. The sun was barely rising, casting a pale orange light over the worn buildings and empty fields. Most of the city was still asleep.
But Ares Locke wasn't.
He sat in the back row of the bus, headphones in his ears but no music playing. His eyes stayed fixed on the window, watching the city blur by. Today was Day 24 before the Rising Star Trials.
He couldn't afford to waste a second.
His body still ached from yesterday's brutal routine, but he didn't slow down. The fear underneath his ribs wouldn't let him. Fear of failing. Fear of proving everyone right. Fear of becoming another forgotten boy with a dream too heavy to carry.
Fear that the system might disappear as suddenly as it appeared.
He clenched his fists.
He wouldn't let fear break him.
He would make it fuel him.
The bus hissed to a stop. Ares stepped down, breath fogging in the cold morning air, and made his way toward the empty training facility—a place no one used anymore except him.
But today, someone else was there.
Rowan Vale leaned against the gate, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Ares blinked. "Rowan? You said you'd come next week."
Rowan pushed off the gate. "I changed my mind. After seeing your progress reports—"
Ares froze. "Progress… reports?"
Rowan smirked. "You think I wouldn't keep an eye on the kid I recommended? I have scouts, contacts, even janitors who owe me favors."
Ares swallowed. "You've… been watching me?"
"Relax," Rowan said. "If you were slacking, I'd have dragged you here myself. But instead…"
He tossed something to Ares.
Ares caught it.
A pair of brand-new boots—sleek, black, sharp. Ares' breath caught. He'd never owned new boots in his life.
"I can't accept this," Ares said quickly. "These must have cost—"
"They're not a gift," Rowan cut him off. "They're a challenge."
Ares looked up.
Rowan stepped closer. "If you want to compete in the Trials, you need to stop training like a desperate kid and start training like a weapon."
Ares tightened his grip on the boots.
A quiet chime echoed in his head.
DING!
Reader anticipation rising…
New system directive available.
Ares ignored the panel. He focused on Rowan.
"What kind of training?" he asked.
Rowan nodded toward the field behind the gate. "The kind that will break you if you hesitate."
Ares's pulse quickened.
"Show me," he said.
Rowan smiled. "Good answer."
The Field of Echoes
The gate creaked open. The field behind it was old, cracked, half overgrown. But cones, metal poles, and weighted mannequins had been set up in patterns Ares had never seen.
"Welcome," Rowan said, "to the Echo Field."
Ares raised an eyebrow. "Echo?"
Rowan walked past him. "Because everything you do here will echo in the Trials."
Ares stepped forward. "What do I need to do?"
"Simple," Rowan said. "Follow me."
Rowan led him to the center circle, then stopped.
"First," he said, "I want to see how far you've really come."
A whistle twirled in Rowan's fingers.
Ares braced himself.
Rowan blew the whistle.
And hell began.
The Trial Drill
Cones moved like a maze. Weighted balls were thrown at him by automated launchers. Mannequins spun unexpectedly. Ares had to sprint, dodge, shoot, accelerate, stop, lift, react, and pivot against impossible timing.
For the first three minutes, Ares fought hard.
At minute four, he struggled.
At minute five, he nearly collapsed.
Rowan never yelled, never instructed—only observed like a silent judge.
Ares gasped for air, fighting to stay upright.
His lungs burned.
His legs throbbed.
His vision blurred.
But he kept moving.
Because stopping meant he didn't deserve the Trials.
The system pulsed inside him.
DING!
Reader sympathy detected.
Small stamina recovery granted.
A warm wave spread through his limbs.
Ares straightened.
The drill continued.
Minute six.
Minute seven.
Minute eight.
By minute nine, Ares's legs buckled and he crashed onto his knees.
The whistle finally blew.
Rowan approached slowly.
Ares panted, hands shaking, sweat dripping.
Rowan crouched in front of him.
"Tell me something," he said quietly. "Why are you doing this?"
Ares lifted his head.
"I'm tired," he whispered, "of being the boy who never had a chance."
Rowan's eyes sharpened. "Then stop running from your fear."
Ares blinked.
Rowan gripped his shoulder. "You think fear is there to break you? No. Fear exists to measure how badly you want something."
Ares swallowed. "What if I fail?"
"Then fail forward," Rowan snapped. "But don't waste my time coming here if you're going to let fear dictate your future."
Ares stared at him.
Something inside him shifted—something deeper than the system, deeper than the spark.
"I won't," Ares said quietly. "I'll keep going."
Rowan stood.
"Good," he said. "Because now comes the real training."
Ares blinked. "That wasn't—?"
"No," Rowan said. "That was warm-up."
Ares nearly fell over.
The system chimed again.
DING!
Reader astonishment detected.
Skill resonance increased:
[Unyielding Spark Lv. 1 → Lv. 2]
Ares felt the strength surge. His heart steadied. Fear loosened its grip.
Rowan pointed toward the far end of the field.
"Get up," he said. "It's time to push your limit."
Ares got up.
This time, without hesitation.
Breaking Point
Rowan introduced passing drills, reflex drills, blindfolded control drills, and reaction challenges that bordered on madness.
Ares failed.
Then failed again.
Then failed harder.
But every time he fell, he stood back up, fueled by something fierce.
And each time, the system responded.
DING!
Reader determination increased.
Host receives minor stat boost.
DING!
Reader frustration converted to growth.
Ball control increased.
DING!
Reader hope rising.
Cooldown reduced by 10 seconds.
Rowan noticed.
"You're adapting faster than normal," he said. "Much faster."
Ares wiped blood from his scraped elbow. "Then push me harder."
Rowan's brows rose.
"…All right."
And he did.
By the time the sun reached its peak, Ares had completed drills that professional players struggled with.
By the time shadows lengthened in the afternoon, Ares was trembling but still standing.
By the time the sky turned orange again—
Rowan finally called out, "Enough."
Ares collapsed back onto the grass, breathing hard.
Rowan walked over. "I won't lie," he said. "There are kids training for the Trials who are stronger, faster, and far more experienced than you."
Ares closed his eyes.
"But," Rowan continued, "none of them have your hunger."
Ares opened his eyes.
Rowan stared down at him. "If you keep training like this, kid… you might really shock people."
Ares didn't respond—he couldn't. His body was too exhausted.
But he smiled.
He didn't need words.
The system spoke for him.
DING!
Major reader engagement detected.
New skill unlocked.
⸻
[Skill Unlocked: Fear Conversion]
When the host feels intense fear, all negative emotion is converted into acceleration and sharpened instincts.
Duration: 10 seconds.
Cooldown: 3 hours.
⸻
Ares's breath caught.
A power born from fear.
A power that turned terror into strength.
A power that belonged only to someone who refused to break.
He closed his eyes and let the wind pass over him.
Day 24 was ending.
And Ares Locke was one step closer to rising.