"We'd like to speak with you about an opportunity. So, could you do us a favor and tell us your name, son?"
Simon Wilcox speaks in a gentler voice than I expect from a Head Coach.
He asks so gently, in fact, I want to answer.
But I can't get the words out.
It feels dangerous to admit who I am. As if by saying my name aloud, the Martins will be able to find me.
I know it's illogical, but there's not a lot of logic happening in the old noggin these days.
System Lady, however, has logic enough for the both of us.
{I know what this is. This reticence,} she says.
'Oh, do you?'
I look up to roll my eyes. To my surprise, there's a section of distorted air shimmering above my head. Every time my System talks, the vaguely person-shaped shimmer glows brighter in time to the words, like a ghostly audio visualizer.
Well that's new.
. . .
(mentally processing)
. . .
Whatever. I give up.
Hardly the weirdest thing in my life these days.
As annoyed as I am by my System's busybody know-it-all attitude, I'm grateful for the distraction. There are only three people anywhere near me in this park, and they're keeping a respectful distance, giving me my personal space.
I'm safe, probably.
But my feet still feel ready to take off at any moment, so I'm not sure they've received the "we're safe" memo.
{I would never say your fear is unfounded. You have more reason to fear than anyone. But you cannot allow that fear to close you off from the Call of Opportunity.}
'I'm supposed to believe that's what this is? An opportunity?'
I mean for that to sound sarcastic, but it's harder to lie while talking in my own head.
I hate the fragile hope lacing that final word: Opportunity.
It's been reverberating in my head ever since Coach Wilcox casually said it.
United States Soccer Development Academy.
The premier league in the US for anyone who wants to become a pro player. More players for the Youth National Teams are called up from USSDA clubs than all other routes combined.
If I'm legit being scouted for the USSDA. . .
{Lesson Two: To be a team player, one must first have a team. Challenge: Convince Coach Wilcox to invite you to join the Seattle Sounders FC youth side.}
'ARE YOU INSANE? How am I supposed to pull that off?!'
{Helpful Hint: Maybe stop looking so suspicious and jittery.}
Oof.
System uses Truth Bomb. It is Very Effective.
{Perhaps you could pretend to be a normal, well-adjusted child. Fake it til you make it, etcetera.}
I have literally been kicked while I was down, and that did not sting half as much as my System's snark.
'Where in the world did you learn that expression?' I ask, annoyed but also kinda curious.
{I did a scan of inspirational quotes throughout human history. Mortals seem to rely upon that particular 'fake it' mentality more than is probably wise for the continued success of your species.}
I swallow the laugh that threatens to escape my too-dry throat.
{Do you still wish to become a Champion?}
I nod. Yes. More than anything.
{Then complete this Challenge and accept your Reward: [Stamina Boost].}
"Aidan," I croak, and it's awful and embarrassing and barely qualifies as audible speech, but it's a start.
And that's not nothing.
The System shimmer then fades, just as her voice did in the locker room after she delivered my first challenge. It's like she's only here to provide the initial nudge as I stand before the precipice of major life changes, but it's up to me to actually leap...or not.
The last bit of the shimmer dissipates into a warm breeze that brushes past me. It's dumb, but it's comforting, somehow.
I swallow and take a deep breath...
...And take a diving header into the Great and Terrifying Unknown.
"My name is Aidan Kane."