Medford Middle School smelled like floor wax and teenage desperation.
In my old life, I barely remembered seventh grade. It was a blur of trying to look cool and failing math. But walking down the hallway now, with the mind of a thirty-eight-year-old and the instincts of an NFL quarterback, the "social hierarchy" looked different.
It wasn't scary. It was just... inefficient.
"Georgie!"
I turned. It was Tam, Sheldon's only friend. He looked panicked.
"It's Sheldon," Tam said, breathless. "Locker room."
I didn't run. Running attracted teachers. I walked, but I walked with purpose. The [Mahomes Template] didn't just help with throwing footballs; it helped with scanning the field. And right now, the hallway was the field.
I pushed open the locker room doors.
Three eighth-graders had Sheldon cornered. One of them, a kid named Kyle with a patchy mustache that should have been illegal, was holding Sheldon's backpack over a toilet stall.
"I am telling you," Sheldon was saying, his voice high and trembling but stubbornly factual. "The tensile strength of that zipper is not designed to support the weight of my textbooks. If you drop it, you will be liable for damages."
"Shut up, nerd," Kyle sneered.
I stepped into the room.
"Drop the bag, Kyle."
The locker room went quiet. Usually, Georgie Cooper would be the one laughing, or at least pretending not to see.
Kyle turned around. He was bigger than me—probably fifteen pounds heavier. "Or what, Cooper? You gonna cry to your daddy?"
[System Analysis]
[Target: Kyle Benson]
[Threat Level: Low]
[Weakness: Insecure footing on wet tile]
I didn't square up to fight. I just leaned against a row of lockers, crossing my arms. I looked bored.
"No," I said calmly. "But Coach Wilkins is about ten seconds away from walking through that door. And if he sees you messing with the team mascot..."
"Sheldon ain't the mascot," Kyle frowned.
"He is now," I lied smoothly. "Dad says Sheldon is good luck. You mess with the luck, you mess with the team. You want the Varsity guys to know you made us lose on Friday?"
It was complete nonsense. But confidence is a currency in middle school.
Kyle hesitated. He looked at the bag, then at me. I held his gaze. I didn't blink. The "Clutch Gene" wasn't just for fourth quarters; it was for high-pressure standoffs.
Kyle grunted and tossed the bag at Sheldon. "Whatever. Freaks."
He shoved past me, bumping my shoulder.
[System Alert]
[Physical Contact Detected]
[Adrenaline Spike: Suppressed]
I waited until Kyle was gone. Sheldon was clutching his backpack like it was a bomb.
"Thank you," Sheldon said stiffly. "Although, technically, I am not a mascot. Mascots are usually anthropomorphic animals."
"Just roll with it, Shelly," I said, patting his shoulder. "Come on. Don't be late for science."
***
The school day was a blur of trying not to fall asleep in Algebra (which I already knew) and eating my four hard-boiled eggs in the cafeteria while people stared.
But the real work started at 3:30 PM.
I got off the bus and walked straight past our house. I went two doors down to the Sparks residence.
Meemaw's car was already in the driveway.
I walked into the backyard. Meemaw was sitting at a patio table with Brenda Sparks, drinking iced tea. Brenda looked like she had just smelled something sour.
"He's twelve, Connie," Brenda was saying. "He's gonna quit in ten minutes."
"He won't quit," Meemaw said, shuffling a deck of cards. "He's motivated. He wants to buy... muscles, or something." She looked up and saw me. "Ah, here he is. Moonpie Two."
I ignored the nickname (though I saw a twitch of amusement in Meemaw's eye). "Afternoon, Mrs. Sparks. Meemaw."
Brenda eyed me up and down. "You really think you can clear that shed? It's got opossums."
"I like animals," I said. "Where do you want the junk?"
"Burn pile for the wood. Curb for the metal. Don't break my lawnmower."
"Yes, ma'am. Thirty dollars, right?"
"Twenty," Brenda corrected.
"Thirty," Meemaw cut in, not looking up from her cards. "We shook on it, Brenda. Don't cheat the help."
Brenda scowled but nodded. "Thirty. If it's done by sunset."
I walked to the shed.
It was a disaster. Old tires, rusted chicken wire, bags of solidified cement, and yes, a very angry-looking possum in the rafters.
[System Quest Start: The Cleanup]
[Strength Training Opportunity]
[Lifting heavy objects = Functional Hypertrophy]
I smiled. It wasn't a gym. But lifting a rusted engine block? That was definitely a workout.
"Hey, Georgie."
I turned. Billy Sparks was standing there. He was holding a chicken.
"Hey, Billy," I said.
"My mom said you're working," Billy said slowly. "Can I help?"
Usually, kids made fun of Billy. He was slow. He stared at walls. But looking at him now, I just saw a kid who was lonely. And big. Billy was built like a tractor.
"Sure, Billy," I said. "You see that pile of wood? I need you to carry it to the fire pit. Can you be the Strongman?"
Billy's face lit up. "I'm strong."
"I know you are. Let's get to work."
***
For three hours, we worked.
I treated it like a drill.
*Lift with the legs.* [Squat Rep].
*Twist and throw the trash bag.* [Oblique Rotation].
*Drag the heavy tire.* [Sled Push].
My System text was scrolling like a slot machine.
[Strength +0.1]
[Endurance +0.1]
[Grip Strength +0.2]
By sunset, the shed was empty. The junk was sorted. I was covered in grease, dirt, and possibly possum droppings.
I walked back to the patio, wiping my hands on a rag. Billy was sitting on the grass, looking exhausted but happy.
"Done," I announced.
Brenda stood up. She walked to the shed, inspected the empty floor, and checked the curb. She looked surprised.
"Well," she grunted. "Better than I thought."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out three ten-dollar bills.
She handed them to me. "Here."
"Thanks, Mrs. Sparks," I said. I turned to Billy. "Good work, Billy."
I walked over to Meemaw. She held out her hand.
"Agent fee," she reminded me.
I handed her the money. She peeled off a five-dollar bill (which was more than 10%, but I wasn't going to argue with the woman who set it up) and handed me back twenty-five.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Moonpie Two," she winked.
I pocketed the twenty-five dollars. It wasn't much. But it was enough for a used set of dumbbells I saw at the pawn shop downtown.
I walked home, my body aching, my pockets jingling.
I walked into the kitchen. Mom was making meatloaf. Dad was drinking a beer.
"Where have you been?" Mom asked. "You smell like a barn."
"Just helping a friend," I said, heading for the shower.
I didn't tell them about the money. Not yet.
[Current Funds: $29.12]
[Equipment Goal: 15% Funded]
I flexed my hand. It was sore, cut, and calloused.
It was the best feeling in the world.