Beep... beep... beep… Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
The monotone of the flatline reverberated through the orphanage's infirmary, bouncing off sterile walls plastered with aging Formula 1 posters, the silent spectators to the close of a 25-year struggle.
"Time of death: 17:58," the doctor murmured, scribbling the final notation onto the chart.
No farewell. No ceremony.
Just the quiet passing of a bedridden Formula 1 superfan whose life had been nothing but a prolonged pit stop of pain.
...…..
"Am I… floating?"
No light. No sound. No weight. Just the absence of everything. Not even darkness, just a void, like the blank space behind closed eyelids during a migraine.
But for the first time in years, there was no pain. No fire in my nerves, no ache in my bones. Just… stillness.
"So this is death. Peace."
They say trouble never comes alone. In my case, it didn't come for me, I was born in it.
A cluster of genetic disorders didn't grant me superpowers. They gave me constant, unbearable pain. Sure, over time, I built up a mental resilience, a tolerance for agony, but that just meant I needed slightly less medication.
Eventually, even walking became torture. The pain anchored me to a bed, where I spent my final years being pumped full of addictive and experimental drugs, just to dull the torment.
I was a child of surrogacy. My parents died before I was even born. No relatives stepped forward. No one claimed me.
So the orphanage became my world. Twenty-five years under its roof, seven of them spent staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to stop.
And now... it finally had.
In those bed-bound years, when the pain had whittled life down to moments between medication cycles, I discovered Formula 1. It became my lifeline, alongside the few friends from the orphanage who never stopped visiting, never stopped believing I was more than just a body trapped in pain.
F1 wasn't just entertainment. It became a sanctuary. Something about the precision, the speed, the strategy, it let me tune out the agony. When the engines roared, the pain quieted.
And thankfully, I hadn't discovered it at its inception. The sport had decades of archived races, interviews, documentaries, an entire history waiting to be consumed. During the endless hours between live races, I immersed myself in the past: legendary duels, historic crashes, impossible comebacks.
I watched other motorsports too, of course. But I always returned to Formula 1. It was my sport.
Still, not even that, nor the love of my friends, was enough to erase the thought of ending it all. The pain was too relentless. But instead of giving in, I made a choice: no suicide, no euthanasia. Just a quiet line drawn—A DNR. Do Not Resuscitate.
And now, it seemed, that line had finally come into play.
"So this is what it means to die? Nothingness… forever?"
If so, it wasn't terrible. There was no pain here. No screaming nerves. Just peace.
"Not so bad," I muttered into the void, preparing myself for an eternity of empty stillness.
But then, something appeared.
A flicker. A break in the monotony.
A screen. Blue, glowing faintly, yet bright enough to command every ounce of my attention.
"What… is that?"
I tried to move, blink, and turn my head, but couldn't. I wasn't even sure if I had a body anymore. Still, the screen was either close or massive, because I could read it clearly:
[System Initializing .......…99%]
The loading bar moved fast, almost too fast. But when it hit 99%, it froze.
Seconds ticked by, or maybe minutes. I had no way of measuring time in this void.
And then, without warning, the screen vanished.
"Wait—what? No, no, no... don't tell me it failed."
From the books I'd read, I knew what a "system" was. Countless characters had died, then awakened with abilities, powers, new lives… guided by systems tailored to their needs. I had dared to hope.
But just as quickly as that hope arrived, panic crept in. What if mine had glitched? What if I ended up in one of those cruel stories where the system malfunctions and everything goes wrong?
But before I could drown in panic, a new presence emerged.
This time, it wasn't just a screen; it surrounded me, wrapped around my awareness, and passed through my very mind. I could feel it, not in a painful way, but like gentle threads weaving through memories and dreams.
Then, words formed in front of me, calm and resolute:
[The user's desires and wishes have been determined. A system to help him achieve them is created.]
Relief. Pure, overwhelming relief.
Not just because I was getting a system, but because that sentence confirmed something far greater:
I was getting another chance at life.
And more importantly… I wouldn't be shackled to that same broken body.
Even if all I got was a new life without pain, that alone would've been enough. But the system, it was offering more. It was tailored to my dreams.
The screen dissolved again, replaced by a new sequence:
[...........]
A row of loading dots. They remained. Unchanging.
I wasn't sure how long it had been, five minutes? Ten? Maybe more? But I didn't mind.
After all, the best things in life… take time.
[The Greatest Of All Time (GOAT) System has been created.]
Please choose the sport and category in which you wish to have the potential to become the GOAT:
Motorsports Team Sports
• Extreme Sports
• Individual Sports
• Combat Sports
• Water Sports
• Mind Sports
• ...
• ...…...
• ...…..
The list stretched on, almost endless.
It was then I realized something: The system had pulled from the deepest parts of me, all the moments I had watched from the sidelines, aching with jealousy at what I could never do.
And it offered me a chance. Not just to participate, but to excel. To be the Greatest Of All Time.
There was no hesitation. I tapped Motorsports the moment I saw it.
This wasn't just a dream, it was the dream. The one that had carried me through the worst of it. The one I could never chase in my old life, no matter how badly I wanted it.
As soon as I selected it, the other categories faded away, and Motorsports expanded with a new list:
[Please select a motorsport category:]
Formula 1
NASCAR
MotoGP
Rally Racing
Drag Racing
...…
....
...…..
Each name glowed with potential, but only one made my heart skip, just like it always had.
Without hesitation, I tapped Formula 1, making sure I didn't misclick and accidentally select another category.
[Loading .....…....…100%]
[Generating Abilities ....…100%]
[Creating the Perfect Body .…....…100%]
[Assimilating Abilities ....100%]
[......100%]
[......100%]
[......100%]
[......100%]
Each line blinked in rapid succession. Dozens… no, thousands of system processes executed in the blink of an eye.
When it finally completed, the entire interface shrank into a single point and shot straight into me.
I didn't feel pain. But I felt it, an avalanche of data cascading into my consciousness. Too much to comprehend, let alone process.
But I didn't need to understand it all immediately.
A new prompt appeared, calm and informative:
[To assist you in your journey, you have been granted 15,000 System Points. These may be used to purchase abilities and enhancements from the System Shop before temporary deactivation.]
The path to F1 wouldn't be handed to me, but the tools to get there were. And now… it was my move.
The prompt faded, replaced instantly by the System Shop.
Rows upon rows of abilities unfolded before me, neatly categorized and described. Each one offered a glimpse of excellence, skills that could elevate any driver to a top-tier Formula 1 competitor. And now, they were all at my fingertips.
For a moment, excitement surged. With this many options, I could dominate!
But when I saw the prices, all of the excitement went out the window.
Each ability required System Points (SP), and the costs weren't trivial. Worse still, barring a few, nearly all of the abilities had tiers that significantly influenced their effectiveness, with the price doubling for each higher level.
[Ordinary → Good → Excellent → Genius → Ultimate → Limit Break]
[Ordinary – A skill comparable to the average professional. Functional but unremarkable.
Good – Sharpened and refined, offering consistent, noticeable advantages.
Excellent – Exceptional. Begins to define a driver's style and provides distinct advantages.
Genius – Legendary. The skill achieves a level worthy of icons in the sport.
Ultimate – Near-perfection. Mastery over every aspect of the ability.
Limit Break – Transcendent. A realm where the impossible becomes possible.]
I could pour all my points into a single Ultimate-level ability, gaining unparalleled mastery in one skill. Or, I could distribute them across several Good-level abilities—the minimum tier of the abilities available for purchase of any ability—balancing versatility at the cost of specialization, becoming a jack of all trades but master of none.
As I examined the system's ability shop, something became clear. Every ability was designed solely to enhance my physical and mental capabilities. There were no options to alter the car's performance, or to interfere with my rivals like causing them to lose focus or make mistakes or manipulate the environment.
It became evident that the system's design was deliberate: To be considered the GOAT, my success had to come entirely from my own skills. By limiting the abilities to only impact me, it was clear that I would need to be the difference-maker, relying solely on my own mastery to excel