CHAPTER 19 : BEFORE THE COLLISION

  Rayan woke up unusually early. The soft morning light streamed through the curtains, painting faint patterns on the floor. The room was still and quiet, almost as if the world itself were holding its breath. He lay there a moment, letting the events of yesterday replay in his mind—the three paths, the weight of his choices, the subtle nudges of fate, and the sense that everything was starting to shift.

  With a deep breath, he swung his legs off the bed. His body felt lighter, yet somehow more aware. A subtle energy of readiness coursed through him.

  “I need a status check,” he thought.

  A soft, melodic female voice answered immediately.

  “Good morning, Rayan.”

  Rayan blinked, slightly amused. “Morning… hmm. Actually… can I give you a name?”

  There was a pause. Then, without warning, the voice shifted deeper, confident, male.

  “I can accept a name. What would you like to call me?”

  Rayan froze. “Wait… why are you speaking in male voice now?”

  “Because you decided to assign a name,” the AI replied in its male tone. “Default mode is female, preferred by most humans. Named state activates male communication protocol.”

  Rayan smirked. “Ugh… I still like the female voice better.”

  “Noted,” the AI said calmly.

  Rayan tapped his chin, grinning mischievously. “Alright… then I’ll name you… Umm… Fluffykins?”

  The AI’s tone stiffened slightly. “Do not joke. You are usually good with names.”

  Rayan laughed. “Fine… then… Sir.. Bumblebutt?”

  The AI went silent for a moment. Then:

  “Seriously?” it asked, voice tinged with precise exasperation.

  “Okay, okay… how about Captain Wobblebrain?”

  “Impatience threshold reached. Suggest selection of actual name.”

  Rayan thought for a moment, then said, “Nira.”

  “Accepted,” the AI said, now female again, smooth and steady. “From this moment, I am Nira.”

  Rayan smirked, satisfied. “Fine. Nira it is. But remember… I still like the old voice.”

  He leaned back, curiosity tugging at him. “Okay… show me my stats.”

  A holographic display appeared in his mind, listing three main sections: Physical Stats, Mental Stats, Civilization Tier. His eyes widened as he read:

  Physical Stats:

  Strength: 7/20

  Stamina: 7/20

  Endurance: 8/20

  Agility: 6/20

  Mental Stats:

  Intelligence: 6/20

  Focus: 20 (Max Human Baseline)

  Willpower: 12/20

  Stress: 13/20

  Civilization Tier: 1.8

  Rayan’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait… why is Civilization Tier here? Stats usually only show physical and mental.”

  Nira’s tone was calm, almost instructive, with a hint of mechanical amusement. “Civilization Tier is a stat type. It measures adaptation and potential. As it increases, humans can achieve superhuman performance in physical, mental, or strategic aspects. It is a progression indicator.”

  Rayan leaned back, still staring at the numbers. “Wait… Strength increased by two? Everything else went up too?”

  “Observation: Not everything, your Intelligence remains unchanged,” Nira said, tone precise, slightly ironic. “Your Intelligence is not affected because school-level reading provides insufficient cognitive data for measurable growth.”

  Rayan raised an eyebrow. “So… I can’t shortcut intelligence like my body’s physical stats?”

  “Negative,” Nira replied. “Physical stats respond to repeated strain. Your body detects effort, adapts, and increases performance metrics. You applied force beyond baseline. Result: Strength, Stamina, Endurance increased.”

  “As for Intelligence… reading a few high-school books will not increase it,” Nira continued, mechanical and teasing.

  Rayan’s eyes widened. “Oh… my Willpower increased? Stress decreased—two points too? Focus is maxed--of course…” His voice carried surprise.

  “Affirmative,” Nira said, precise and almost proud. “Willpower is enhanced because my guidance causes your neural assessment to classify challenges as solvable. Stress decreased because your cognitive system recognizes defined paths—three specific trajectories. Efficiency achieved.”

  Rayan blinked, slightly off-guard. “And… all this… without using CP?”

  “Affirmative,” Nira said, tone calm, mechanical. “No expenditure required. Adaptation plus advisory influence sufficient. Neural confidence output increased as a side effect. Do not question. Observation: your reaction shows surprise and mild amusement. Satisfying from system perspective. End of commentary.”

  Rayan smirked, shaking his head slightly. “Alright… so you’re… proud of yourself?”

  “Pride is irrelevant,” Nira replied, precision in her voice. “Observation: your reaction indicates mild amusement. Efficient… teasing achieved. End of commentary.”

  He got up, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles and clarity in his mind. After freshening up, he headed downstairs.

  The kitchen smelled faintly of fresh bread and coffee. His family was already at the table—John, Sophie, and Lyra. Normally, Rayan would arrive late, brushing past the tail end of breakfast, but today he reached the table before anyone had started.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Good morning!” he called, sliding into the seat.

  Lyra looked at him and smirked. “You’re… actually early.”

  Rayan grinned. “Had to beat you to breakfast. Criminal theft prevention, you know.”

  Lyra laughed softly. “Hah… looks like someone’s motivated today.”

  Sophie cleared her throat softly, trying to get the conversation on something serious. “Ray… about… the mon—”

  John subtly shook his head, signaling caution. Rayan noticed immediately. But, acts like he didn’t noticed and looked at his mother. “Yes, Mom?”

  Sophie quickly shifted. “Huh–ah… about the finals… when do they start?”

  “One week from now. June 3 onwards,” Rayan replied calmly, mentally noting her subtle attempts at conversation management.

  “I already told you that, Mom,” he added.

  “Yes… yeah… I forgot. Just wanted to know,” she said with a small smile.

  Breakfast passed simply, with Rayan and Lyra sharing light, playful smiles. Before leaving, he leaned over to Lyra, pinching her cheek. “Don’t commit any criminal thefts while I’m gone. Goodbye!”

  Lyra stuck her tongue out playfully. “Bye, thief brother!”

  As Rayan stepped out, Sophie whispered to John, voice trembling slightly. “Why did you stop me? Shouldn’t we…?”

  John exhaled deeply, his voice breaking faintly, a subtle gasp escaping him. “Sophie… Rayan… he isn’t a child anymore. He has secrets… things we can’t see… all we can do is be there if he needs us… just… be there.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened, the same fear reflected in them. “But… what if he goes down… an illegal path?”

  John’s gaze followed Rayan’s figure fading down the street. His voice lowered, tense, almost a whisper with a shiver: “We… we just hope… it’s not the path he takes…”

  Sophie stayed silent, the unease heavy in the air, both of them silently watching, hearts tightening with a mix of fear, hope, and helplessness, as their son moved forward—stronger, more focused, unknowingly stepping further into a journey that would push him beyond normal human limits.

  Rayan, of course, was oblivious to his parents’ calculations. His mind was a vault of strategies, observations, and silent growth. The memory of yesterday—George Yung, the ruined bicycle, public humiliation—was a cold, hard fact in his inventory. He had roughly sixteen hundred dollars saved. More than enough.

  He caught the bus, the city smearing into grey streaks, and arrived at the school gate at 8:50 AM.

  Hodges, the school guard, turned to stone as he approached. Not a word passed the man’s lips, but his eyes were loud with a silent, respectful fear. Rayan noted the stiffened spine, the white-knuckled grip on his clipboard—every detail filed away.

  “Morning, Rayan!” Bear Carter—Bunty—bounded over, his usual boom slightly muted. “Heard about your bicycle and uh… the incident.”

  Rayan understood.

  “It’s solved,” Rayan said, his voice a placid lake. “I’m thinking about buying a new one.”

  The calm tone washed over Bunty, easing his tension. He shifted gears. “Oh.. Buying a new one?”

  “Yeah… thinking about it,” Rayan replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

  Bunty’s grin returned, full force. “Then I’ll be the one to pick it! You can’t trust yourself with decisions like that.”

  “Fine, Bunty,” Rayan said lightly, gesturing with his hands. “Lead the way, oh wise selector of bicycles.”

  Selene Vance passed by, offering a quiet nod. “Morning.” It was subtle, acknowledging the unspoken. Rayan returned it, noting the calm, watchful intelligence in her eyes.

  The bell rang. Classes began.

  In Chemistry, Peter Wells leaned against his desk with theatrical casualness. “I heard Selene and George wrote the BVU exam yesterday. Congratulations in advance—I know you two will get selected.”

  Selene’s interjection was swift, firm. “Sir,—Rayan also wrote the exam.”

  Peter’s smirk was a razor cut. He knew. Of course he knew. “Not everyone who writes it will get selected.”

  Selene began to argue, her voice a hushed, urgent whisper about two hours, about finished papers, her eyes flicking to Rayan. He remained still. A slight raise of an eyebrow. A single, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Let it go.

  After that the bell rang. Next class is physics. Aria Reed came to class and her gaze lands on Rayan and thinks about yesterday. The bruises on rayan’s and how hard it is to him. Reason is george yung. She decided to do something on her way. She decided to target george.

  Aria Reed stood at the front of the classroom, hands resting lightly on the edge of the desk. She didn’t wear spectacles, didn’t pace, didn’t raise her voice. She simply looked at the room until it settled.

  “Open your notebooks,” she said.

  Chairs shifted. Pens clicked. The air sharpened.

  Her gaze stopped on George.

  “George, Answer this,” Aria said, turning to the board.

  She wrote slowly, deliberately:

  **A stone is tied to a string and swung in a horizontal circle at constant speed.

  What provides the force toward the center—and what happens the instant the string breaks?**

  No formulas. No numbers. Just understanding.

  George straightened and stands up. This was his ground—or so he thought.

  “The string provides the force,” he said quickly. “And when it breaks, the stone falls down.”

  Aria turned. “Immediately?”

  George hesitated. “Yes… gravity pulls it.”

  “And its direction of motion at the exact moment the string breaks?” she asked.

  Silence crept in.

  George frowned. “It… curves?”

  Aria waited. She always waited.

  His confidence thinned. “Maybe straight?”

  “Which straight?” she asked calmly.

  George swallowed. “Toward the center?”

  “No,” Aria said. Not sharp. Final.

  She erased the board once.

  “Rayan.”

  Rayan stood. A fading bruise sat near his cheekbone, half-hidden but visible if you looked.

  “The string provides centripetal force,” he said steadily. “It changes the direction of velocity, not the speed.”

  A breath.

  “When the string breaks, that force disappears. The stone continues in a straight line—tangent to the circle at that point.”

  Silence followed.

  Aria studied him for a moment.

  Then she gave a small nod.

  She turned back to George—not sharply, not angrily.

  “Interesting thing about circular motion,” she said evenly. “The moment the inward force is removed, everything flies on its own path.”

  Her eyes held his.

  “No support. No pull from the center. No surrounding structure to hold it in place.”

  A pause.

  “Which is why,” she continued, “understanding matters more than relying on what’s around you.”

  Her gaze flicked briefly—deliberately—to the cluster of boys behind George’s desk.

  Then back to him.

  “Physics exposes that difference very clearly.”

  That was all.

  George’s jaw tightened. He understood what aria means and telling george that you are nothing without your gang. His friends shifted behind him, suddenly aware of themselves. Heat crawled up his neck—not embarrassment, something darker.

  He didn’t look at Rayan.

  His anger became extreme and he sits without showing any of it. And looked at elara.

  Elara Shaw, Rayan’s ex, watched, a slow burn of humiliation coloring her cheeks. The universe had flipped its script.

  The one who is popular now becomes loser . and the loser becomes— and she is seeing rayan. A small feeling started —Regret.

  Lunch passed in a bubble of normalcy—Bunty’s teasing, Selene’s quiet smiles. The afternoon was a tapestry of ordinary moments, which Rayan observed, dissected, and cataloged with silent intensity.

  The final bell was a release. Bunty turned, vibrating with energy. “Let’s go buy that damn bicycle!”

  “Okay,” Rayan said, smiling.

  After a brief farewell to Selene, they headed out.

  “Ray, you have enough money, right?” Bunty asked, his tone shifting to one of close concern. “If you don’t, I’ve got some spare cash. We can sum it up, get you a brand-new geared cycle.”

  Rayan smirked. “Don’t worry Bunty…… I got it. $1,600 should cover a proper one.”

  Bunty’s jaw went slack. “$1,600? We could buy a freaking Motorbike and still have cash left!”

  The idea struck Rayan. They didn’t have a bike at home. After BVU, he wouldn’t need a bicycle… but his father could use one for a few days. “Alright… let’s buy it. At least a few days of use for Dad.”

  Soon, he would make a fortune. Then, cars.

  The thought was severed by a voice dripping with spoiled honey and malice.

  “Rayan!”

  George Yung emerged from between the cars, his group fanning out with practiced ease.

  Nira’s voice cut in—sharp, immediate.

  [Threat detected. Hostile intent confirmed. Numerical disadvantage—]

  The voice stopped.

  Not muted.

  Not delayed.

  Stopped.

  Rayan’s focus sharpened.

  End of Chapter 19.