The 200

Miles checked his phone one last time before tucking it into his bag.

"Two minutes to final call for boys' 200 meters," the PA system announced.

"Better hustle," Andre said, already on his feet. "They're strict about check-in times here."

Miles nodded, zipping his bag shut and following Andre through the crowded fieldhouse. The noise level had increased noticeably since the 60m—word had spread about the freshman who'd just run seven flat.

[Velocity System: Heart rate elevated but within optimal range. Analyzing race strategy for 200m event.]

They jogged to the clerk's table, where several athletes were already lined up. Miles took his place in line, bouncing slightly on his toes to keep his muscles warm. His 60m race still lingered in his body—not as fatigue, but as a kind of muscle memory, a reminder of what it felt like to find that perfect rhythm.

"Heat assignments for men's 200 meters," called the clerk, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense expression. "When I call your name, step forward."

Miles watched as runners were assigned to their heats. Ryan Higgs was placed in heat two. A few more names were called.

"Carter, Miles. Westridge High. Heat one, lane four."

Miles stepped forward to receive his heat assignment card. As he moved back into line, he noticed several competitors glancing his way. His 60m time had changed something—he wasn't just another freshman anymore.

"Wilson, Andre. Westridge High. Heat one, lane five."

Andre collected his card and rejoined Miles. "Lane buddies," he said with a grin. "Don't worry about pacing. Just run your race."

Miles nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure what "his race" was yet. The 200 was different from the 60—less about pure explosion and more about maintaining speed through the turn. Coach Dormer had worked with him on running the curves, but this would be his first time racing the distance.

[Velocity System: New mission activated: Complete 200m race under 22 seconds. Difficulty: Challenging. Reward: Enhanced curve technique module.]

The mission parameters surprised Miles. Under 22 seconds? That seemed ambitious even with the System's help. National-level ambitious.

"Heat one, follow me to the track," called an official in a bright yellow vest.

Miles and the other runners in his heat followed the official to the start of the 200-meter mark on the track. The blue indoor surface seemed to glow under the fieldhouse lights. As they approached, Miles finally removed his warmups, revealing his Westridge uniform underneath. The coolness of the air hit his skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth that had built up under his sweats.

He slipped on his spikes, tightening the laces with practiced precision. Around him, the other runners were doing the same, each lost in their own pre-race rituals. Andre was quiet now, focused entirely on his own preparation.

The starter approached, clipboard in hand. "Gentlemen, heat one of the 200 meters. You know the drill. Stay in your lanes for the entire race. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Lane assignments, please check your cards and move to your positions."

Miles made his way to lane four. From this position on the track, he could feel the eyes of the crowd more intensely. The stands along the back straightaway were packed with spectators and teams from both schools.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed through the fieldhouse. "Heat one of the boys' 200 meters is about to begin. Keep an eye on lane four—Miles Carter of Westridge High just ran a 7.00 in the 60 meters earlier today, one of the top freshman times in the country."

Miles felt his face warm slightly at the announcement but pushed away the distraction. He focused on the track ahead, visualizing the race from start to finish.

[Velocity System: Optimal race strategy loaded. Acceleration phase: 0-60m. Maximum velocity phase: 60-150m. Velocity maintenance phase: 150-200m. Curve technique essential for optimal performance.]

"Runners, to your marks."

Miles settled into the starting blocks, finding that perfect position with his fingers just behind the line. The curve of the track stretched out before him. Unlike the 60, the 200 started him on the bend, requiring a different approach.

"Set."

He raised his hips, body coiled like a spring. The fieldhouse fell silent.

BANG!

The gun fired, and Miles exploded from the blocks. His first few steps were similar to his 60—not perfect, but solid. The difference came as he hit the curve. Where some runners struggled to maintain their speed through the bend, Miles found himself naturally leaning into it, his body angled at precisely the right degree.

[Velocity System: Curve technique 94% optimal. Acceleration phase complete. Transitioning to maximum velocity.]

Twenty meters in, Miles was even with the runners in the lanes outside him—Andre in five and someone from Central in six. But as they continued around the curve, something happened. A surge of power seemed to flow through Miles's legs, and he began to pull ahead.

"Carter from Westridge already making a move on the curve!" the announcer called out, excitement evident in his voice.

Miles hit the halfway point of the curve still accelerating, his stride lengthening while maintaining perfect turnover. The System was feeding him data, but he wasn't consciously processing it—his body was simply responding, finding a rhythm that felt supernatural.

As he came off the bend and into the straightaway, Miles had already established a lead of several meters. Andre was closest behind him, but the gap was growing with each stride.

"Look at the freshman go! Carter is absolutely flying down the backstretch!"

[Velocity System: Maximum velocity achieved. Performance exceeding all previous metrics. Current pace: Sub-22 trajectory.]

The crowd's roar washed over Miles as he powered down the straightaway. This wasn't like the 60, where he'd had to fight for every inch. This was something else entirely—a complete dominance that surprised even him. His legs seemed to know exactly what to do without conscious input, each stride perfectly timed and powered.

"Carter is opening up a gap that's getting bigger by the second! This is an incredible display of speed from the Westridge freshman!"

Miles was aware of nothing but the track ahead and the rhythm of his own body. Time seemed to compress, the world narrowing to just this moment, just this race. There was no fatigue, no doubt—only pure, perfect motion.

[Velocity System: Velocity maintenance phase engaged. Maintain knee drive and arm action.]

With fifty meters to go, Miles's lead had expanded to nearly ten meters. The crowd was on its feet now, witnessing something they hadn't expected. Coach Dormer stood at the edge of the track, stopwatch in hand, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pride.

"Twenty meters to go, and this is going to be a statement win for Miles Carter!"

Miles drove through the finish line, chest forward, just as he'd practiced. The momentum carried him several steps past the line before he began to slow. His lungs burned as he gulped in air, but unlike most races, his legs still felt strong.

"Unofficial time for Miles Carter, Westridge High, 21.40 seconds! Ladies and gentlemen, if that holds, we're looking at a New York State number one and US number one time for freshmen this season! Absolutely incredible!"

The fieldhouse erupted in cheers and excited chatter. Miles bent forward, hands on his knees, trying to process what had just happened. He'd expected to be competitive. He hadn't expected this.

[Velocity System: Mission complete. 200m completed in 21.40 seconds. Status: Exceptional. Performance exceeds mission parameters by 0.60 seconds. Enhanced curve technique module unlocked.]

Andre crossed the finish line several seconds later, immediately jogging over to Miles.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, eyes wide with disbelief. "You just—" He shook his head, unable to find the words. "That wasn't just good, Miles. That was different."

Miles straightened up, still catching his breath. "I don't know. It just... happened."

"Just happened?" Andre laughed. "Things like that don't 'just happen.' You left Division I college sprinters' times in the dust."

Before Miles could respond, they were joined by the other runners from their heat, all looking at Miles with varying degrees of amazement and respect.

"Damn, freshman," said one Central runner, shaking his head. "Where'd you come from?"

"Official results for heat one of the boys' 200 meters," the announcer's voice called out. "First place, Miles Carter, Westridge High, 21.40 seconds. Second place, Andre Wilson, Westridge High, 22.86 seconds. Third place, Jason Bennett, Central High, 23.12 seconds."

Coach Dormer appeared at the edge of the track, gesturing for Miles to join him.

"I need you to stay on the track," Coach said when Miles approached. "The meet director wants a brief interview."

"Interview?" Miles repeated, the word not fully registering.

"Yep. That time's making waves. Just be yourself."

Before Miles could protest, a woman with a small microphone approached, accompanied by a man with a handheld camera bearing the logo of a local news station.

"Miles Carter? I'm Sarah Chen with Channel 8 Sports. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about that incredible 200 meters we just witnessed?"

Miles glanced at Coach Dormer, who nodded encouragingly.

"Uh, sure," Miles managed.

"We're live in three, two—" The cameraman pointed at Sarah.

"I'm here with Miles Carter, a freshman from Westridge High who just ran what appears to be the fastest 200-meter time by any freshman in the country this season—21.40 seconds. Miles, that was an extraordinary performance. How are you feeling right now?"

She held the microphone toward him. Miles swallowed, suddenly very aware of the camera.

"Good," he said simply, then realized more was expected. "I mean, I'm surprised. I didn't expect to run that fast."

"You just started running track recently, is that correct? What's your background in the sport?"

Miles hesitated. "This is my first season, actually. First meet."

Sarah's eyebrows rose. "Your first meet? And you're already posting times like this? That's remarkable. What do you attribute that to?"

Miles thought about the Velocity System, about the weeks of training with Andre and Coach Dormer, about his father's genes that he'd spent years trying to ignore.

"Just working hard," he said finally. "Good coaching. Good teammates."

"Well, it's certainly paying off. Any goals for the rest of the season?"

"Just keep improving," Miles said. "Take it one race at a time."

"There you have it," Sarah said, turning back to the camera. "Miles Carter, a name to remember in high school track and field. Back to you in the studio, Jim."

The cameraman lowered his camera and gave Miles a thumbs up. "Nice job, kid."

As the interview team moved away, the announcer's voice filled the fieldhouse again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a round of applause for Miles Carter of Westridge High, who just gave us a performance to remember!"

The crowd responded with enthusiastic applause and cheers. Miles stood awkwardly in the center of the track, unsure what to do with the attention. He raised a hand in a small wave before jogging back to where Coach Dormer stood.

"Get your sweats back on," Coach said, handing Miles his warmups. "Keep those legs warm. You've still got the 60 final and the relay."

Miles nodded, pulling on his pants and jacket. As he zipped up, he glanced at the scoreboard where his name and time were displayed. 21.40. A number that would change things.

"Coach," he said quietly as they walked back toward the team area. "What does this mean?"

Coach Dormer looked at him, understanding the question went deeper than the time itself.

"It means whatever you want it to mean, Miles. It's just a number. A fast one, sure. But at the end of the day, it's what you do with it that matters."

Miles nodded, letting the words sink in. As they rejoined the team, he was met with wide eyes and excited congratulations from his teammates. Phones were out, screenshots of the results being shared on social media.

"Carter!" Trey called out. "You're trending on the track forums already!"

Miles smiled faintly, the reality of his new situation beginning to dawn on him. The anonymity he'd cultivated for years had just vanished in 21.40 seconds.

[Velocity System: User status update. Identity: Emerging Elite Athlete. Physical potential: 62% actualized. Mental adaptation: In progress.]

Whatever came next, there was no going back now. The world had seen what he could do. More importantly, he had seen it himself.