Working hard or hardly working?

"Lucio Campbell?"

I look up from my phone to see an older guy standing at the door. Like a typical doctor he's got that white coat on over a pair of tan slacks while around his neck is a stethoscope. The glasses really complete the look.

I raise a hand. "That's me."

"Mr. Campbell, I'm Dr. McDonald. If you could come with me," He leads the way out of the waiting room and past a number of doors before stepping into a room. "This is Abigail, a nurse major. She'll be helping me today if that's fine with you?"

Abigail is a shorter girl, maybe around five feet even and has brown hair with blonde highlights. She has an average face and a body type that I can't see under her coat. If I hadn't been told she's a college girl then I would have guessed high school student, she honestly looks like one.

"No, that's fine with me." Not like I'm here to get operated on or something.

"Perfect. Now, it says here that you're in for a sports physical?" I nod, need one to officially be on the team. "You came to the right place. We're going to start with testing a few things so up on the table you go."

What follows is a bunch of examinations ranging from listening to my heartbeat, testing my knee jerk reflex, and testing my hearing. The doctor performs the tests while Abigail asks me questions about my medical history and that of my family; any diseases that are common among us, any childhood illnesses, allergies, how I feel during physical exertion. When she asks if I've been sexually active within the past several months I feel a little awkward responding since the answer is no and she's a girl not too far from my age but things mostly go off without a hitch.

And then Donald Doc asks me to drop my pants...

I don't really have a choice so I do so. He checks the head of my junk and then my balls while telling his findings to the college girl writing everything down. And the whole time she's standing just outside of my immediate line of sight. How awkward. I'd done a physical a while back and had forgotten that this was part of it. Thankfully it lasts at most a minute before I'm covered up again.

From there we move outside the room to an area where they measure my height and weight before taking a vision exam. Like the previous tests, this one goes well and soon enough I'm done with the physical and get signed off to be on the team.

There was really nothing to worry about today since my physical stats haven't reached superhuman levels yet and exams like this tend to be noninvasive for the most part. Perhaps later on I might have to sit through things like MRI's or other scans which might show something being off but that's a concern for later. I'll just do my best to avoid injuries from here on out – and just make smart decisions overall – since not only would it warrant an intensive scan, it would also heal much faster than humanly possible. Can't have that now.

…

As one would expect, it's kind of hard to study during feeding time at the zoo. And by that I mean the cafeteria at my high school. Before you come at me for comparing rowdy teenagers to zoo animals, I dare you to go just one lunch period with them. Just one.

No thanks? Hah, I thought so.

In all honesty however, the lunchroom is definitely not the place to be studying. Many last-minute crammers can support that claim; it's too loud, messy, and distracting. But I'll let you in on a little secret, I'm not really studying…

Well technically I am since I'm reading the notes I'd taken in class yesterday but with a perfect memory, reading them again is almost useless. And I'm not even actively focusing on AP Calc stuff seeing as how I'm internally monologuing. No, this whole thing is just a ruse I've come up with after . Should one day people grow interested in my sudden increase in academic performance, I'll have witnesses who will throw them off the scent. They'll be like:

'Oh Lucio? Yeah, he was something else man. During lunch time when everyone else was messing around, the dude had his notebooks out, studying away. Literally, food in one hand and notes in the other. Dude was built different I'm telling you.'

Or something like that, just as long as people can provide their own explanations on how I had a 4.0 senior year. After all, the best cover stories are those other people confirm for you. By the looks of things, I'm going to have to put up a lot of pretenses as I advance in skills and stats. Sandbagging and leaving subliminal hints so people don't realize just how badass I am. I don't mind too much however, my big brain likes the extra stimulation that arises from running this long con.

"So Lucio, I've been wondering," Starts one of the guys I'm eating with, JJ. Him, George, and a few other guys make up the friend group I've had since my freshman year. We're tight. I lower my notebook to raise my eyebrows at him. He's smirking which means he's about to say some dumb shit, "Now that you're on the basketball team and an official athlete slash 'cool kid,' you're gonna invite us to the orgies with the cheerleaders right?"

I shake my head, trying to fight down the amusement. Saw that coming. The boys laugh at the crass joke.

"Yeah man!"

"He'd better!"

"There's no such thing you idiot." I slip in once I can.

"That's what you think because you weren't in the know before."

"So how would you know about them? Huh? You're the least athletic person I know,"

JJ doesn't look any less confident at that, tries to put on an act, "Trust me, I got sources. So, you finna tells us right? Especially if what's-her-name with the fatty is there?"

It says something about how often he's mentioned this girl – and just how memorable her, assets, are – that we all know who he's talking about just from that description. Fun fact: I actually know her name now. The Gamer is useful like that.

"Honestly bro, if there were orgies going on and I was able to invite more people, I'd bring in more girls rather than guys. Sorry not sorry."

"So it's like that huh? What kind of bro are you?" George chimes in. Freaking devil's advocate. JJ jumps on it.

"Right? There's a bro code man! Rule number two, no, number three. 'Should one bro doth know about an orgy, he doth share with his brothers in arms!'"

Lies. "It's the opposite actually. A real bro would understand that adding more dicks to the equation is the wrong move and wouldn't pressure another bro for an invite."

"Tch, I would invite you if it was me."

"Sure you would. Throw me a pity round after you'd had your fun?"

"One round is all you're good for."

""Damn~"" The others laugh at the burn.

I deadpan, "Fuck you."

"No thanks, I don't go that way." He smirks in victory.

"Shut your pimpled ass up…"

And thus we descent into throwing insults. Just guys being guys.

…

"Come on boys! Hustle!" The assistant basketball coach yells from his position against the fence separating the bleachers from the track. Said position coincidentally happens to be in a patch of shade, protecting him and a track coach from the early-afternoon sun beating down on everyone else.

I politely ignore what he's saying and continue with my last lap. There's only one guy ahead of me so I doubt coach's lackluster motivation is aimed at me. And even the guy in the lead, it's debatable as to whether or not he'd be there if I was actually trying.

We're a few days into our first week of practice and I've been treating it like a recon mission. Every day I would observe the people around me in an attempt to figure out where I'd like to stand in comparison. I've decided being a stamina freak is the route I'll take in terms of physicality. Not going to skimp out on displays of quickness here and there but for the most part, I'll be the guy who keeps on going.

Like right now for example, we're doing laps on the track and keeping consistent with what I showed during team tryouts, I'm maintaining a steady job. Whereas the guy in front of me has ups and downs in his pace to account for the rests he takes between bursts of speed, mine is a flat line. This is a pace I could keep up for a good amount of time. Same with our workouts in the weight room. When we were in there yesterday, I saw what those guys were lifting and made sure my max was a bit below theirs in return for being able to do an extra set or so. I'm doing that because unlike regular people who get a bit better every day, I'm stuck to what my stats dictate and therefore need that space to show gradual progress. I'll adjust my performance as time goes on and my stats improve; my run time will get better as will my max reps and sets.

I worry a bit about how this might affect my stat gains but just like how people get gains from training muscular endurance over strength, so too should I see gains. It's still training in the end.

As for actually playing basketball, I'm formulating a game plan as I go as there are multiple factors that I need to consider. I need to learn more about the team in order to figure out where I can make the largest impact. Doing that will lead to more visible contributions and in turn raise my reputation with the team and spectators in general. I'll likely get more playing time plus the recognition I want from college scouts. With that in mind, I'm also trying to learn what a scout looks for in a high school athlete. Being a good player is obvious but I know its more than just that; things like raw athleticism and untapped potential can very well stack the odds in favor of one player over another who is seemingly better in the moment. And on top of that, I have to stay vigilant about showing too much. Yes I need to make myself stand out from other athletes but I also can't take that too far. Only time will tell me how much my stats and basketball skill will develop which will in turn determine just how much I have to hide.

Got a busy senior year ahead of me.

I cross the finish line and slow down to a walk. You know, back in the day, I used to hear people say they loved running and always assumed they were touched in the head. They would spout off things like it's healthy or helps them think and although I didn't believe them back then, I can see where they were coming from now. Running actually is nice for thinking when your legs aren't sore as hell and your lungs aren't telling you to go off yourself. The difference two points in END makes…

"Nice run." I complement Andrew, the guy who I let finish first. He takes a second to stop inhaling from his water bottle and nods in acknowledgment. We fist bump and I settle down to wait for the rest of the guys to finish.

My eyes rove over the field, taking in the other group doing their own thing. The football guys are in the weight room right now so it's only us and the track and field people who outnumber us due to having both boys and girls in their sport. And speaking of the girls, I can't help but check them out in their active wear. Some of them have on baggy outer layers while some are content with sports bras and tight running shorts which I approve of wholeheartedly. I mean, who doesn't appreciate a fit girl?

"I almost joined the track team." I comment aloud.

Jackson, the returner I'd observed at tryouts and current best player on the team, grunts. "Why didn't you? You're pretty good at running."

"I only got good over the summer, before that I kinda hated running."

"The fuck? And you tried out for a sport where almost all you do is run?" Andrew asks incredulously.

"Tch, I thought it would work out you know? I couldn't run for long but I was fast so I figured I'd do the one hundred meter stuff and anything shorter. Maybe even two hundred after I got in shape." I defend myself. "But I get there on the first day and after warming up the coach has us do laps around the field and then another one around the block."

"Oh hell naw." Andrew makes a face.

"Exactly! I didn't know short distance sprinters had to do stuff like that and was not prepared. Went home after that day and never went back. Fuck that running shit."

"I wouldn't survive that shit either man," Jackson shakes his head, "I know some guys on the track team so I've heard about their workouts, fucking insane. Like, if you like track and have a chance of getting a scholarship than maybe. Otherwise? It's too much. Basketballs my sport and I'm sticking to it."

"Right on man. Yo, you think you'll get some scouts out here this season? It's your last year now."

I give all my attention to Jackson as he goes to respond. This is the type of thing I want to know about and it looks like I might've found someone who's brain I can pick.

There we go. For those wondering, the main character will be the only supernatural element in this story. It's strictly a gamer in our world.