The other side had floating docks where the pumpkin boats would line up for the race. On the shore was a gathering crowd. I was able to pick Dad out from amongst the faces. I gave him a wave before looking at my fellow competitors.

  Unlike my plain S.S. Gourdiana, theirs were either painted or their captains wore costumes. Or both. I hadn’t considered that part of the festivities, so I felt left out. In the end, though, what mattered was that I came out on top. I didn’t know if the system would grace me with a quest to win the contest, but it had given me a good amount of experience for building the pumpkin boat.

  There was still time before the race started. I contemplated getting out to stretch my legs, but decided against it. There really wasn’t a way to tie the pumpkin boat to the dock. So there I sat while more competitors paddled over to the dock.

  When there were ten minutes to go, one of the organizers came over to explain the rules. He said that, when the signal was given, we were to paddle to where a square floating dock was. We were to then round the dock and return to where we started. The first person to touch the starting dock would be declared the winner. To differentiate the different pumpkins, we were each given a unique waterproof tag to attach to the back of our pumpkin boat. Mine was number 22.

  When the man finished handing out the tags, and ensuring they were secured to the pumpkin boats, it was time to race. Another of the organizers—the woman who had helped me get the crane earlier—used a megaphone for the countdown. I held onto the dock with one arm and had the paddle ready in the other.

  “Everybody ready?” she yelled before waiting a few seconds while the crowd cheered. “On three! One. Two. Three!”

  And we were off. I pushed as hard as I could off of the dock. That barely did anything. The pumpkin was that heavy. I dug deep into the water with each stroke of the paddle. For as strong as I had become by leveling, that much exertion was tough. Still, I kept it up as long as I could. I hungered to win.

  My focus was entirely on the floating dock ahead of me, and not on any of the competition. I paddled as hard as I could. There were distressing signs coming from the kayak paddle as I did so, warning me that I was pushing too hard. The last thing I wanted was for the paddle to break. Then I’d be stranded and in last place! So I eased up just enough that I wasn’t hearing anything bad.

  The cold water of the river splashed into the pumpkin with each stroke. It was just a little each time, but when I was rounding the dock for the return trip, I was already drenched. Still, I soldiered on. A little water wasn’t going to stop me!

  In the home stretch, my arms were on fire. If I let up, there was no way I would get going again. I looked around to see where the others were. I was in the thick of the pack. In spite of being stronger, my pumpkin was heavier. That balanced out any advantage I had, so I went back to pushing the paddle to the limit. It was do or die. Either I would get to the dock first or the paddle would give out first. I hoped for the former and feared the latter.

  Sadly, my hopes were dashed, and my fears realized. With a sickening crunch, half of the kayak paddle snapped off. I lurched forward and nearly lost control of the remaining half! It took precious moments to orient myself. I was left with an extra long oar, as it only had a paddle on one side.

  Thinking as quickly as I could, I began to paddle twice on one side before switching to paddle on the other. It was much slower. I watched my chances of winning float away with the shards of the shattered paddle. The other pumpkin boats steadily pulled ahead of me. I weighed the risk of breaking my remaining paddle to have a slim chance of victory against keeping the paddle and not having to be rescued—something that would be super embarrassing! I decided it would be much better to at least finish the race.

  The crowd cheered as the first couple of pumpkin boats neared the finish line. I looked on. Two of them were neck and neck. While I couldn’t see which reached the dock first, the person who won—dressed in a yellow bird costume—raised their paddle in triumph.

  From there, the pumpkin boats finished one after the other. Despite my issue of being down to only one paddle, I managed to not finish last. My placement was terrible—25th out of 27 participants—but I was proud that I had finished. Exhaustion overtook me now that I was still. My arms positively ached. I was breathing hard when someone came to help me out of the pumpkin boat. It was Dad.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “You alright there?” he asked upon seeing my condition.

  “Winded,” was all I could say.

  “I see that. Well, good race!”

  I shook my head.

  “Broke the paddle.”

  “Ah, but you still finished, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s good in my book. You raced a pumpkin boat for the first time and didn’t embarrass yourself in the process. That’s totally a win.”

  “I guess.”

  Dad struggled to lift me out of the pumpkin boat. I did what I could to help him. Once on the dock, I could move easier—my arms were tired, not my legs. We walked to where the dock met the shore. That’s where the other competitors were laughing and chatting. The winner was given a small trophy and everyone gathered for a group photo. I smiled despite how tired I was.

  The cleanup after the event took time. I had to paddle the boat across the river one more time so that the crane could lift it from the water and place it back on Dad’s truck so we could go home. I would have been too tired to do this, but Heal came in to save the day. It relieved all the stress of my aching muscles and allowed me to do what I had to do.

  It was around a month later that Al called to update me about the suit.

  “So, I’ve finally got them to the negotiating table,” he told me. “They were trying to play hardball, but your case is solid. After seeing the evidence during discovery, his lawyer contacted me.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “And how are those negotiations going?”

  “Just fine. I made a point to include what you asked me to after getting the amount to something reasonable. We’ve come to an understanding where you will pay $50,000 and drop your suit for damages to your property. In exchange, he will drop his suit and sign the contract you want him to. His lawyer seems to be under the impression that, because it has no penalties, it has no teeth. That made him agree to it pretty quickly as a formality.”

  “Great! Can you send that over to me? I have to sign it first and it has to be the same one he signs, not a copy.”

  “Right. Sure. I’ll send it over to you. Are you ok with the terms?” he asked.

  “They’re fine. I would have been ok with the half million, too, if the guy signs the contract. I just can’t deal with someone causing problems like that. It’s better than him being in prison or something, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Thanks for calling, Al. And thanks for the update.”

  I hung up the phone.

  Al’s contract came soon after. I read through it carefully to make sure it said what I wanted it to. When I was satisfied, I emailed him back to let him know I was happy with it. He told me he would be over with the real version for me to sign later in the day—he needed to be there to ensure I was the one signing it and not someone else. That was important, apparently.

  When he arrived, I read through it again to make sure it was the same one as the email. After confirming that to be the case, I activated System Contract on it and signed. I handed it back to Al and thanked him for his help. It was what I paid him for, but it didn’t hurt to be nice about it.

  Within a week, I noticed a sizeable chunk of experience disappear. The contract had been signed. I let out a large sigh. It felt like a weight was finally lifted from my shoulders. I no longer had to worry about that guy stopping me from earning as much experience as I could. I couldn’t bring myself to hate the man, but more than anything, I was glad that chapter was done.

  Over winter, I turned nine. It wasn’t a large milestone, but it reminded me that Grandpa Joe only had a few more years left. He had been such a great help in both this life and the last. The seed money had some in clutch both times, and his knowledge of the outdoors and of firearms had been important for me to learn. I didn’t have the same sort of connection this time around. I still emailed him from time to time, but it wasn’t the same. Maybe next time around.

  Grandpa Joe’s death had been impactful to me—and to Mom. I wasn’t looking forward to it. At the same time, I knew I would see him again in the future. And speaking of that future, I thought about what I would spend my experience on. There was plenty of time still, true, but that it was always a good idea to be prepared sooner rather than later.

  I had 4,410,627 experience saved up thus far. With around eleven years to go, I could expect to earn somewhere in the neighborhood of 15,000,000 more experience, bringing the total to just shy of twenty million.

  The first things I wanted to purchase were the rest of the bits I needed at the start of each life. The experience generators. The notifications. Stuff like that. There were many things I couldn’t or wouldn’t purchase yet. Because I couldn’t afford it or because buying it would be detrimental in the short term. With just under twenty million, that would be plenty to get the basics out of the way. After that, though, I needed to consider what to buy next carefully.

  The first time I had gone back in time on purpose, there had been a kind of after action report that gave me a substantial amount of experience. Whatever I bought with what I had left should be helpful to the people whose survival would secure me more experience. The amount I’d have to spend on them would be limited, and I didn’t want to set in stone how the leveling or the stats would work. That presented me with a problem. How in the world could I help them while also leaving my options as open as I could?

  As I thought about it, I realized that, no, I couldn’t just wait on the leveling. If I had the experience to get the features, I would need to pick up leveling. That would allow me to get skills as well. I could then hold off on the stats until later, but at least have a way to give them a power boost and a fighting chance. It was a selfish choice, but that’s how it would have to be. I needed time to figure out the system better, and that meant I needed flexibility, too. They would just have to suck it up and deal with a broken system while I worked on it.

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