Sunlight crept through the window as Leo cracked his eyes open. He blinked groggily, stretching his arms until his joints popped from another night on the lumpy cot. It wasn't comfortable, but he'd grown weirdly fond of its stubborn creaks.
"Morning already…?" he mumbled, scratching his head.
The air smelled of burnt firewood from nearby kitchens and the earthy tang of freshly harvested vegetables. A humble neighborhood, but lively. He threw on his slightly frayed shirt and stumbled downstairs, still half-asleep.
But halfway down… he froze.
There, on the first floor, right beside the vegetable storeroom, was a door.
A door that hadn't been there yesterday.
Tall, polished dark wood with silver-edged trim gleaming like liquid metal. At its center, an embedded gold plaque read:
🎾 "Tennis Courts – Authorized Entry: Owner Only"
Leo's body went rigid.
A cold tingle shot down his spine.
"This… this isn't normal."
The memory of the progress bar flooded back.
The system. The dimensional space. The 24-hour countdown.
It had all finished while he'd slept.
He inched forward, hand trembling as he reached for the doorknob. His mind raced—fear, awe, disbelief… and a flicker of excitement.
He turned the handle.
The door swung open effortlessly, as if welcoming him home.
And then he saw it.
An endless, cloudless sky stretched before him.
Leo blinked. Once. Twice. Until his brain finally processed the sight.
"Is this… a whole dimension?"
Not just one court.
Three.
Three pristine tennis courts lined up like jewels, their grass freshly trimmed, nets pulled taut, and white lines glowing as if painted with magic. They were framed by sleek black fencing, and beyond them stood empty bleachers, waiting for crowds that didn't exist yet.
To the side, a shaded area brimmed with gear: rackets, glossy balls, sweatbands, ball machines, training cones, practice dummies… even cushioned benches.
"This isn't a court…" he whispered, eyes wide. "It's a full-blown sports complex!"
The air was crisp. Sunlight warmed without burning, and a gentle breeze fluttered a white flag embroidered with a golden tennis ball crossed by a radiant line.
Leo wandered in a daze, half-convinced he was dreaming.
Then a new interface chimed into view:
📊 Management Zone: "Leo Sports Complex"
🎾 Court 1 – Hourly Rate: 1 gold coin
🎾 Court 2 – Hourly Rate: 1 gold coin
🎾 Court 3 – Hourly Rate: 1 gold coin
👨🏫 Tennis Lessons (Beginner) – 1 silver coin / hour
Automatic Maintenance: Active. Quality Control: Optimal.
Leo's jaw dropped.
"One… one gold per hour?!"
"Lessons for a silver?! Are we insane?!"
In his past life as Kenyiro, he'd studied sports economics. He knew exactly what private coaching cost.
But here? Gold was different.
After a week selling carrots and potatoes at the local market, he'd memorized the currency:
🟫 100 bronze = 1 copper
🟫 100 copper = 1 silver
🟫 100 silver = 1 gold
And his veggies sold for 10–20 bronze each. On a good day, he scraped together one silver.
"This isn't pricey…" he laughed bitterly. "This is pure elitism!"
He dragged a hand down his face.
"Does the system want only nobles or millionaires playing sports?!"
"Or does the cost match… whatever the hell I'm looking at?"
He stared at the courts again—the flawless equipment, the elite Olympic vibe. It was maddeningly impressive. Maybe worth a gold. Maybe. But…
"What if no one comes…?" he thought, icy dread pooling in his gut.
"What if I spend seven days here alone?"
He shut the dimensional door, which vanished seamlessly, leaving a plain wall behind. Stepping outside, he slumped onto a bench and stared at the real sky, the one he now called home.
Elbows on knees, head in hands, his mind churned.
"I've got world-class courts…
Top-tier gear…
Automated training…
A system that bends reality…
And yet…
Not a single client."
His smile faded, doubt gnawing at his chest.
How do you convince a world of warriors, mages, elves, and half-orcs to whack a ball with a racket… instead of a spear?
Silence.
A breeze rustled a dried leaf at his feet.
He sat there, zombie-like, staring blankly at the horizon as the system's invisible clock ticked on.
"6 days and counting…"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The morning dragged on, the sun crawling over the stone and wooden rooftops of the southern district.
Leo, his mind still swirling like a tempest, rose from the bench with a sigh. He stared at his shop—its weathered wooden facade, dust-caked windows, and vegetables beginning to rot by the entrance.
"This isn't a vegetable stand anymore," he muttered, glaring at the door.
He clenched his fists.
"Time to pivot."
First, the easy part: liquidating stock. He spent the morning offloading potatoes, carrots, radishes, and onions to neighbors and nearby shops. He even donated sacks to elderly locals.
"All this for just 30 copper?!" an old woman exclaimed.
"Closing sale. Final day," Leo replied with a strained smile, inwardly weeping at the loss.
Next, he scrubbed windows, swept floors, fixed the doorframe, and draped a clean cloth over a round table as a makeshift reception desk. Beside it, he hung a chalkboard:
🏷️ Welcome to Leo Sports
🧍 Personal Consultations – 1 copper
🎾 Free Trial Sessions
"If I can't sell them with words, curiosity'll have to do…"
Meanwhile, a few streets north in the busier part of the district, a young man trudged with his head down. His training armor was scuffed and dented, his apprentice's cloak hanging limply.
His name was Rizen. Fifteen years old.
One of many aspiring knights in the human kingdom of Thorne, trained since childhood at the Order of the Gray Lion. Today, however, he walked alone—frustrated, humiliated.
"Why'd he bench me...? I only hesitated for a second summoning my aura…"
His instructor's words echoed: "A knight who can't control his aura is a blunt sword. I won't waste more time on you today."
The other apprentices had moved ahead. He'd fallen behind.
Every lesson mattered. Every second wasted.
He needed to clear his head. Distract himself.
So he wandered into the lower city, where prices were forgiving. He expected little: maybe a cheap play, or a brawl at a minor coliseum.
But among food carts and trinket stalls, something caught his eye.
A crude sign hung on a freshly painted storefront, its letters bold and glittering:
✨ "Leo Sports" ✨
(Grand Opening – Free Trials)
"Sports…?" Rizen muttered, tilting his head.
A strange word. Unfamiliar.
Not a tavern. Not a theater. Definitely not an armory.
Curiosity won.
He pushed the door open, a bell jingling overhead. Inside, the space was simple but tidy. To the left, a handwritten sign on a small table. Behind it stood a young man in a rolled-sleeve shirt, smiling nervously.
"Welcome to Leo Sports. How can I help you?"
Rizen raised an eyebrow.
"What is this place? And what's… Sports?"
Leo's spine tingled.
This was it.
He stood straighter, voice steady:
"It's… physical competition. Training. Something different. No weapons. No magic. Just your body and skill."
Rizen frowned.
"Like a duel without swords?"
"Similar… but with rules."
"Interested in a trial?"
Rizen hesitated, eyeing him skeptically.
"Free?"
Leo nodded, his smile genuine now.
"First time's free."
The apprentice crossed his arms.
"What do I do?"
Leo strode to the back wall, where a section shimmered before sliding open like a magical hatch. Rizen stumbled back.
"What—?"
"Follow me," Leo said, stepping through.
When Rizen did, his eyes widened to saucers.
A vast field. Three pristine courts. Gleaming equipment. A cloudless sky that defied reality.
A hidden paradise… inside a neighborhood shack.
"Where… are we?" the boy whispered.
Leo grinned, pride flickering in his chest for the first time.
"This is where you'll learn… Tennis."