ALL NOVEL Chapter 3: Chapter 3: The First Step
The sunlight streamed through the cracked windows, illuminating Alexander Steele's small, cluttered room. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands, calloused from years of doing chores around the orphanage.
"System," he called out, his voice low but steady. "What's next? How do I even start with all of this?"
The mechanical voice responded instantly. "Your physical condition is inadequate. Enhancing your body is the first step. Begin with a regimen of push-ups, sit-ups, and squats. Start immediately."
Alexander nodded, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, let's do this." He dropped to the floor and began his first set of push-ups. His muscles screamed in protest after just a few repetitions, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. Sweat dripped down his face, pooling on the wooden floor beneath him.
After finishing, he sat up, panting heavily. "I'm pathetic, aren't I?"
"You are inefficient. However, progress is possible with consistent effort."
The system's bluntness didn't sting as much as it should have. Instead, it lit a fire within him. He stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Fine. I'll keep going."
For the next hour, Alexander pushed himself through the exercises. By the end, his arms and legs felt like lead, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. But there was a faint sense of accomplishment as well. He'd started.
---
Later that afternoon, Alexander sat on the rickety chair in his room, staring out at the orphanage courtyard. The children were playing a rough game of tag, their laughter echoing through the air. Despite their joy, the cracks in the orphanage's reality were visible everywhere: peeling paint on the walls, broken furniture, and the caretaker's weary face.
The door creaked open, and a small boy, no older than six, peeked in. "Alex, can you help me fix my toy car? The wheel came off."
Alexander smiled and beckoned him in. "Sure, bring it here."
As he worked on the toy, the boy's chatter filled the room. "Do you think we'll get better food tomorrow? I heard Mrs. Helga talking about running out of money again."
Alexander's hands froze for a moment before he continued. "Don't worry about that. Just focus on playing and being a kid, alright?"
The boy nodded hesitantly, taking his repaired toy and running off. Alexander leaned back in his chair, his mind racing.
"System," he whispered. "How do I make money? Enough to change things around here?"
"Your current skills are insufficient for high-income opportunities. However, there are potential pathways: selling repaired items, offering basic labor, or pursuing creative endeavors such as writing."
"Writing?" Alexander frowned. "I don't even have a proper computer."
"Adapt to your circumstances. Utilize available resources. Seek opportunities within your environment."
He thought of the old, broken electronics piled up in the orphanage's storage room. Maybe he could piece together something usable. He didn't have much choice.
---
That evening, after the children had gone to bed, Alexander slipped into the storage room. The air was thick with dust, and the dim light bulb cast eerie shadows over the piles of discarded items. He rummaged through the chaos until he found an old laptop. The screen was cracked, and the keys were sticky, but it powered on.
"Guess this'll have to do," he muttered, carrying it back to his room.
As he booted it up, the system chimed in. "Resourcefulness is a valuable trait. Begin by researching freelance opportunities or platforms for self-publishing."
Alexander stared at the flickering screen. "This is just the start, isn't it?"
"Correct. Your determination will dictate your progress."
He nodded, his jaw set with resolve. Tomorrow, he would begin writing—stories, ideas, anything that could earn him a little money. This wasn't just about surviving anymore. It was about building something better for himself and everyone else in the orphanage.
For the first time in years, Alexander felt hope.
Alexander's fingers hovered over the sticky keyboard, the dim glow of the screen illuminating his tired face. The old laptop wheezed and lagged with every click, but it was better than nothing. He cracked his knuckles and opened a blank document, staring at the empty page.
"What do I even write about?" he muttered.
The system responded, its tone steady. "Leverage your experiences. Stories grounded in reality resonate with audiences. Alternatively, fiction with emotional depth often garners attention."
Alexander exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He thought about the kids in the orphanage, their laughter masking the harsh reality they lived in. Mrs. Helga's tired eyes flashed through his mind, the weight of keeping the place afloat etched into every wrinkle on her face.
"Reality, huh?" He placed his fingers on the keyboard and began to type.
---
The hours slipped by as Alexander poured his heart into the story. He wrote about a young boy growing up in an orphanage, dreaming of a better life but constantly held back by his circumstances. It was raw, unpolished, but it was his truth. By the time the first rays of dawn filtered through his window, he had a few thousand words.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the previous day. He saved his work, shut the laptop, and stretched. The ache in his muscles from the workout earlier mixed with the stiffness of sitting for hours, but he felt accomplished.
"System," he whispered. "What now? How do I get this out there?"
"Research online platforms for sharing or selling written content. Seek free or low-cost options to begin with."
"Alright," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But first, I need to eat."
---
The orphanage dining hall was already bustling with activity when Alexander arrived. Mrs. Helga stood at the counter, her frail hands ladling porridge into bowls for the children. The food was thin and watery, barely enough to keep them fed.
"Morning, Alex," she greeted him with a tired smile. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," he replied, grabbing a bowl. "How are things looking this week?"
Her smile faltered. "Not great. Donations have been drying up, and repairs are piling up faster than I can manage. I've been praying for a miracle."
Alexander's jaw tightened. He couldn't stand seeing her like this, carrying the burden of keeping the orphanage alive.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Helga," he said softly. "I'm working on something. Things will get better."
Her eyes softened, and she reached out to pat his hand. "You've always been such a good boy, Alex. I just hope you're not taking on too much."
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'll be fine."
---
After breakfast, Alexander joined the younger kids in the courtyard. A group of them crowded around him, their faces bright with excitement.
"Alex! Alex! Can you play with us?"
"Teach me how to do that cool flip again!"
"Will you fix my kite later?"
He laughed, ruffling one boy's hair. "Alright, one at a time. Let's play first, then we'll get to the kite."
For the next hour, he chased them around the yard, their laughter echoing through the air. Despite everything, their joy was infectious. It reminded him why he was doing this—why he had to make things better.
As the kids ran off to play on their own, Alexander sat on the steps of the orphanage, wiping sweat from his brow.
"System," he murmured. "This isn't just about me. I need to help them too."
"Acknowledged. Supporting those around you requires consistent effort and resource acquisition. Continue refining your skills and seeking opportunities."
"I will," he said, his voice firm.
The rest of the day was spent fixing broken toys, helping Mrs. Helga with chores, and sneaking back to his room whenever he could to work on his story. By nightfall, he had polished the first chapter and found a free online platform to post it on.
"Let's see if anyone reads this," he whispered as he clicked the upload button.
As the screen confirmed his story had gone live, Alexander leaned back in his chair, exhaustion washing over him. The road ahead was long, but for the first time in years, he felt like he was moving forward.