The whistle blew.
N°5050 moved immediately.
His feet struck the ground in a steady rhythm.
At first, running was easy.
His breathing was controlled.
His body knew this pain.
The first hour.
Sweat streamed down his forehead.
But he kept going.
The second hour.
A heaviness began to creep into his legs.
His breathing was no longer the same.
The third hour.
The sounds around him faded.
The whistles, the shouting, the commands…
They turned into a distant buzzing.
The fourth hour.
His vision shook.
The ground was no longer steady.
One step… then another.
He stumbled.
Tried to regain his balance.
Failed.
He fell.
His body hit the ground.
His breaths came out broken and uneven.
His eyes remained open for a moment, unfocused.
Then…
Everything went dark.
The next morning.
He woke up slowly.
A trembling white ceiling above him.
The fabric of a tent moving with the wind.
The smell of disinfectants.
The faint sound of groaning nearby.
He tried to move…
He took one step… then another,
heading toward the entrance of the tent.
And before he could pull the curtain aside
a voice reached him.
Calm…
and sharp at the same time.
"Mark."
He froze in place.
The voice was familiar to Mark.
He turned slowly…
And at first glance, he saw the nurse.
Old memories began to flow back into Mark's mind without stopping.
Mark returned to the moment when he had run toward his father, trying to help him,
but that man struck Mark as well,
then left, abandoning Mark's father in a miserable state, covered in blood and bruises.
Mark began to cry.
His father rose with difficulty and helped Mark to his feet.
They headed home together.
Mark's father did not say a single word—
neither to explain what had happened nor to check on Mark.
He entered the house,
while Mark ran away and headed to a place under a bridge.
He sat on the ground and started crying.
Suddenly, a girl the same age as Mark approached him directly.
Mark noticed her coming and quickly wiped his tears.
"Amy… what are you doing here?"
"I saw you running and crying again from afar, so I followed you," Amy said.
Mark replied quickly,
"No, I wasn't crying. I was just exercising.
Don't forget my dream—I'll become a famous football player,
with millions and many mansions."
Amy walked toward Mark and took out a box of medical plasters from her pocket and said,
"I know. Then let me treat your wound.
I'm training to take care of injuries too.
I'm also working hard to achieve my dream—to become a successful and wealthy doctor."
Mark returned to the present reality.
He looked at the nurse with a faint gaze.
Then he said in a low voice:
"Amy… is that you?"
She smiled lightly and said:
"You still remember me after all this time?"
Mark said:
"How much time has passed, I wonder? Ten years… or more?"
Amy answered:
"Yes, ten years."
Then she added calmly:
"It seems things didn't turn out the way we expected."
Mark said:
"We were always unlucky people…
since the moment we were born."
Amy replied:
"I'm really happy—"
Before she could finish, the supervising doctor interrupted her,
calling her angrily.
She looked at Mark, then left, saying:
"Goodbye… I'll see you again."
Mark sat for a moment, silent.
A strange sadness washed over him.
Emi, who had always smiled when talking about her dream,
had lost that smile.
And even though she had just left, he felt a sense of discouragement…
perhaps she had failed, just like him.