Ultimate Choice System: I Became The Richest!

After dropping off Emily, Noah received a message from Jackson.

"I signed you up, the sprinting competition is in an hour. The location is..."

Noah quickly replied and made his way to the area where the competition was held.

...

Forty minutes later, Noah arrived in the area but couldn't get too close due to restrictions. So he was forced to park on a road around five minutes away.

Noah walked toward the event venue, Many participants wore sprinting gear, warming up with stretches and short sprints.

Looking down, Noah saw his casual clothes and sneakers. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Doesn't really matter," he thought as he spotted Jackson standing near the spectator area.

"Yo!" Jackson greeted, walking up to him.

"Hey," Noah replied.

"Are you sure you still want to participate, I mean there are quite a few amateur racers who are near pro level."

"Sure. So, what's the plan with the race? How's it going to work?" Noah asked, tilting his head slightly.

Jackson nodded. "To be honest, it's not super professional. Most of the participants are amateur runners or athletes, though there are a few special cases…including you."

Noah chuckled lightly. "Special case, huh?"

Jackson smirked. "Yeah, you'll see. It's a 200-meter sprint. Pretty straightforward. The race isn't being broadcast on TV, but since it's public, expect people to record it. Phones will be out everywhere."

Noah nodded, processing the information. "Alright. Seems simple enough."

Time passed by, and it was finally the time for the race. The announcer's voice reverberated across the area as he announced the names of the contenders.

"Arthur Damien," the announcer boomed, and polite applause followed as a lean man jogged to his spot.

"Usain Light," the announcer continued, a runner with a cheeky grin waved as he took his position.

"L. Yagami," the announcer said next, and a young man with glasses adjusted his headband dramatically, earning snickers from anime fans in the crowd.

"Noah Thompson," came the final name.

Noah strolled toward his position casually, with a relaxed posture.

He stood out immediately—not for his confidence, but for his outfit. Wearing a plain white T-shirt, cargo, and sneakers, he looked more ready for a stroll through the park than a sprint.

The crowd murmured, their reactions mixing amusement, confusion, and disbelief.

"Is this guy serious?" someone asked. "He's wearing cargo pants to a race?"

"Maybe he's lost," another chimed in, laughing. "Does he even know this is a sprinting competition?"

"Look, he's probably just here for fun," a middle-aged woman suggested. "Good for him, not everyone needs to be a pro!"

"Or maybe he's trying to go viral," one added. "Like, 'Look at me, I'm the casual sprinting champion.'"

But not everyone dismissed him. A sharp-eyed older man in the crowd, wearing a cap emblazoned with a sports brand, narrowed his eyes at Noah. "You see the way he's walking? That's confidence. Don't underestimate him."

"Oh please," a young woman next to him said with a scoff. "Confidence doesn't win races. Those cargo pans are gonna restrict him. He's doomed."

As Noah reached his position, a few spectators pulled out their phones, ready to stream what they assumed would be a viral clip.

"He's either about to embarrass himself," one whispered, "or he's a hidden master."

"Let's see if he can even keep up," another added with a chuckle.

Noah, unfazed by the chatter, casually stretched his arms.

The announcer called for the runners to get ready, Noah positioned himself, his face unreadable, as the crowd waited for the moment of truth.

"Begin!" the announcer shouted, his voice echoing across the field.

The runners exploded off the line, their legs pumping furiously. Spectators erupted in cheers as the racers surged forward, but it took only a second for the crowd's focus to narrow.

Noah was already pulling ahead.

The casual clothes and sneakers that had drawn ridicule just moments ago were now irrelevant. His legs moved at lightning speed, every stride long and powerful, his form flawless. The air seemed to part around him, and in an instant, he had surpassed half the competitors, leaving them in his wake.

The spectators, who had been laughing moments ago, were now staring in stunned silence.

"Wait...what?" someone muttered, their voice drowned out by the mounting cheers.

"He's actually fast?" a teenager blurted, their phone shaking in their hand as they recorded the scene.

"Fast? He's dominating the race with a damn cargo pants!" another yelled, pointing at the track as Noah shot past the other runners like a blur.

Jackson, standing near the starting line, was frozen in disbelief, his jaw slack. "What...what does Boss not know how to do?" he muttered.

His eyes tracked Noah's figure, which was steadily increasing the distance between himself and the rest of the racers. "First a pro driver, now a sprinting champion. No, not champion—he's world-class!"

One of the racers, a man in athletic gear was shocked.

'That's...that's him!' he thought, as the memory hit him.

'The guy who dusted me during my morning jog! I thought he was just showing off!' The man's face was a mix of recognition and horror. 'But he's a monster!'

The race wasn't even close.

Usain Light, who had been touted as one of the fastest among the competitors, looked over his shoulder in shock as Noah breezed past him with what seemed like no effort.

"Who is this guy?" Usain muttered under his breath, his legs burning as he tried to run faster and failed to match Noah's pace.

Noah's face remained calm, his breathing controlled.

To him, this wasn't a competition it was a casual morning run. The finish line soon appeared ahead, and he leaned into his final strides, his speed increasing impossibly.

Gasps erupted from the crowd as Noah crossed the 200-meter mark. A sharp intake of breath from the announcer signalled the severity of the moment.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we witnessed history " the announcer stammered, his voice cracking. "Unofficial time...he's broken the 200-meter record!"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The field went silent for a heartbeat before erupting into chaos.

"What did he just do? Did he actually just break the world record... like that?"

"He's faster than world-class athletes?! This gotta be fake, why is he not in the professional scene? This gotta be fake, someone checks his clothes."

"I agree! This can't be real—someone check his shoes!"

Jackson buried his face in his hands, shaking his head as a grin broke out. "Boss...you're not human. This isn't even fair!"

Usain Light staggered across, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air. Looking up, he spotted Noah and couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. "Man, I thought the race was going to be easy, didn't expect you to pull up. You are insane.."

The other racers arrived after each having expressions of disbelief, some even giving Noah wary glances.

"It's you," he said, panting. "You're my neighbour... Do you remember me? I was running one time, then we had a little race?"

Noah turned to face him, his expression completely deadpan. He stared at the man for a moment, as if trying to place him, then said flatly, "No, I don't remember you."

The man froze, his finger still pointing, his face turning from excitement to sheer confusion.

"Wait...what? We—no, you—cheate—" he stammered, pointing at himself and then mimicking running motions. "We raced!"

Noah tilted his head slightly, his face still void of recognition. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell," he said, shrugging casually.

The man's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? I was still sore about it! Yet you didn't even know?" He threw his hands up, exasperated.

Noah's lips twitched. "You sure you didn't dream that? Sounds like a pretty vivid dream," he replied, brushing past the man.

The man stared after him, his arms falling to his sides as he muttered to himself, "Dream? This guy..."

The management team, who were recognised by their pressed vest, hurriedly approached Noah.

"Excuse me, could you stop right there, Mr. Noah Thompson," the man called out, his voice loud and formal.

Noah paused mid-step and turned around, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His gaze settled on them, calm and unbothered.

"Yes?" he said, tilting his head slightly.

The man adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "First, let us congratulate you on winning the race. Your performance was… quite exceptional." He hesitated briefly, glancing at Noah's attire. "However, we must address an issue regarding your participation."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "An issue?"

The man nodded, his tone shifting to an apologetic one. "Due to your attire not adhering to the race's dress code guidelines, we regret to inform you that we cannot grant you the $5,000 prize for the winner. It is against our policies."

Noah's expression didn't waver. He shrugged lightly, his voice nonchalant. "Is that it? Fine. I don't need it. You can keep the money." He turned, preparing to walk away.

"Excuse me!" the man blurted, taking a step forward and reaching out to stop him.

Before his hand could touch Noah, it was intercepted.

In a blink, Noah's fingers gripped the man's wrist with a calm yet firm hold. His eyes bore into the manager's with an icy intensity.

"Don't touch me. What now?" he asked, his voice low.

The manager's confidence faltered as he realized he was not in control of the situation. "I—I.."