"One more," I growled through gritted teeth. "Just... one... fucking... more."

The gangster rap from my past life pounded through my earbuds, drowning out everything but my own breathing. It was old-school Tokyo underground shit, a ghost of Kaelen Leone.

My arms gave out halfway through the rep. The barbell crashed down onto the safety catches with a thunderous clang that rattled through the gym. I lay there, chest heaving, lungs burning, sweat dripping from my face onto the bench.

"Fuck," I muttered, staring up at the ceiling. My muscles screamed in protest as I sat up, wiping my face with a towel.

"Nel," I called out, my voice rough from exertion. "Status screen."

The familiar blue interface materialized before my eyes, floating in the air like a hologram that only I could see.

SATORI NAKANO

Level: 1 | Title: None | Class: None | Schema Points: 85

ATTRIBUTES:

Strength: D-327 Endurance: D-351

Dexterity: D-252 Magic: F-155

Agility: D-279

ACTIVE ABILITIES (2/2):

Ember, Sever

PASSIVE ABILITIES (2/4):

Mysticism, Protection From Arrows

SKILLS & TRAITS:

Charming Eyes, Intermediate Kama Sutra, Basic First Aid, Rivalry, Consort's Touch

I frowned at the numbers. Better than before, sure. I'd clawed my way up from the absolute bottom, dragging this body kicking and screaming into something resembling competence. But it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.

"Nel, remind me of the level-up parameters."

The System interface shifted, presenting two progression paths side by side with brutal clarity.

[Of course. Allow me to illustrate the choices available.]

Two simulations appeared before me.

The first showed my stats as they currently were. A simulated finger pressed a glowing "Level Up" button. My visible stats reset to F-0, but behind them, hidden from the world, my base stats jumped to a respectable C-rank. A solid power boost, immediate and tempting.

[Path A: The Impatient Fool] Nel narrated. [Take your modest gains now and restart the climb from a slightly higher plateau. A choice for the shortsighted, the weak, and those lacking the fortitude for true greatness.]

In the second simulation, the stats climbed to a blood-red X-1500 before the level-up. When the F-0 reset appeared, the hidden numbers behind it were an entirely different class of existence. The power was a tidal wave of potential that made the first path look like a child's wading pool.

[Path B: The Patient Predator] Nel continued. [Maximize every attribute before ascending. The difference is exponential. The gods prefer a host who understands the value of delayed gratification.]

I dismissed the interface. As if there was ever a choice.

"You know, I actually think the gods just enjoy watching me suffer," I said, rising from the bench. My legs trembled slightly from the earlier squat session. "Keep grinding, keep pushing until I can't anymore, all for their sick entertainment."

[Such is the burden of the protagonist] Nel replied. [Your struggle is their show. I'm merely the humble narrator.]

"Humble my ass," I muttered, moving toward the reinforced training dummy in the corner. Time to shift from raw strength training to combat practice.

I stood before the dummy, rolling my shoulders to loosen them. The thing was a high-tech piece of Hunter training equipment, capable of measuring force, registering hit locations, and automatically repairing minor damage. Luka had spared no expense in outfitting this gym.

Too bad his son was about to misuse the hell out of it.

My palm warmed. I focused, pushing power into the [Ember] ability. A lazy ball of orange flame sputtered to life. Pathetic. I narrowed my focus, willing it to tighten. The flame resisted, wavering wildly before collapsing.

"Fuck," I muttered.

Again. This time, I pictured a needle. The energy coalesced, and the orange flame compressed into a searing blue point that hissed in the air.

Next, I tried creating a wide, low-heat flash, spreading my fingers to fan the flames outward. The result was a sudden burst of orange light that would temporarily blind an opponent without causing serious burns.

[Sever] was my primary weapon, my ace in the hole.

I flicked my finger. A static charge prickled my skin as the invisible force left my hand. There was no sound, just a faint thrumming in the air and the satisfying sight of a new line carved into the synthetic skin.

For defense, I swept my hand in a wide arc, weaving a net of invisible blades into the air—a deadly surprise for anyone foolish enough to charge me.

I started the sequence. A low [Sever] slash bit into the dummy's knee joint, forcing it into an artificial lurch. I followed with a wide fan of [Ember], washing its face in a disorienting flash of heat and light. Before it could "recover," a final, powerful [Sever] strike carved a deep line across its neck.

A notification chimed in my vision:

[Repetitive, focused action has been recognized.]

[New Developmental Skill Unlocked: [Combat Arts - F Rank]]

[Effect: Slightly increases the efficiency and reduces the energy cost of all registered Active Combat Arts. Continued practice will improve this skill's rank.]

A smirk touched my lips. Perfect. A multiplier. Now, every moment spent practicing was a compounding return on investment.

I fell into a rhythm, running the drills again and again. The more I used [Sever], the more natural it felt. The invisible force became an extension of my will, my fingers merely a conduit for the power.

An hour later, I was slick with sweat, the salt stinging my eyes and my shirt clinging to my back like a second skin. Each breath was a hot, ragged gasp. My arms felt like lead weights, and my reserves were nearly depleted.

I pulled up my status screen again:

DEVELOPMENTAL ABILITIES:

[Combat Arts - F]

Another tool in my arsenal, another advantage the world didn't know I had.

I glanced at the wall clock. Nearly midnight.

Walking to the massive panoramic window, I gazed out at the sprawling expanse of New Vein City. From this height in Veridian Hills, I could see it all—the gleaming spires of Mirai Central, the academic towers of Palo Alto Ward, the distant industrial zones of Port Tsurumi, all protected by the faint shimmer of the barrier dome high above.

A city of monsters and monster hunters. A place where power determined everything.

And I was still so fucking weak.

"Nel," I said quietly, "what's the gap between me and an A-Rank Hunter?"

The System interface reappeared, this time displaying a comparative analysis.

[The average A-Rank Hunter possesses level 3 attribute values ranging from C-400 to C-599 across the board. Their Aspects are honed to a razor's edge. Most have unlocked at least one Aspect Evolution or Specialized Application.]

The display showed a silhouette of a Hunter surrounded by glowing energy, attributes all in the high A-rank.

[In a direct confrontation, your survival probability against an A-Rank Hunter would be approximately 0.037%. And that's assuming they're having an off day and you're extremely lucky.]

I snorted. "So you're saying there's a chance."

[I'm saying to think of yourself as a speed bump made of meat.]

I turned away from the window, grabbing my towel and wiping the sweat from my face.

"And what about the World Ranked Hunters? The Seven Sovereigns?"

The interface shifted again, this time displaying seven shadowy figures, each surrounded by a different colored aura. The attribute values weren't even visible—just infinity symbols where numbers should be.

[You exist in a completely different reality than they do. To them, you wouldn't even register as a threat.]

I stared at the shadowy figures, burning their silhouettes into my memory.

"That's where I'm going," I said quietly. "To the top. To stand among them as an equal."

Nel's laughter echoed in my mind, loud and mocking.

[Your ambition is adorable. Truly the mark of a protagonist worth watching.]

I dismissed the interface with a flick of my wrist and headed for the shower. Nel's mockery didn't bother me. I'd been underestimated my entire life—both lives, actually. It was an advantage.

And by the time they realized their mistake, it would be too late.

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