Days bled into one another, a relentless cycle of sweat and struggle. Charlie hit the gym each morning, his workouts growing more intense under the System's unforgiving guidance. In the park, he shadow-boxed, his clumsy punches drawing resigned nods from the old man who now greeted him with a gruff, "Morning, kid." At night, the dream ring awaited, where the faceless behemoth battered him without mercy. Dinner was a ritual—healthy meals crafted with increasing skill, earning the System's rewards and his parents' quiet pride. But after six brutal days, Charlie was a shell, teetering on the edge of collapse.
His eyes were hollow, dark circles carved beneath them. The dream fights left no physical scars, but the phantom pain—crushed ribs, a shattered nose, broken hands, snapped legs—gnawed at his psyche. He moved like a zombie, his body on autopilot, his mind fraying under the weight of endless battles.
At dinner, Charlie stirred a pot of vegetable soup with mechanical precision, the aroma filling the kitchen. Marge watched, her hands twisting a dishcloth, her voice trembling. "Charlie, are you okay? You look… exhausted. Why are you doing this to yourself? I don't like seeing you like this!"
Charlie's face was blank, his voice flat. "I'm fine, Mom. Don't worry."
Her fists clenched, maternal instinct urging her to pull him from the stove. "Go sit down. Let me cook—your favorite, bacon and eggs, just for today."
"No!" Charlie's voice cracked, sharper than intended. "Mom, leave me alone. I have to make dinner. It has to be healthy."
Howard looked up from his newspaper, his brow furrowed. "Honey, let him cook."
"But—" Marge's voice broke, her eyes glistening.
"Honey," Howard said, gentle but firm, "he's our son. We need to support him."
Marge sighed, defeated, and sank into a chair, her gaze never leaving Charlie. Dinner passed in silence, the clink of spoons against bowls the only sound. Howard cleared his throat. "Going well, son?"
Charlie nodded, chewing mechanically. "Yeah, Dad."
Howard offered a small smile. "Good. If you need anything, text us. We're here."
Charlie's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Thanks, Dad."
That night, the dream ring materialized, the faceless opponent waiting. The bell rang, and Charlie was outmatched, as always. His punches were feeble, like swatting a stone wall, while each blow he took sent shockwaves of pain through his dream-self. By the end, he collapsed, groaning, "This… sucks…"
Two months into "Hell Summer," progress emerged like dawn through fog. Charlie had shed noticeable weight, his belly smaller, his arms and shoulders hinting at definition. The laser hair removal left his torso smooth, and the Pumped Perk burned fat 20% faster, sculpting muscle beneath. He checked his evolution progress with the System.
Progress: 5%.
Charlie's jaw dropped. "Five percent? After all that?!" He groaned, flopping onto his couch. "This better be worth it…"
Cooking had become second nature, his nightly meals earning Cooking Mastery Level 2. His dishes were now flavorful, healthy masterpieces, delighting his parents and padding his rewards. The System's monetary payouts—$100 per dinner, plus gym and boxing milestones—had grown his savings to $8,000 after expenses. When his parents asked, he shrugged it off: "Won some gaming tournaments online." They raised eyebrows but didn't press, grateful for the extra cash he shared, their smiles warm with surprise.
In the dream ring, Charlie's fortunes shifted slightly. He wasn't just a punching bag anymore. His punches, though weak, landed occasionally, stinging his knuckles more than the faceless man, whose iron skin didn't flinch. After one grueling night, the System rewarded him with a Better Genes Potion, promising enhanced looks as his strength grew.
One night, the System delivered a milestone: Boxing Level: 1 Star.
Charlie's chest swelled, a grin breaking through his exhaustion. "One star! Take that, faceless jerk!" The man, unimpressed, pummeled him into the mat. Waking, Charlie sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Worth it," he muttered, a small smile forming. "I'm getting used to this."
In the bathroom, Charlie peeled off his shirt and faced the mirror. His belly lingered, a stubborn reminder, but his smooth, hairless torso gleamed under the light. The Better Genes Potion had softened his skin's imperfections, sharpening his jawline, clearing his complexion. He turned his head, studying his reflection. "Same face, but… I look kinda good."
For the first time, he didn't shy from the mirror. He stood taller, flexing awkwardly. "One more month," he said, eyes burning with resolve. "System, make it tougher. Push me. I can handle it."
The System's voice held a trace of approval. You've changed, Charlie. I recall when stairs made you whine.
Charlie's face flushed. "Don't remind me!"
Acknowledging the past fuels growth. Prepare for the final push.
Charlie smirked, nodding. "Bring it on."
At Muscle Macho Gym, Charlie's XXL clothes hung loose, outdated on his changing frame. He hadn't bought new ones, preferring the baggy shield against stares. The blonde receptionist, once dismissive, now greeted him brightly. "Morning, Charlie!"
"Morning," he mumbled, waving awkwardly. For two weeks, since the Better Genes Potion, her attitude had shifted. Yesterday, she'd offered to correct his form mid-workout. He'd declined politely: "I got it, but thanks."
Sighing, he headed to the lockers. "Women are so superficial, System."
It is human nature, Charlie. You notice attractive women; they notice improving men.
"I'm a guy. It's different," Charlie retorted, tossing his towel over his shoulder.
The difference is choice. Women have options you historically lacked.
Charlie paused, the blunt truth sinking in. "Yeah, okay. Still annoying."
Focus. Today's workout is ready.
The screen appeared, detailing a brutal routine:
Workout Plan – Day 60:
Warm-up:
10 minutes rowing machine (moderate to high intensity).
Dynamic stretches: arm circles, leg swings, torso twists.
Strength (Full Body):
Barbell deadlifts: 3 sets of 10 reps (light weight, form-focused).
Dumbbell bench press: 3 sets of 12 reps.
Weighted squats: 3 sets of 12 reps.
Bent-over dumbbell rows: 3 sets of 10 reps per side.
Plank-to-push-up: 3 sets of 10 reps.
Core & Conditioning:
Hanging leg raises: 3 sets of 8-10 reps.
Russian twists: 3 sets of 20 twists (10 per side, light weight).
Cooldown:
Foam rolling: back, legs, arms.
Static stretches: hamstring (30s/leg), child's pose (30s), shoulder (30s/side), cat-cow (1min).
Notes:
Hydrate during breaks.
Prioritize form to avoid injury.
Rest 60-90s between strength sets.
Charlie groaned. "You're not holding back, huh?"
You requested intensity. Complaining is illogical.
Cracking his neck, Charlie grabbed weights. "Fine. Let's do this."
Mid-workout, sweat soaked his shirt, the XXL fabric clinging awkwardly. As he prepped for squats, the blonde receptionist approached, her smile radiant, holding a chilled water bottle. "Hey, you okay?"
Charlie froze, hand on a dumbbell. "Uh, yeah. Fine," he stammered, taking the bottle cautiously. "Thanks."
She lingered, her gaze appraising. He's changing fast, she thought. Two months ago, he was a mess. Now? Give him a year, and… She bit her lip. Smart girls invest early.
"You've changed a lot," she said, brushing hair behind her ear. "You should be my trainer."
Charlie's face reddened. "Me? Nah, I'm just… doing my thing."
"Don't sell yourself short," she teased. "You look great. Seriously impressive." If he keeps going, he'll be a catch, she thought, eyeing his improving frame. Awkward now, but that's my opening.
Charlie's grip tightened on the bottle, his heart racing. Part of him wanted to shrug it off, but a flicker of pride sparked. "Thanks… I guess," he mumbled, looking away.
"You're inspiring people, you know," she said, winking before heading back to the counter, her mind buzzing. He's clueless. Perfect.
Charlie stared at the bottle, dumbfounded. "System," he muttered, "what was that?"
A social interaction. Positive reinforcement for your progress. Continue your workout.
Charlie sighed, clutching the bottle. "Doesn't feel good. Makes me nervous."
He glanced at the counter, where she chatted with a coworker. "I don't like her, System. Grocery store clerks always said hi, even when I was huge. She ignored me for months."
If her behavior bothers you, address it respectfully after your workout.
Charlie blinked, floored. "What? Just… call her out? That's weird."
Confrontation, when respectful, fosters growth.
Charlie groaned, racking the weights. "Great. Life lessons from Captain Obvious." He finished his workout, mind racing. Could he really say something? His fists clenched as he eyed the counter. "Fine," he muttered. "If it goes south, I'm blaming you."
After his cooldown, Charlie approached the counter, heart pounding. The blonde looked up, her smile bright. "Hey! Done already?"
He shifted, gripping his towel. "Uh, yeah. Look, can I say something?" His voice wavered but held.
Her smile faltered, curious. "Sure, what's up?"
Charlie took a breath, his words careful. "I've been coming here a while, and… you didn't really notice me before. Now you're super nice, and it's… I don't know, it feels fake. Like, only because I'm changing."
Her eyes widened, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "Oh, I… I didn't mean it like that." She fumbled, caught off guard. "I just… you're doing amazing, and I guess I noticed you more now. I'm sorry if it came off wrong."
Charlie shrugged, his face hot. "It's fine. Just… felt weird. Thanks for the water." He turned to leave, heart still racing.
She called after him, "Wait, Charlie—I really am impressed. You're killing it. I'll do better, okay?"
He nodded, not looking back, and stepped outside, exhaling. That was terrifying, he thought, but a small weight lifted. I did it.
The System chimed. Well done. Assertiveness is a skill. Progress noted.
Charlie snorted, heading to the park for his boxing drills. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it." But as he walked, his steps felt lighter, a quiet strength growing within.