harlie jolted awake, his triumphant shout—"YES!"—echoing in the dim basement, his chest heaving as sweat drenched his sheets. His heart pounded, the phantom taste of dream-blood lingering from the climactic Sleep Fighting battle of Day 90. He'd crashed his forehead into the faceless man's fist, defying the pain, standing tall as the bell rang—a victory of will, not skill. The System's voice had sealed it: Combat instinct increased to 1%. Boxing Level: 2 Stars achieved. He clutched his head, expecting a split brow, but his real body bore only the dull ache of yesterday's punching bag session. A raw, shaky laugh broke free as he collapsed onto his pillow, staring at the cracked ceiling. "I did it," he gasped, voice rough with exhaustion and pride. "I stood. I didn't fall." His fists clenched, the moment sinking in. School loomed hours away—a new battleground for a new Charlie.
The clock glowed 6:00 AM, and Charlie threw off the blanket, his body protesting with a satisfying ache—earned through 90 days of relentless grind. He swung his legs over the bed, pulling on worn running shoes and a loose hoodie, still oversized from his heavier days but draping differently over his leaner frame. Passing the mirror, he paused, peeling off the hoodie to confront his reflection. The stranger staring back was forged from sweat and stubbornness. Nearly 40 kilograms had vanished since June, leaving loose skin sagging around his midsection and biceps—a mark of rapid change. Beneath it, muscle flexed subtly: broader shoulders, faint pecs carved by dumbbell presses, sturdy legs from squats and jump rope. His smooth, hairless torso gleamed, the final laser session erasing the last traces of body hair. His face was sharper—jaw defined, eyes clearer, the Better Genes Potion smoothing blemishes—though dark circles lingered from sleepless nights. Inching toward 1.85 meters, he stood straighter, posture certain. "Not the old Charlie," he murmured, a flicker of pride in his aggressive gaze. He grabbed his earbuds and headed upstairs, the house silent as his parents slept, their lighter work schedules a gift from his "gaming winnings."
Outside, the pre-dawn air was crisp, biting his face as he stretched on the porch—hamstrings, quads, shoulder rolls. He jogged, sneakers pounding Maplewood's empty streets, the town still asleep. Five thousand steps, once a grueling System task, came easily now, his stamina boosted by the Stamina Surge perk. His breath puffed white clouds, legs strong, the Agility Spike from Day 75 lightening his strides. He pushed harder, sweat beading, the Punch Power perk tingling in his fists as he imagined jabbing the faceless man. Three miles later, he slowed, chest heaving, a grin tugging at his lips. "Not bad," he panted, heading home as the sky blushed pink.
In the basement, Charlie slumped onto his couch, wiping his face. "System," he called, voice steady, "recap my rewards since Day 62." A chime sounded, and a translucent screen flared, scrolling with text that widened his eyes.
Cooking Rewards: $3,000 total—$100 per dinner for 28 days, $200 bonus on Day 89. Perks: Flavor Precision (taste enhanced 10%), Cooking Efficiency Boost (prep time reduced 15%). Physical Training Rewards: $1,150 total—$450 from gym routines, $100 for first punching bag session (Day 68), $150 for jump rope (Day 75), $200 for heavier lifts (Day 82), $250 for full circuit (Day 89). Perks: Punch Power (force increased 10%), Agility Spike (footwork boosted 10%), Muscle Density (tighter skin, durability), Stamina Surge (endurance up 15%). Sleep Fighting Rewards: $450 total—$100 for enduring five rounds (Day 65), $150 for landing three punches (Day 72), $200 for blocking a combo (Day 80). Perks: Pain Threshold Bump (pain reduced 5%), Instinct Flicker (combat instinct to 0.5%, now 1.5%), Reflex Snap (reaction speed up 10%). Day 90: Boxing Level 2 Stars, Combat Instinct 1%, Unbreakable Will Potion (one-use, halves damage in a future fight). Evolution Progress: 5%—0.5% boosts on Days 70, 85, 90. Current Savings: $11,250 after expenses.
Charlie leaned back, stunned. "Eleven grand," he muttered, shaking his head. "From cooking and punching air." The Better Genes Potion had sharpened his mind and body, turning sweat into cash and power. The Unbreakable Will Potion shimmered in his mental inventory, a trump card for battles ahead. He smirked, flexing his hand. "Worth every bruise."
Hunger gnawed, and he headed to the kitchen, the house still quiet. The Cooking Efficiency Boost streamlined his movements as he grabbed eggs, spinach, lean turkey bacon, and whole-grain bread. The Flavor Precision perk guided his hands—eggs cracked into a sizzling pan, seasoned with a precise pinch of salt and pepper, spinach wilting alongside crispy bacon, bread toasted golden. Ten minutes later, he sat with a plate of scrambled eggs flecked with green, savory bacon, and toast—a breakfast fit for the new Charlie and his family. He ate slowly, savoring the balance, the Better Genes Potion heightening his appreciation. "Level 2 Cooking," he mused, chewing. "Getting somewhere."
Showered and dressed—jeans and a hoodie still too big for his slimmer frame—he grabbed his backpack and stepped out, the morning sun climbing. College loomed, its brick buildings and buzzing quad a stark contrast to last year's high school halls. He'd been the "Slug," the sweaty loner slinking through, mocked or ignored. Now, he squared his shoulders, aggressive eyes scanning the crowd as he crossed the campus. Heads turned, whispers rippled—students pausing, squinting at the tall, lean figure. "Who's that?" a girl muttered. "New guy?" her friend replied, eyeing his sharp jaw and steady gait. Charlie kept moving, head down but posture firm, the Muscle Density perk tightening his stride. Alone, as always, but this time it felt like waiting, not hiding.
A soft voice broke through. "Hey, you're new, right?" Charlie stopped, turning to see Katie Rogers—his old crush, her bright eyes and kind smile once a knot in his gut—standing with books hugged to her chest. She tilted her head, curious. "I'm Katie. What's your name?" His heart thudded, not with longing but with a cold edge. She didn't recognize him. After years in the same classes, she saw a stranger. His eyes narrowed, aggression flickering. "No," he said, voice low and firm. "I'm not new. I'm Charlie. Charlie Finch. You don't even know me, do you? Guess I see you now—only noticing me because I'm not a mess anymore."
Katie's smile crumbled, her eyes widening as realization hit. "Charlie? Oh my God, I… I didn't mean—" She stammered, stepping back, but he shook his head, cutting her off. "Save it," he said, tone clipped. "I've got class." He turned, leaving her frozen, her friendly mask cracking as whispers spread. "That's Charlie Finch?" "No way, he's… different." He didn't look back, his aggressive gaze fixed ahead.
The quad grew louder as he neared the main building, a cluster of familiar figures blocking his path—Bobby Klein and his gang, the pack who'd slapped "Kick Me" signs on his back last spring. Bobby lounged against a bench, smirking at a joke, his crew snickering. They didn't notice Charlie at first, their eyes sliding over him. Then a wiry kid with a buzz cut squinted, his grin fading. "Wait… is that Finch?" Bobby's head snapped up, his smirk twisting into a frown as he took in Charlie's lean frame, hairless skin, and hard jaw. "No fuckin' way," he muttered, pushing off the bench. The gang fanned out, circling subtly, a crowd gathering to watch.
Charlie stopped, backpack over one shoulder, eyes locking onto Bobby's. They weren't the dull, defeated eyes of last year—now they burned, aggressive and unyielding, forged by 90 nights of faceless beatings. "What's this, Finch?" Bobby sneered, stepping closer, voice loud for the crowd. "Think losing weight makes you hot shit?" His gang laughed, but it was shaky, uncertain. Charlie didn't flinch, fists clenching, the Punch Power perk tingling in his knuckles. "Don't think anything," he said, voice low, carrying menace. "Just walking to class. You got a problem?"
Bobby's smirk twitched, his eyes flicking over Charlie's broader shoulders, coiled tension. The crowd held its breath, expecting a shove, a taunt. But Charlie's stare—the Reflex Snap, the Instinct Flicker—made Bobby hesitate. He stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. "Nah, man, not today," he said, forcing a laugh. "Enjoy your walk, freak."
Charlie's eyes flared, aggression cutting through his calm. "NO," he snapped, voice rising, unyielding. "What did you just call me?" He stepped forward, gaze boring into Bobby's, those fiery eyes blazing with a promise of danger. The crowd gasped, shock rippling. Katie's hand flew to her mouth, her wide eyes darting between them. Whispers turned sharp: "Did he just…?" "Bobby's gonna crush him, right?" But Bobby's crew faltered. The wiry kid shifted, thinking, Why's Bobby backing off? It's just Finch… right? The stocky one in a faded hoodie glared at Bobby's back, muttering, He's soft now? We'll handle Finch later.
Bobby froze, hands still raised, smirk gone. "Uh… sorry, man," he muttered, the word weak, forced. The apology stunned the crowd, Katie's breath catching—Bobby apologizing? To Charlie? Whispers exploded: "He said sorry?" "What's going on?" The gang bristled, unease boiling. The wiry kid clenched his fists, muttering, "We could take him." The stocky one glared, thinking, This ain't over. Charlie held Bobby's gaze a moment longer, then turned, striding through the parted crowd, whispers trailing him. "That's Charlie Finch?" "Bobby backed down…"
Inside, the classroom buzzed as Charlie slipped into a back seat. The bell rang, and Mr. Hargrove, the wiry history teacher, shuffled in, peering over his glasses at the roster. "Finch, Charles?" he called, scanning the room, expecting the slumped figure from last year. Charlie raised a hand, voice flat. "Here." Hargrove squinted, frowning at the lean, sharp-jawed student, then back at the list. "Finch? You… huh." He muttered, "Changed, kid," and moved on. Across the room, Ms. Carter, the math teacher who'd once sighed at Charlie's presence, did a double-take from the doorway, her clipboard slipping. "Charlie Finch?" she mouthed, brow furrowing. He caught her stare, eyes meeting hers, and she looked away, flustered. The whispers spread—students, teachers, all grappling with the truth: the Slug was gone, and this new Charlie was something fierce, unyielding, a force they couldn't ignore.