James stayed on the floor for a while, letting his heart slow down and his breathing return to normal. Sweat pooled beneath his back, and his shirt clung to his skin. His muscles trembled, and his arms were still burning from the failed set of push-ups.
"Only nine…" he muttered.
He closed his eyes.
Back then, he would've stopped. Maybe cried. Maybe grabbed his phone and distracted himself with games or videos just to forget the pain.
But not now.
This system wasn't just a game. It was a promise. A contract between him and something—whatever it was—that had finally given him a chance. A real one.
And if he wanted to change… truly change… he had to earn it.
He opened his eyes, rolled over, and got back on his feet. His legs were heavy, but they worked.
James glanced at the list again:
Sprint – 2 hours
Push-ups – 50
Sit-ups – 50
Jumping Jacks – 3 minutes
The push-ups were paused for now. He needed to recover a bit. So… sit-ups?
"Let's go," he whispered.
He sat back down, planted his feet under the edge of his bed frame, and began.
"One… two… three…"
His abs burned faster than he expected. Every sit-up felt like his stomach was being punched from the inside. He hadn't moved this much in years. At school, he'd always found excuses to skip PE. Too tired. Too sore. Too embarrassed.
He remembered the last time he joined a sports day.
[Flashback: Age 14]
He was on the track field. The sun beat down. His classmates stood on the sidelines, waiting for the 100-meter dash. He wasn't fast. He knew that. But he wanted to try—just once.
He ran.
And fell.
Clint had "accidentally" tripped him as the race began. He fell face-first into the dirt. The scrape on his forehead bled slightly. The coach yelled, but it didn't matter.
Everyone laughed.
That day, James promised himself he'd never run again.
[Present]
He reached ten sit-ups and dropped back, arms spread wide, breath heaving.
But today wasn't the past. This wasn't that same James.
He wasn't doing this to impress anyone. He wasn't doing it for school. He was doing it for himself.
And maybe, yeah… for revenge too.
Minutes passed. Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his body screamed in protest, but James pushed until he reached twenty sit-ups. Half of what the quest required. It was progress.
He glanced back at the screen.
[Progress: Sit-ups – 20/50]
James smirked despite the pain.
He laid there for a while, catching his breath. His ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, offering no real relief. He turned to his side and pulled himself up.
"Alright… jumping jacks," he muttered.
They sounded easy enough, but by now his body felt like it was dragging anchors.
Still, he stood in the middle of his room, took a deep breath, and started jumping.
One… two… three… four…
The first thirty seconds went fine.
By the one-minute mark, his legs burned, and his breathing went ragged. But he kept going. He counted in his head, letting each jump match his rhythm.
His mind wandered again—this time not to the pain of the past, but to the future.
What would it feel like to stand up to Clint?
Would he beg? Would he cry? Would he still laugh—or run?
James clenched his fists mid-jump.
No. He's too proud for that. He'll fight. And when he does… I'll beat him. Not just once. I'll crush him, like he crushed me for years. Every day will be his hell.
He didn't want to become a monster.
But he wanted to become someone they couldn't ever touch again.
[System Alert]
Jumping Jacks – Completed: 3 minutes
[+0.5 Agility | Quest Progress Updated]
A rush of light burst across the screen. James blinked. His legs still burned, but something felt… different. His balance felt just a bit sharper. His steps more stable. The air didn't feel as heavy anymore.
"Whoa…" he whispered.
That was the first taste of growth.
It was subtle. But it was real.
And it was addictive.
He collapsed on his bed, chest rising and falling with effort. His clothes were soaked, his throat was dry, and his vision blurred at the edges.
But he was smiling.
The screen popped up again with a soft ding.
[Daily Quest: Dream Physique]
Sprint – 0/2 hours
Push-ups – 9/50
Sit-ups – 20/50
Jumping Jacks – 3/3 minutes (✓)
Time Remaining: 13 hours, 24 minutes
13 hours left…
James sighed. There was still a long way to go. But he didn't feel like quitting anymore.
Not this time.
He glanced at the time—already 11:30 a.m.
His stomach grumbled. He hadn't eaten yet. Just water from the sink earlier.
He walked to the small cabinet near the wall, where he kept a few snacks and instant food. A single cup of noodles. That was it.
He opened it, poured some hot water into the styrofoam, and let it sit. As he waited, he sat on the edge of his bed, still breathing heavily, still sweating.
Then he opened his notebook.
The same one Clint tore years ago. He had taped it back together. And though most of the pages were scribbled over, scratched out, or blank—there was one page that remained untouched.
A list.
James' Goals
Get stronger
Get respected
Protect myself
Protect others like me
Never let them win again
He had written it the night after one of his worst beatings.
Now, for the first time, those goals felt reachable.
Not easy—but reachable.
[Status Updated]
Strength: 0.5
Agility: 1.0
Charisma: 0.5
Wisdom: 2
Luck: 5
James blinked.
His agility had increased.
He wasn't imagining it. The system worked. One completed task, and his stats had already improved.
What happens when all of them increase?
He imagined it for a second. What would it be like to have a strength of 5? Agility of 10? Charisma of 8?
Would people finally see him?
Would he finally be able to see himself?