Of course, the cryogenic storage chamber, the rizz improvement and even the physical training were all but a part of Bob's plans.
Being basically a genius but not OP, he had already thought ahead and realized that even if he managed to populate the world with Bob and Bobette Jnrs, that if his genetic material was of an inferior quality, then eventually, his offspring would possibly be shunned and possibly eventually die out, leading to a loss of the game and he would run the risk of becoming a genetic failure just like most average Joes.
It had to be admitted that Bob was under no delusions. He knew that he was also just an average Joe, trying to make it in a cruel, dog-eat-dog world, but having consumed enough media, he knew that there was nothing that couldn't be achieved with the power of friendship, determination and
Uh yeah money.
Indeed, money was a critical part of his plans, but more than that, from his science textbook, he had also learned about a new area of research that gave average Joes hope, like a light shining in the depths of a dark bleak and hopeless wilderness.
Indeed. It was epigenetics.
Epigenetics was the theory that your genetic material was influenced by the decisions you made as well as the environment that you were brought up in.
In short, even if you were born an average Joe, you could slowly become an above average Adam, and maybe eventually even rise to ascend to the levels of the Godly Gigachad.
Of course, these levels were at this point only a myth, spoken with in whispered and revered tones by schoolboys and people who had heard the rumours, but the fabled Gigachad level was still something many had never witnessed or experienced in their entire lives.
Nevertheless, Bob was determined to make the most of epigenetics in order to optimize his genetic code, and accordingly, started a strict regimen of challenging training that he hoped would elevate his seed to a higher creed.
___
Meanwhile in Moreton high, things were getting out of control.
At this point, more than 59.3% of the school had been infected with Ice Queen Sally's Anti-Rizz effect, resulting in a shocking pandemonium…
of eerie b****iness
Did you see Rachel's dress? Where did she get it from, the Salvation Army?
In every school hierarchy, there is always a jock, an alpha that normally balances out the Ice Femme Fatale, but in this case, even Jake, the football captain, with his charismatic good guy smile, was found lacking.
"Hi, I'm Jake."
Sally frowned and coldly ignored him.
Sally was surrounded by her Ice Maidens, and they spoke up.
"Jake?! Can't you see our Queen Sally is busy?"
"Jake?! You mean Fake right?!"
"Actually Jake isn't so bad," one the girls who had not been entirely frozen by Sally's Anti-Rizz Index timidly spoke up, but she was ruthlessly decimated by the other Yetis.
"Melissa, we're not talking to you anymore."
"Yeah, why don't you just play with Jake then!"
Melissa ran away crying.
In this way, the social dynamics of the school became one-sided.
Jake was reduced to a gibbering wreck and would need several counseling sessions to dispel the trauma.
Not that this was any of Sally's concern.
She vaguely noticed that she had this… power over other people, but she didn't pay it much mind.
Deep down, she was frustrated. She saw Bradley Pitte on TV, Hugh Jackedman, but they did nothing for her. Her heart didn't even skip a beat.
In short, a blessing or a curse, she simply felt nothing, an indifference towards all beings.
And yet…
This was the trade off.
___
15 years earlier…
In the white room, the doctors looked at Mr and Mrs Sallyson and shook their heads.
"We knew it was a risk. Two individuals, with your insane genetic potential… the fact is that, as an evolutionary reflex, Sally will become indifferent towards anyone who doesn't meet her requirements. Her being born with the -1000000000 Anti-Rizz index is a measure to protect her genetic material from contamination with the Pathetic Peters of the world."
At this, The doctor next to him hurriedly and surreptitiously fumbled with his name tag, which read Peter something or other, hiding it from view.
Is there nothing we can do?! Sally's mother wrung her hands, a classic novellian, but not actually novel way to showcase her internal struggle.
How the hell do you do that? Are your hands tablecloths? Sally's dad made a terrible joke.
He gave her a fond smile and rubbed her head just the way she liked it in a commanding and comforting way.
"Sasuga my A++++ genetic grade wife!"
"Oh my A++++++ genetic grade honey…"
Sally's mom made puppy eyes at her admittedly handsome husband blushing at the compliment.
The doctors hid their bewilderment at this strange behavior. Godly genetic grades were truly built different.