Ding Dong!
Max opened the door. A small parcel sat on the doorstep. He picked it up, glancing around suspiciously.
"Should I open this?" Max hesitated. It wasn't normal for him to receive parcels out of nowhere.
Just then, his phone rang. The screen was still flickering between green and black, but it was working. He picked it up and placed it to his ear.
[Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you…]
Max cringed at the awkward, recorded message—it was Rayan's voice. But thanks to that cringe, he remembered: today was his birthday.
[Anyway, sorry I couldn't make it in person. By the time you're hearing this, I'm probably at the Black Gym on the Eastern Islands for some... special training I'm not supposed to talk about.]
[And I'm sure you've cooked up some way to train, too... Ahh, I don't have much else to say. Yeah! Hope you like the gift, and... don't forget your promise...]
The call disconnected automatically. Max quickly unwrapped the white box. Inside was a brand-new phone with the latest software installed. A sticky note on yellow paper was attached to the back:
"We will see each other in 3 months...make sure you don't lag behind."
Max chuckled. A heavy lump formed in his throat. He could cry—but he didn't. Clenching his fists, he climbed back to his room.
"I know you probably won't need it… but still," Max muttered, "One day… I'll return every single favor you've done for me."
He didn't even touch the new phone. Instead, he got to work.
One hundred pushups, one hundred squats, fifty bicep curls, and a five-minute plank—that's all he could manage with his current abilities.
In the past, those numbers would make him a beast among humans. But now, it wasn't even close to what he needed to pass the military exam.
"I need to push my base stats to the maximum," he said, soaked in sweat. He tried another round of pushups—only made it to twenty before his chest and arms gave out, and he fell flat on the floor.
As much as he wanted to learn combat arts like Rayan, Max knew he didn't have the time. He still hadn't unlocked the Recovery trait from 7SH. Or even if he had, it wasn't yet at its full potential.
He had no other option—it was time to head to the dungeon again. But this time, he had a better plan.
Wearing the same cyclist gear, Max made his way to the Dark Dungeon. His body was slowly adjusting to the teleportation. No nausea this time.
Once again, he placed his bag down, bringing only three items: the clamper, a kitchen knife, and a small alarm clock.
The crystals near the safe zone had already been picked. The cluster hadn't regenerated yet, so he needed to go deeper. Risky—but calculated.
Max approached the distant cluster. He clamped onto a crystal—but didn't pluck it yet. Instead, he set a 10-second timer on the alarm clock and threw the metallic device away.
Dinn!
With a metallic snap, the crystal came loose. Max dashed at full speed. The monster roared beneath the island—closer now. Another roar. It was getting nearer.
It was above him—ready to dive. Cold sweat slid down Max's neck. He pulled out the knife, ready to swing.
Trin-trin-trin-trin!
The alarm clock rang, its sound echoing across the air. Max noticed the monster's movement falter for a split second. He dove down and sprinted.
The monster glided straight toward the clock. Its tentacles scooped it up, and it let out another roar.
GRAHH!!
Then, it glided back toward Max. But he was already far ahead. The clock kept ringing—and Max smiled.
His strategy may have worked.
Or maybe… he celebrated too early.
GRAHH!!
Another roar—closer this time. Max was just about to enter the safe zone when something zipped past him—sharp, hot, fast.
He caught a glimpse of the beast. "Is there another one?!"
His back felt like it was burning. He leaped into the safe zone, panting. The clock was still ringing in the distance—and there weren't just one or two monsters.
There were ten.
Ten monsters fly over the island, fighting each other for the ringing clock.
"Why didn't I consider this possibility?" Max muttered, jaw slack. He hadn't even processed what happened when he felt something warm trickling down his legs.
He looked down. Blood. His legs were soaked.
His back felt numb. Reaching behind, he touched his lower back—his hand came back drenched in red.
"Shit… I was cut…" Max quickly stored the crystal and jumped into the portal.
The moment he reappeared in his bathroom, he rushed to the mirror.
A deep, diagonal slash—almost 3 centimeters wide—ran across his back. His cyclist gear was sliced like paper. He could see bone and white flesh.
No pain—just adrenaline.
He rushed into his room, grabbed all the bandages, and wrapped himself up tightly. His entire back was covered in white—now red, soaking through—but the bleeding wouldn't stop.
He wrapped more. And more. Blood kept spilling. Max whispered silent prayers, but deep down, he knew...
No god was coming to help.
All his cloth, all his bandages...used. He even downed a vial of antidote. Still, the blood loss hit hard.
Max felt lighter. Everything spun. He lay down on his belly. His eyelids drooped. He couldn't tell if he had fallen asleep or passed out.
All he knew was that everything around him was dark.
Swirling.
Like the dungeon in his bathroom.
.
..
...
"Bang!"
"Bang-bang-bang!"
"Bang!"
The sound of relentless punching echoed through the air. Each strike came slower, more delayed than the last. The fist behind the blows was bloodied, trembling, wounded.
"Your willpower is... almost intimidating," a calm voice echoed across the arena. It belonged to an old man with a long, gleaming white beard. He walked slowly, almost ceremoniously, around the wooden dojo floor.
The space resembled an ancient Japanese training hall—polished wood floors, thick timber walls. In the center stood a solid wooden pillar, now dented and stained, as Rayan continued to hammer his fists into it.
His eyes were bloodshot. His body trembled. Yet he didn't stop. He threw another punch—but it was caught mid-air.
"That's enough for today. Hurting yourself won't help you grow," the old man said sharply, his tone cold but measured.
Rayan froze. Then, silently, he stepped back and collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.
The old man watched him with a faint smile, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"If I may ask... why do you want to become strong?" he asked.
Rayan turned slightly, still panting. "Simple... it's because... I'm the main character," he said, grinning through the pain.
The old man's lip twitched. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or sigh. Turning to the wooden pillar, he gently placed a single finger on its surface.
"Very well," he said quietly. "I'll teach you my ways."
He removed his finger and began to walk away.
Crack...
A faint sound behind him. Rayan turned just in time to see the wooden pillar split apart—
—and collapse into a pile of shattered timber.