Charlie was jolted awake, his shout -"YES"—still echoing in the dim basement as he bolted upright, chest heaving, sweat soaking his sheets. His heart hammered against his ribs, the taste of dream-blood lingering on his tongue from last night's Sleep Fighting climax—the faceless man's fist, his own head crashing into it, the bell ringing as he stood defiant. Day 90 of "Hell Summer" had ended with a victory, not of skill but of will, and the System's voice had sealed it: "Combat instinct increased to 1%. Boxing Level: 2 Stars achieved." He clutched his head, half-expecting a split brow, but his real body was unmarked, the pain a fading echo. A shaky laugh escaped him as he fell back onto the pillow, staring at the cracked ceiling. "I did it," he gasped, his voice rough with exhaustion and pride. "I stood; I didn't fall." His hands clenched into fists, letting the moment sink in. Going back to class loomed hours away.
The clock glowed 6:00 AM, and Charlie threw off the blank, his body protesting with a dull ache from yesterday's punching bag session. It was a good ache, earned through 90 days of relentless grind, and he welcomed it as he swung his legs over the bed. "Day one" he muttered, pulling on worn running shoes and a loose hoodie—still oversized from his heavier days, though it draped differently now over his leaner frame. The mirror caught his eye as he passed, and he paused, peeling off the hoodie to take in the stranger staring back. His skin sagged slightly around his midsection and biceps, a loose testament to the 40 kilograms he'd shed, but beneath it, muscle flexed subtly, carved by months of effort. His shoulders were broader, his chest showed faint pecs, and his legs were sturdy from squats and jump rope. His face was sharper — jaw more defined, eyes clearer thanks to the Better Genes Potion—though dark circles lingered from sleepless nights. He stood taller, inching toward 1.85 meters, his posture straighter, more certain. "Not the old Charlie," he said softly, a flicker of pride in his gaze. He grabbed his earbuds and headed upstairs, the house quiet as his parents slept off their lighter work schedules.
Outside, the pre-dawn air bit at his face, crisp and cool, as he stretched briefly on the porch—hamstrings, quads, a quick shoulder roll. Then he started jogging, his sneakers pounding the pavement in a steady rhythm. The streets of Maplewood were empty, the town still asleep, and Charlie let his mind wander as he ran. Five thousand steps, the system's old daily task, came easy now-his stamina, boosted by the Stamina Surge perk, carried him effortlessly past the park where the old man used to watch him shadowbox. His breath puffed out in white clouds, his legs strong beneath him, the Agility Spike from Day 75 making his strides lighter, quicker. He pushed harder, sweat beading on his brow, the Punch Power Perk tingling in his fists as he imagined jabbing the faceless man. Three miles later, he slowed to a walk, chest heaving, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. "Not bad," he panted, heading home as the sky turned pink.
Back in the basement, Charlie slumped onto his couch, wiping his face with his sleeve. "System," he called, his voice steady, "recap my rewards from the summer. Everything since day 62." The familiar chime sounded, and a translucent screen flared to life in his vision, scrolling with text that made his eyes widen.
"Cooking Rewards: $3000 total-$100 per dinner for 28 days, plus a $200 bonus on day 89. Perks: Flavor Precision, enhancing taste by 10%; Cooking Efficiency Boost, reducing prep time by 15%. Physical Training Rewards: $1150 total—$450 from gym routines, $100 for punching a bag for the first time on day 68, $150 for jump rope on day 75, $200 for heavier lifts on day 82, and $250 for a full circuit on day 89. Perks: Punch Power, increasing force by 10%; Agility Spike, boosting footwork by 10%; Muscle Density, tightening skin and durability; and Stamina Surge, extending endurance by 15%. Sleep Fighting Rewards: $450 total—$100 on day 65 for enduring five rounds, $150 on day 72 for landing 3 punches, and $200 on day 80 for blocking a combo. Perks: Pain Threshold Bump, reducing felt pain by 5%; Instinct Flicker, raising combat instinct to 0.5%; Reflex Snap, boosting reaction speed by 10%. Day 90: Boxing Level 2 Stars, Combat Instinct 1% (plus the perk Instinct Flicker is 1.5%), Unbreakable Will Potion-one use, halves the damage in a future fight. Evolution Progress 5% total-0.5% boosts on days 70, 85, and 90. Current Savings: $11,250 after expenses."
Charlie leaned back, letting the numbers and perks sink in. "Eleven grand," he muttered shaking his head. "From cooking and punching air. Crazy." The Better Genes Potion's effects—a sharper mind and a stronger body—had fueled it all, turning his sweat into cash and power. The Unbreakable Will Potion, shimmering in his mind's inventory, felt like a trump card, a promise of survival against whatever came next. He smirked, flexing his hand. "Worth every bruise."
Hunger tugged at him, and he headed upstairs to the kitchen, the house still quiet. He moved with purpose, the Cooking Efficiency Boost shaving minutes off his routine as he pulled out ingredients-eggs, spinach, a slab of lean turkey bacon, and whole-grain bread. The Flavor Precision Perk guided his hands as he cracked eggs into a pan, adding a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper with a precision he hadn't had three months ago. Spinach sizzled alongside the bacon, the aroma rich and savory, and he toasted the bread to a golden crisp. Ten minutes later, he sat at the table with a plate of scrambled eggs flecked with green, crispy bacon, and toast—a breakfast fit for the new Charlie and his family. He ate slowly, savoring the taste; the Better Genes Potion was letting him appreciate the balance he'd struck. "Level 2, huh?" he mused, chewing. "Getting close to something more."
Showered and dressed-jeans and a hoodie that still dwarfed his slimmer frame—he grabbed his backpack and headed out, the morning sun climbing higher. College loomed ahead, a sprawling campus of brick buildings and buzzing students, and Charlie felt a knot tighten in his gut. Last year he'd been the "Slug," the sweaty loner who slunk through halls, ignored or mocked. Now? He squared his shoulders, his aggressive eyes scanning the crowd as he stepped onto the grounds. Heads turned, whispers rippled - students pausing mid-step, squinting at the tall, lean figure cutting through the quad. "Who's that?" a girl muttered to her friend. "New guy?" another replied, eyeing his sharp jaw and steady gait. Charlie kept walking, head down but posture firm, the Muscle Density Perk tightening his stride. He was alone again, as always, but this time it felt different-less like hiding, more like waiting.
Then a voice broke through, soft and familiar. "Hey, you're new here, right?" Charlie stopped, turning to see Katie Rogers-his old crush, the girl with bright eyes and a smile that used to twist his stomach into knots-standing there, her books hugged to her chest. She tilted her head, friendly curiosity lighting her face. "I'm Katie. What's your name?" His heart thudded, but not with the longing-something colder stirred instead. She didn't know him. After years in the same classes, she didn't see Charlie Finch. He stared at her, his eyes narrowing, aggression flickering behind them. "No," he said flatly, his voice low and firm. "I'm not new. I'm Charlie. Charlie Finch. You don't even recognize me, do you? Guess I see the truth in you now—you only notice me when I'm not a mess.
Katie's smile faltered, her eyes widening as realization hit. "Charlie? Oh my God, I… I didn't mean-" She stammered, stepping back, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. "Save it," he said, turning away, his tone clipped. "I've got class." He walked off, leaving her frozen, her friendly mask cracking as whispers spread among the onlookers. "That's Charlie Finch?" "No way, he's… different." The words buzzed around him, but 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 same pack of loudmouths who'd slapped "kick Me" signs on his back last spring. Bobby lounged against a bench, smirking at some joke, his crew snickering around him. They didn't notice Charlie at first, their eyes sliding over him like he was just another face. Then one of them - 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, the hairless skin, and the hard set of his jaw. "No fucking' way," he muttered, pushing off the bench. The gang fanned out, circling subtly, a crowd of students gathering to watch.
Charlie stopped, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his 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, his voice loud for the audience. "You think losing some weight makes you hot shit?" His gang laughed, but it was thinner, less certain. Charlie didn't flinch, his fists clenching at his sides. the Punch Power Perk tingling in his knuckles. "I don't think anything," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying a quiet menace. "Just walking to class. You got a problem?" Bobby's smirk twitched, his eyes flicking over to Charlie's new form-the broader shoulders, the coiled tension. The crowd held its breath, waiting for the shove, the taunt. But something in Charlie's stare-the Reflex Snap, the Instinct Flicker-made Bobby pause. 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, a sharp edge cutting through his calm. "NO," he snapped, his voice rising, firm and unyielding. "What did you just call me, huh?" He took a step forward, his gaze boring into Bobby's, those aggressive eyes blazing with a fire the gang hadn't seen. The crowd gasped, a ripple of shock spreading. Katie's hand flew to her mouth, her wide eyes darting between them. Students whispered furiously, "Did he just...?" "Bobby's going to crush him, right?" But inside the circle, Bobby's crew faltered. The wiry kid shifted uncomfortably, thinking, Why's Bobby backing off? This guy's just Finch...right? Another, a stocky boy with a faded hoodie, frowned inwardly: He's running? From this loser? They hadn't caught Charlie's eyes yet—the burning intensity, the unblinking promise of something dangerous - and their doubt grew, a quiet unease settling over them.
Bobby froze, his hands still raised, his smirk gone. "Uh... sorry, man", he muttered, the word forced out, weak and grudging. The apology hung in the air, and the crowd stilled, stunned. Katie blinked, her breath catching - Bobby apologizing? To Charlie? - While the whispers turned sharp: "Did he just say sorry?" "What the hell's going on?" Bobby's gang bristled, their unease boiling into discontent. The wiry kid clenched his fists, muttering under his breath, "What's he doing? We could take this guy." The stocky one glared at Bobby's back, thinking, He's soft now? This ain't over. We'll handle Finch later. The crowd parted, stunned whispers trailing Charlie as he moved on, his stride unbroken. "That's Charlie Finch?" "Bobby backed off..."
Inside, the classroom hummed with chatter as Charlie slipped into a seat near the back. The bell rang, and Mr. Hargrove, his wiry history teacher, shuffled in, peering over his glasses at the roster. The teacher started making the daily check of attendance, when he was a bout to say the name of Charlie Finch, he thought: I see that Charlie Finch isn't here, then he called "Finch, Charles?" he then scanned the classroom. Charlie raised a hand, voice flat. "Here." Hargrove frowned, squinting at him, then at the list. "Finch? You sure? You don't... huh." He shook his head, muttering, "You changed, huh" and moved on. Across the room, Ms. Carter, the math teacher who'd once sighed at Charlie's slumped figure, did a double-take from the doorway, her clipboard slipping slightly. "Charlie Finch?" she mouthed to herself, brow furrowing. He caught her stare, his eyes meeting hers, and she looked away, flustered. The whispers spread-students, teachers, all grapplig with the same truth: the Slug was gone, and this new Charle was something else entirely.