My chest felt like it'd collapse as I forced out the twentieth squat. Thighs twitched under this scrawny, useless body. The 2 km run had been a slog—stumbling over uneven dirt paths past Syrup Village, rocks snagging my torn shoes, an empty ache twisting my gut. Twenty push-ups earlier had left my arms wobbly as hell. The sit-ups? My core still screamed from those, a dull fire under my ribs. But I'd done it. I hit the shack's porch hard, knees scraping the weathered wood, and glared at the system's cold blue text floating in front of me:
Daily Objective:
Foundation of Strength
(Complete)
Task:
20 push-ups (20/20)
20 sit-ups (20/20)
20 squats (20/20)
2 km run (2/2)
Reward: 20 stat points
I'd burned through it on nothing—no food, no rest, just raw hate for the body I was trapped in. My vision flickered, black spots crowding the edges. I clawed my way inside. The floor's splintered grain scratched my palms through patched pants, gritty under my nails. I didn't make it far—my face slammed into the dirt, a stale whiff of dust and salt filling my nose as everything went dark.
I snapped awake, choking on a gasp, surrounded by thick blackness. Pain stabbed through me—arms, legs, back—like I'd been tossed in a blender. The shack stank of mildew and sea rot, the air heavy and cold against my cracked lips. Hunger clawed deep, a sharp twist below my ribs. No light leaked through the grimy window—just night, late as hell, maybe past midnight. I dragged myself up, spine cracking like dry twigs, and checked the system:
Stats:
Strength: 0/100 (E)
Sense: 0/100 (E)
Endurance: 0/100 (E)
Charisma: 0/100 (E)
Intelligence: 0/100 (E)
Agility: 0/100 (E)
Luck: 0/100 (E)
Points: 20
Inventory:
Tech Tokens 20× (Daily Refresh)
Absorption: Batman (6%)
Twenty new tokens stared back at me—daily reset, huh? I wasn't feeling this trashed again, not ever. "Endurance first," I muttered to myself, voice rough in the dark. If I could last longer, push harder, I wouldn't die like some loser. Ten points into Endurance—gotta keep moving. Five into Strength—can't stay this frail forever. Five into Agility—I'd need speed when this world tried to kill me. I locked it in:
Stats Updated:
Strength: 5/100 (E)
Endurance: 10/100 (E)
Agility: 5/100 (E)
A slow warmth spread through me, dulling the ache. My legs steadied, arms less like dead weight. Six percent absorption—yesterday's grind paid off. My head cleared, sharper, like shaking off a fog. I scanned the shack—walls sagging with jagged cracks, roof patched with gaps letting in cold drafts, floor warped and uneven. This dump couldn't hold a real workshop—plasma guns, mechs, anything worth a damn. I needed space, hidden from this backwater village. "Underground," I rasped, breath fogging in the chill. "That's where I'll build." I'd fix this place up—steel walls, solid roof—but the real game was below.
I tapped Gacha Shop, fingers shaky with hunger and a flicker of hope. Burned the tokens: 4 Epic Rolls, 4 Common Rolls. Loot scrolled across the screen:
Epic Rolls:
•"Ability Card: Telekinesis"
•"Nano-Thread"
•"Camera"
•"Sensu Bean"
Common Rolls:
•"Blacksmith Basics Box"
•"Iron Hammer"
•"Box of Nails 50×"
•"Rusty Nails 20×"
No shovel—gacha's a crapshoot. I'd make it work. The "Ability Card: Telekinesis" shimmered in my hand—gray, edges glowing soft like a dying bulb. I slammed it against my chest, a warm pulse sinking into my ribs:
Abilities:
Telekinesis (Basic)
Move objects up to 5 lbs within 5 ft.
I squinted, focusing, and the pliers from yesterday wobbled up—drifting slow and unsteady, like a paper plane in a breeze. Weak as hell, but it'd help. The Camera fit my palm—black, lens slick and cold, humming faintly. I flicked it on; a red dot blinked, ready to roll. "Scout tool, maybe," I thought, stashing it back. "Could use it to collect blackmail." Nano-Thread unspooled in my fingers—silver, fine as hair, tough enough to cut if I pulled hard. The Sensu Bean rolled against my thumb—small, green, smooth with a faint earthy smell.
The Blacksmith Basics Box hit the floor with a dull thud—wooden, hinges creaking as I pried it open. Inside: a stubby hammer with a chipped oak handle, curved tongs with rust flecking the tips, and a chisel dulled to a blunt edge. The Iron Hammer weighed heavier—its grip rough with old sweat stains, head scratched but solid. Box of Nails gleamed—50 steel points, sharp enough to pierce with a flick. Rusty Nails were junk—20 bent, crusty-brown relics that'd snap if I tried too hard.
I pulled the Plasma Pistol, its barrel smooth and cool against my sweaty palm. No shovel? "Fine—I'll forge one," I growled to myself. Gotta get creative. I grabbed a black steel plate—cold, edges nicking my fingers—and fired. A blue bolt snapped out, steel flaring red-hot, the air thick with a sharp, burnt-metal sting that made my nose twitch. I snatched the tongs—their rusty grip biting my hand—and held the glowing plate steady. The iron hammer came down. Sparks flew, stinging my forearms like hot pinpricks, metal bending into a jagged shovel blade. My swings were off—sloppy, uneven—but I twisted nano-thread around the grip, threading it tight with the chisel's blunt tip. It looked like hell—crooked, rough—but it'd cut dirt.
I tipped my water bottle, splashing the floor. Water pooled, cold and muddy under my soles, softening the packed earth into a gritty slop. I stabbed the shovel in, grunting as it bit shallow chunks—damp clumps sticking to the blade, weighing it down. Endurance kept my arms pumping. Telekinesis nudged dirt aside—slow, shaky lifts that barely cleared the pile. The Arc Reactor sat in the pit, its blue glow faint, flickering off the slick, muddy walls, shadows twisting around me. Five feet square, three deep—blisters swelled on my palms, sweat dripped into my eyes, burning like acid.
"Need an axe next," I muttered, thinking ahead. Gotta shore this up—wood beams, something solid. Another steel plate—pistol blast, red glow, hammer blows ringing loud in the quiet shack, vibrations buzzing up my arm. I shaped a blade—a bit sharper this time, still crude—and bound it to a snapped chair leg with nano-thread, knots tight and biting into the wood. Strength at 5 let me chop. I staggered outside, axe sinking into a skinny pine. Sap oozed, sticky and sweet on my hands, wood chips pelting my shins like gravel. Ten swings, and it crashed—branches snapping with a dry crack. I felled another, dragging the logs back, breath heaving in the cold, my shirt clinging wet to my back. I split them with the chisel and hammer—wood splintering loud, shards flying—into rough beams, propping the pit's walls.
Leftover wood patched the shack—boards nailed over roof gaps with steel nails, the hammer's thud echoing in my skull. Walls braced snug, drafts dying out, warmth creeping in. I hammered a trapdoor from a wide plank, chiseling a ladder from scraps—telekinesis steadying each nail, my mind straining like a pulled muscle. Hours chewed through me—hunger twisted sharp, muscles pulsed with a deep ache. I popped the Sensu Bean—bitter as hell, earthy on my tongue—and energy slammed in. Soreness melted, hunger faded, exhaustion wiped clean like it never happened.
Absorption: Batman (14%)
Fourteen percent. My eyes snagged on flaws—beams off by an inch, cuts ragged as hell. I fixed them, sharper now, hands surer, catching every slip.
Night dragged on—past 11, I figured, a rough guess from the absorption's edge and yesterday's grind. I ran the quest: 20 push-ups, sit-ups, squats, 2 km. Stats and the bean made it smoother—done fast, sweat soaking my shirt, maybe 15 minutes.
Daily Objective:
Foundation of Strength
(Complete)
Reward: 20 stat points
"Luck this time," I thought, rubbing my chin. Better rolls could mean better gear—can't keep scraping by on junk. Ten to Luck, 3 each to Sense, Intelligence, Charisma:
Stats Updated:
Strength: 5/100 (E)
Sense: 3/100 (E)
Endurance: 10/100 (E)
Charisma: 3/100 (E)
lntelligence: 3/100 (E)
Agility: 5/100 (E)
Luck: 10/100 (E)
Midnight rolled in—tokens refreshed, quest reset. Felt like 12 sharp, maybe a hair past. I ran it again—bean fueling me, legs pounding dirt, breath fogging in the dark. Done in 20 minutes, tops. Another 20 points. "Round it out," I decided. Gotta balance i can't neglect the rest forever. Two each to Strength, Agility, Endurance, 4 each to Sense, Intelligence, Charisma:
Stats Updated:
Strength: 7/100 (E)
Sense: 7/100 (E)
Endurance: 12/100 (E)
Charisma: 7/100 (E)
Intelligence: 7/100 (E)
Agility: 7/100 (E)
Luck: 10/100 (E)
All 7 or better, Luck at 10. I hauled the blacksmith gear—box, hammer, tongs, pliers—down the ladder into my 5x5 pit. Dirt walls loomed close, Arc Reactor's glow dim against the damp, earthy smell. Small, but mine. I climbed up, shut the trapdoor—wood thudding soft—and crashed on the bed, patched roof creaking overhead.