Mu Lan and Beng Zeng could barely sit still. They had exactly three hours until Defying the God opened its character creation system—and the anticipation was electric.
"Hey, Mu," Beng said with a mischievous grin, "we've got three hours to kill before we can make our accounts. Wanna browse the net and check out some hot girls?"
Mu Lan chuckled. He remembered all too well how obsessed Beng was with girls. But the truth stung: no girl ever gave them a second glance. They were the ultimate mismatch—Mu Lan, painfully thin at 40 kilos; Beng Zeng, tipping the scales at 100. Still, he played along.
"Beng," Mu Lan said, "remember those martial arts books I told you to buy? Let's train with them. That way, instead of drooling over girls online, we'll become the kind of guys real girls actually notice. What do you say?"
Beng shot back instantly, "I already look at real girls."
Mu Lan sighed. "Yeah, but they don't look back at us. We're the scrawny runt and the chubby kid. Every time we walk into a room, girls scatter like birds. No girlfriends. Ever. And every time we try to talk to someone? Rejected. Don't you think they laugh at us behind our backs?"
Beng's smirk faded. After a long pause, he muttered, "...You're right. It's time we changed."
At their age, girls were brutally honest—they only had eyes for strong, confident guys. Exceptions existed, sure… but even those girls ignored them.
"So," Beng asked, "which book first?"
"Old Martial Arts," Mu Lan replied without hesitation. "Modern AI reconstructed it from ancient records—it's incredibly detailed. The other one, Ten Thousand Kicks in One Strike, comes from an old martial arts film I watched. There's a line in it that stuck with me…"
He paused, then recited softly:
"I'm not afraid of the man who's practiced ten thousand kicks once… but I am afraid of the man who's practiced one kick ten thousand times."
Beng raised an eyebrow. "Who said that?"
"Bruce Lee—or at least, that's how the legend goes," Mu Lan said with a faint smile. "With today's AI-enhanced manuals, who knows what secrets they've packed into these books? Either way, we're about to find out."
Without another word, they opened Old Martial Arts. Thanks to neural-assist learning tech, the theory was easy to absorb—but execution? That was where the real work began.
Mu Lan memorized the entire manual first, then handed it to Beng. While Beng began committing it to memory, Mu Lan picked up Ten Thousand Kicks in One Strike. The opening line hit him like a punch to the chest:
"I'm not afraid of the man who's practiced ten thousand kicks once… but I am afraid of the man who's practiced one kick ten thousand times."
He hadn't misremembered a thing.
Within the hour, Mu Lan had memorized both books. Beng was still working through the first—but thanks to Mu Lan's past-life experience, absorption came far easier to him. Every credit they'd spent felt justified. These weren't just books—they were blueprints for transformation.
Right now, Mu Lan felt unstoppable. But his body? It lagged behind. Still, he knew how to fix that. He dove straight into practice.
Drenched in sweat and gasping for air, Mu Lan turned to Beng. "Grab the second book off the table."
Beng took it. "I'll start training soon. You keep going, Mu."
An hour later, Mu Lan's muscles burned. His past-life conditioning gave him a slight edge, but this body was raw—untrained, fragile. Yet with every repetition, it grew stronger.
Beng walked over. "Mu, we've got two hours left until character creation. You've been at it nonstop. I just finished memorizing the second book—we're seriously lucky to have these. No one's gonna stand in our way now. I'm starting my drills. I'll train for an hour or two, then shower. By the time I'm done, I'll probably look just like you—soaked and exhausted."
"Huff… yeah… huff… go for it," Mu Lan panted. "I'll… huff… hit the shower after."
An hour and a half later, utterly drained, Mu Lan shuffled toward the bathroom—and nearly collided with Beng, equally drenched in sweat.
"Hey," Mu Lan said, checking the time, "we've only got thirty minutes until character creation. Aren't you showering?"
Beng blinked. "Whoa—has it really been that long? These techniques are insane! First thing tomorrow, we build stamina. Dawn run. Nothing stops us. Then school."
"Deal," Mu Lan said, stepping into the bathroom.
Thankfully, their apartment had two bathrooms, so they saved time. Their parents were still covering expenses, so they lived comfortably—no need to scrimp. That's how they could afford a place like this.
Twenty-five minutes later, Mu Lan emerged refreshed but weary. Moments after, Beng stepped out too. They now had five minutes until the servers opened.
They grabbed their VR headsets—sleek, helmet-shaped rigs that maintained a constant neural link to the game, even during sleep. Millions used them to dream inside Defying the God rather than experience ordinary rest. The devices even supported real-time internet access, letting players check news, messages, or strategies mid-game. It was revolutionary.
Mu Lan and Beng strapped on their headsets and logged in.
They appeared in the game's pristine, futuristic lobby.
Time Until Character Creation: 2 minutes.
Time Until Character Creation: 1 minute.
…
Time Until Character Creation: 1 second.
The moment the timer hit zero, they clicked.
The screen shifted to character creation.
In Defying the God, avatars mirrored your real appearance—with minor tweaks allowed (hair color, eye color, etc.) to preserve anonymity if desired. Though most players didn't want to hide. Fame was the new currency.
Mu Lan selected the Archer class—one of the five core archetypes.
Then he typed his name:
Godslayer
He pressed Confirm.
[Character Successfully Created.]