The days slipped by in a rhythm that felt almost surreal to Steven. Ever since he awakened the Super Growth System, the world seemed brighter, sharper, and more inviting. His grades soared beyond expectation, and his teachers could hardly contain their surprise. Mrs. Thompson, who once sighed at his dozing in class, now smiled proudly whenever he raised his hand with flawless answers.
In the span of five days, Steven had transformed from an ordinary student into the shining star of Sunny Heights High.
His classmates began to look at him differently. Some approached timidly with questions after lectures; others whispered his name with admiration or envy. On the basketball court, his athleticism caught the coach's eye, earning him a spot as a reserve player. During scrimmages, his dunks sent his classmates into cheers, especially the girls who gathered by the sidelines.
The sudden recognition was dizzying, but Steven handled it quietly. He knew none of this came from luck—it was the system guiding him, unlocking his potential piece by piece. Yet in his heart, he sensed the calm before a storm. Life rarely gave without asking for something in return.
On the morning of the fifth day, the sky was painted in soft strokes of gold and orange. The air was crisp, carrying the smell of dew-soaked grass and faint smoke from early breakfast stalls. With his bag slung over his shoulder, Steven left home in high spirits, ready for another day.
His usual shortcut to school was through a narrow alley between two buildings. In the afternoons, it filled with rowdy college students—smoke curling into the air, gambling laughs bouncing off the walls—but in the mornings, it was silent. The quiet lane always felt like his private passage, a space untouched by the city's noise.
But today was different.
As Steven stepped into the alley, the stillness felt heavy, almost deliberate. His footsteps slowed when he noticed two older boys at the far end, leaning casually against the wall. Both towered over him, broad-shouldered and covered in tattoos that peeked from under rolled-up sleeves. One had a bear snarling across his arm; the other sported a dragon coiled up his neck, its inked eyes glinting like it wanted to spring from his skin.
Steven's gut tightened. He knew these faces—not personally, but through whispers passed in classrooms. Trouble-seekers. The kind who had abandoned studies to drift in the shadows of the city, surviving on intimidation.
As he approached, they straightened and stepped forward, blocking the path.
"Are you Steven Blake?" The bear-tattooed one asked, his tone calm but laced with threat.
Steven froze mid-step, heartbeat thudding against his ribs. He tried to keep his expression unreadable. "Yes," he said quietly.
The two exchanged grins, as if confirming a rumor.
"Yo, this kid's got guts," the dragon-necked one muttered. His gaze swept Steven from head to toe like he was appraising merchandise.
Bear chuckled. "Can't believe Leon got shown up by a twig like this."
Leon. The name clicked immediately in Steven's mind. His chest tightened. Of course—it had to be him.
"He just lost a game," dragon said with a shrug.
"You don't get it, man. He also lost face. And that girl—Veronica."
The words dripped with mockery, tossed back and forth like Steven wasn't standing there at all. But Steven's sharp ears caught every insult. His jaw tightened. He understood now—this wasn't coincidence. Leon had sent them.
"So you're here because of Leon," Steven said, his voice low but steady.
The bear-tattooed thug smirked. "Sharp one, aren't ya? Yeah, kid. And here's your prize."
The punch came faster than Steven expected, slamming into his stomach. Air burst from his lungs as he staggered backward. Pain seared through him, white-hot, but his instincts flared.
Dodge. Counter.
He raised his arm, blocking the next strike clumsily, and swung back. His fist connected with the bear's chest—not strong enough to hurt, but enough to surprise.
The dragon laughed. "He actually fights back!"
A kick swept into Steven's side, sending him sprawling against the alley wall. His breath hitched, ribs aching. He pushed himself up, blood roaring in his ears, and lashed out again—wild, unpolished, but determined. His improved agility let him slip one punch, his strength gave his counter more weight than before. For a flicker of a moment, he thought he might hold his ground.
But skill was a different matter. These men weren't street fighters for nothing.
A knee drove into his abdomen, stealing his breath. A fist cracked across his cheek. Pain blurred his vision as another blow knocked him to the ground.
He curled instinctively, arms shielding his head as boots slammed into his ribs and back. Each impact was fire, spreading through bone and muscle. His system-enhanced body absorbed some of it, but without technique, without real combat experience, he was nothing but a punching bag.
Finally, the kicks stopped. Steven lay gasping on the cold ground, his shirt smeared with dust, blood dripping from the corner of his lip. His entire body throbbed with pain, humiliation heavier than the bruises.
"Stay away from Veronica," the dragon warned, voice flat. "Next time, we won't go easy."
Their laughter echoed as they walked away, leaving only the stillness of the alley and Steven's ragged breathing.
A cold notification blinked in the corner of his vision.
[Critical State Detected. Body entering unconscious recovery.]
Darkness closed in.
When Steven awoke, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. He blinked against the light filtering through thin curtains and realized he was lying on a cot. A small, neat room surrounded him—plain white walls, a shelf stacked with medicine, and a desk littered with notebooks.
A figure sat beside him, flipping casually through a textbook. She looked young, perhaps his age, with long black hair tied in a ponytail and sharp eyes that flicked up the moment he stirred.
"You're awake," she said, her voice steady but carrying a trace of relief.
Steven groaned softly, trying to sit up. "Where… am I?"
"Dong Hao Clinic," the girl replied. "My family runs this place. I found you lying in the alley this morning. You looked like roadkill, so I dragged you here."
Steven winced as pain stabbed through his ribs. "Thanks… for helping me."
She rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Don't thank me yet. I don't usually rescue stray puppies."
Despite the ache, Steven let out a weak laugh. "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."
She poured water from a flask and handed it to him. He drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing his throat.
"You recover fast," she remarked, her gaze lingering on him as if she noticed something others wouldn't. "Most people wouldn't even be sitting up this soon."
Steven stiffened. Did she suspect something? He quickly masked his thoughts with a smile. "Lucky, I guess."
She stood, picking up her book. "Don't push yourself. Go home and rest. And don't get beat up again, Steven Blake."
His eyes widened slightly. "You… know my name?"
She didn't answer. With a small wave, she turned and walked out, her ponytail swaying behind her.
Steven watched her go, a strange mix of gratitude and curiosity blooming inside him. Who was she really?
Back home, Steven slipped in quietly through the back door, avoiding questions from his parents. He headed straight to his room, where he collapsed onto his chair. His reflection in the mirror showed bruises on his face, faint but visible reminders of humiliation.
The memory of fists and boots flashed again, burning in his chest.
He clenched his fists. "I can't let this happen again."
His stats meant nothing without control. Strength, agility, stamina—they were tools, not weapons. He needed technique. He needed to fight back.
With determination hardening inside him, Steven opened his laptop. Martial arts tutorials filled the screen: basic boxing drills, Taekwondo stances, Karate forms, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu holds. He studied them relentlessly, his enhanced memory absorbing each detail.
[Skill Acquired: Basic Boxing][Skill Acquired: Basic Taekwondo]
He cleared a space in his room and began practicing. His movements were awkward at first, arms too stiff, feet stumbling. But as minutes turned into hours, his body adjusted. Jabs snapped sharper, kicks swung cleaner, his balance steadied. Sweat soaked his shirt, but his eyes burned with focus.
[Boxing Proficiency +4][Taekwondo Proficiency +3]
The ache of bruises mixed with the satisfying pull of muscle worked hard. He repeated drills until his arms trembled, then pushed further.
By late afternoon, his punches had rhythm, his kicks had weight. He wasn't a fighter yet, but he was no longer helpless.
When dusk painted the sky, Steven finally stopped. His body screamed for rest, but his mind buzzed with newfound clarity.
He glanced at the panel.
Boxing: Beginner (9/100)Taekwondo: Beginner (7/100)
It was modest progress, but it was real. He smiled faintly. "Step by step."
Hunger gnawed at him, so he went to the kitchen. His hands moved automatically, chopping vegetables, seasoning chicken, stirring rice. The motions felt smoother than ever, almost therapeutic after the day's chaos.
The savory aroma drew his parents from the living room.
"Steven? Did you make all this?" his mother asked, wide-eyed as she saw the spread—stir-fried chicken, fried rice, scrambled eggs with green onions.
Steven nodded. "Figured I'd cook tonight."
His father lowered his newspaper, studying him. "You've been full of surprises lately."
Steven forced a small smile. "Just trying to improve."
They sat together, the warmth of family dinner softening the harshness of the day. His parents laughed, complimented the food, unaware of the storm inside their son. Steven savored the moment quietly.
[Family Relationship +2][Cooking Upgraded: Advanced]
The system's notification flickered briefly, and with it came a flood of knowledge—recipes, techniques, flavors. But Steven pushed it aside. Tonight wasn't about the system. It was about them.
Later, in his room, he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Pain lingered in his body, but it no longer felt like weakness. It was fuel, a reminder of what he had to overcome.
He whispered into the quiet: "Leon… I'll pay you back. But not with anger. With strength."
His eyes closed, and for the first time since the alley, his heart was calm—not because he had won, but because he had chosen his path forward.