The bathwater steamed gently around his shoulders, the scent of crushed wildflowers and warming herbs curling into the air. Adam inhaled deeply, allowing himself a moment of rare peace. It had been one full week since that breakfast bombshell—the announcement that the Crown Princess of the Central Human Kingdom would be arriving in exactly one month.
And since that day, Adam Blake had done only one thing: grind.
He sank lower into the bath, until the water kissed his chin. His body, once a pitiful mass of pudding-like fat, was now sculpted in a way that could only be described as… deceptively beautiful. Not hard. Not muscular. But tight.
Three weeks of grueling training—his now-standard regimen of ten kilometers every morning, a hundred sit-ups, squats, pushups, and his own unique addition: magical resistance training. Every day, without fail, he activated Blue—the support color of his Color Magic—channeling it to subtly increase the weight of his clothing, even the resistance of the air around him.
It was like wearing three layers of wet winter cloaks while sprinting uphill. Brutal.
But it had worked. Not only was his mana control sharper, but he'd also noticed the efficiency of his casting improve. What used to cost him ten mana points now only drained five.
He stood from the water, warm droplets trailing down his skin, and reached for the towel. His body—still pale from years of sloth—had transformed.
Long, long gone were any traces of overbearing fat. Gone were the rolls.
In its place stood something… strange.
Slender, with a slight but noticeable V-line tapering from his waist. His thighs were taut, his butt round and unnervingly perky, his waist cinched in just enough to almost make him double take. His chest remained flat, but smooth. His collarbones stood out under the light, delicate yet firm. He looked like one of those male idols from his old world's K-dramas—feminine, angelic, ethereal.
He stared.
So this was what a "fit" man looked like in this matriarchal fantasy world.
"…I'll never get an eight-pack, huh," he muttered, toweling off his neck. "Not even a six. Damn. No pecs either?"
He sighed and turned toward the mirror, speaking the one word that now dominated every morning.
"Status."
[Status – Adam Blake]
Strength: 30 🔺
Physique: 40 🔺
Speed: 25
Endurance: 30 🔺
Wisdom: 20
Charm: 30 🔺
Mana: 500
Aura: — Locked
Trait: — Locked
Mana Gates Opened: 5 / 100
School of Magic: Color Magic
Unlocked Colors: Red (Strength), Yellow (Speed), Blue (Support)
Sub-Skill Gained:
🟢 Youthful Beauty (Passive) – Your physique radiates vitality and allure, replacing any former gloom. Boosts first impressions and causes you to stand out even when you wish to blend in.
He whistled low. That new sub-skill had appeared the moment his Physique hit 40. Just like he'd predicted. He'd theorized from game mechanics that 40, 60, 80, and 100 in a stat triggered milestones. This confirmed it.
Youthful Beauty.
A passive skill that didn't just change how people saw him—but how he felt. The subtle anxiety he'd once radiated, the heaviness that clung to him like a scent—it was gone. He felt… lighter. More present. More seen.
A gentle knock echoed from his door.
"Brother? Are you ready for the hunt?" Laylee's voice came through, even and practiced, but Adam heard the slight impatience in it. As if she'd already been waiting.
He called back, "Just a moment!"
Quickly dressing, he tugged on the hunter's wear prepared for him: snug boots, a high-collared tunic, and tight charcoal pants that left very little to the imagination from the waist down. The pants hugged his hips. A little too well.
He glanced in the mirror.
"…Huh."
Yeah. That was definitely a bubble butt.
Oh well. It's my sister. She won't think anything of it.
Before heading to the door, he opened his system one last time—not to check his stats, but his quest.
📜 [Active Quest – A Blast to the Past]
Objective: Rebuild your relationship with Laylee Blake
Progress: 90% Completed
Reward: +10 Charm
He smiled.
One week of mana training, helping her with cooking, chores, a little emotional support—and now this hunting trip. The fruit of brotherly love, delivered through tactical ass-kissing.
It helped that his modern Earth cooking had basically stunned the estate's chefs into silence. Even Laylee had praised the beef stew he made with nothing but pepper, garlic, and patience. It was like being Gordon Ramsay in a world that still thought boiling cabbage was fine dining.
But none of that mattered now.
Today was important.
Today was the [Ignis Spirit] Event.
If game memory served—and it always did—Laylee would encounter a lost elder spirit of fire in a mangrove-like stump deep in the forest. That contract would set her on the path to becoming the Crimson Mage. Tier 1.
He would be there to make sure it happened.
And this time… maybe she wouldn't go through it alone.
He opened the door.
Laylee stood waiting, arms crossed loosely. Her eyes blinked once as they drifted over him, then back again. There was a strange pause.
Then, her brows creased.
"…Go change."
Adam blinked. "What?"
"Those pants," she said, her voice cool, "are illegal."
He looked down.
Tight fit. Soft curve. Ass so perky it defied his modesty.
"…It's a standard hunter's cut," he offered weakly.
She glanced away, the faintest tinge of color brushing her cheeks. "Not on you. Just… ugh. Change before I burn your wardrobe."
Adam just sighed, closing the door again with a soft chuckle.
God, this world is weird.