Nova stumbled into his apartment, feeling as though he'd been hit by a truck. His legs were wobbly, his arms felt like noodles, and he was fairly certain his sweat was sweating. The morning's training, followed by grocery shopping and several hours at the library, had thoroughly exhausted him. It wasn't even four in the afternoon yet, and he already felt as though the day had gone on for a week.
He dropped the three library books onto the coffee table and collapsed onto his couch, which still smelled of new fabric and hadn't quite lost its stiffness. At the moment, however, it felt like the finest furniture in existence.
The kittens stirred in their box as soon as they heard him. Smudge, the black kitten with the single white paw, raised his head and meowed.
For some reason, Nova thought the kitten looked disappointed in him.
Bruh, you okay?
At least that was what he imagined Smudge was thinking. They were too young to judge anyone, much less the Supreme God of Destruction.
"Shut it, Smudge," Nova mumbled, throwing an arm over his face. "I've had a difficult day."
Smudge answered with another small meow.
"Yes, yes. I know. You would have done better."
His stomach growled loudly. He hadn't eaten anything substantial since the rice and chicken earlier. He needed food, preferably something with enough energy to keep him from collapsing the next time he attempted a push-up.
Unfortunately, that meant getting off the couch.
"Why did I say five to ten hours of training a day?" he groaned. "Who even does that? I'm an idiot."
He considered ignoring his hunger. A second growl settled the matter.
With considerable effort, Nova forced himself upright. His thighs protested immediately, and his shoulders ached when he pushed off the couch. After a moment, he made his way toward the kitchen.
The groceries he'd bought with Talia were waiting for him. Bread, peanut butter, beans, rice, and a few other necessities filled the limited space in his cabinets and refrigerator. He opened the fridge and stared inside, trying to decide what to prepare.
"Okay, dumb brain, work with me," he muttered. "Sandwich? That means getting the bread out. Rice? Takes too long. Beans? I'd have to heat them up."
He closed the door, opened a cabinet, and retrieved the peanut butter jar. He found a spoon, and his meal was complete.
"There. Problem solved."
He returned to the couch, opened the jar, and shoved a generous spoonful into his mouth. The peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth, forcing him to chew slowly. It was surprisingly satisfying.
For a man who had once possessed everything he might ever desire, he was becoming disturbingly easy to please.
Maybe I should have made a sandwich, he thought, swallowing with some difficulty.
The kittens started meowing again, their attention fixed on his hands. Nova looked from the spoon to the box and shook his head.
"No way, you little savages. This is mine. You have your own food."
Groaning, he fetched the kitten food Talia had left, checked their water, and served them a portion. They immediately crowded around the dish, pushing against one another in their eagerness to eat.
Nova watched them for a moment, amused by how seriously they approached such a simple task.
"Look at you. Not a care in the world, except whose face you have to climb over to reach your dinner."
Smudge squeezed past one of the others and settled at the edge of the dish.
"You really are a menace, aren't you?"
He sat down again, feeling slightly better now that both he and the kittens had eaten. His body, however, was still asking for rest.
His thoughts returned to the tournament. August 20th was less than two weeks away, and he had nowhere near enough time to turn himself into the capable Adventurer he wanted to become. He knew the difference between genuine strength and the appearance of it better than almost anyone. Strength took time.
Still, he had made himself a promise. He wanted to struggle, to improve through his own efforts, and to discover what it meant to start from the bottom. Abandoning that promise because his body was sore would defeat the purpose of coming here.
Besides, being recruited by the American Guild would solve more than one problem. He needed income, training, and a better understanding of awakening. And now that he had unexpectedly become responsible for five kittens, earning a living was no longer something he could put off indefinitely.
"I don't even know if I'm going to awaken before the tournament," he murmured. "But if I do, and they choose me to represent the Guild, I'm going to take it seriously."
He glanced toward the kittens, who were still busy with their meal.
"You hear that? Your future depends on me becoming employable."
None of them looked up.
"Wonderful. Such supportive children."
His gaze settled on the library books he'd brought home. The Guild: Structure and Purpose, Awakening in the Modern Age, and The Path to Power: Unlocking Your Potential were stacked neatly on the coffee table. He'd read portions of the first two, but plenty remained.
The histories had been particularly interesting. They covered the appearance of monsters during the early years of the Surge, the formation of guilds, and the remarkable achievements of some of humanity's earliest Adventurers. One person had been the first to evolve and develop a cross on their Circle of Pillars. Another had been the first to clear a six-pillar dungeon. Each achievement opened the way for greater dangers.
Nova understood the Circle of Pillars itself, but it was the initial awakening he was struggling to figure out. The books described stress, concentration, and circumstances that occasionally triggered an ability, yet none offered a reliable method he could follow.
"Everyone's so proud of what happened after they awakened," he muttered. "It would be nice if someone explained how they did it in the first place."
He picked up the third book, The Path to Power, and inspected its cover. The title was dramatic enough to make him suspicious, and the writing inside was even worse. It insisted that discovering one's potential began by visualizing an inner spark and embracing one's destiny.
"Inner spark? Bro, I'm just trying not to pass out from push-ups."
He turned a few pages, hoping the author might eventually offer something practical. Instead, he found another exercise instructing the reader to sit upright, close their eyes, and imagine energy collecting somewhere deep within their body.
Nova sighed. "Fine. I'll humor you."
He put the peanut butter aside and took a slow breath, following the instructions. He repeated the process, trying to concentrate on the faint physical sensations running through his exhausted body.
His heartbeat was steady. His arms ached. His stomach, despite the peanut butter, was still not entirely satisfied. Those were the only things he noticed.
"Feel the energy in your core," he read aloud, opening one eye to check the next line.
He closed his eyes again and waited.
Nothing.
"What energy? All I feel is peanut butter."
He let his shoulders fall and tossed the book onto the empty side of the couch. He had hoped it would contain some overlooked detail about awakening, but after the useful introductory pages, it had become little more than repeated advice about believing in oneself.
Belief wasn't the problem. He'd already decided to improve. What he needed was a method, an explanation, or at least a way to measure whether his attempts were producing any result.
For now, physical training was the only part of the process he had some control over.
He glanced at the time, then toward the apartment door. The gym was inside the complex, close enough to reach without spending money on transportation. He remembered a large man lifting weights as though they were made of paper. Compared to him, Nova's current strength was almost embarrassing.
His arms hurt at the thought.
He considered resting for the remainder of the day. His muscles were sore, he was exhausted, and forcing himself through another difficult session wasn't necessarily going to make him stronger any faster. He knew that improvement required recovery as well as effort. Knowing it, however, didn't make the decision any less frustrating.
He had promised himself five to ten hours of training, and he hadn't managed anything close to what he'd imagined when he first made that promise. In his head, he could endure endless exercises through sheer determination. In practice, his body had begun protesting long before his determination ran out.
"All right, Nova, you dumbass," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "We're going to do something. Nothing impressive. Just enough to get moving."
He checked the kittens' water once more and made sure their box was settled safely away from anything they might knock over. Then he grabbed his jacket and headed out, trying not to think about how much he would regret it.
The walk to the gym felt far longer than it should have, each step reminding him of the morning's workout. By the time he reached the entrance, he was beginning to wonder if taking the stairs in his apartment building would have been enough exercise for the evening.
Inside, the familiar sounds of weights striking racks and people grunting through difficult repetitions greeted him. Several machines were occupied. The large man he'd noticed on his previous visit was there again, curling a barbell as though it weighed next to nothing.
The man recognized Nova and gave him a brief nod.
Nova nodded back, doing his best to look less exhausted than he felt. For some reason, the acknowledgment encouraged him. He was still weak by everyone else's standards, but at least he'd returned.
He decided to begin with the treadmill. A light jog, he reasoned, might loosen his legs and help him work through the stiffness. He wasn't planning to challenge himself the way he had earlier.
For the first few minutes, everything seemed manageable. He kept his pace slow and tried to ignore the ache in his thighs. His body warmed up, and he began to think that perhaps the session wouldn't be so terrible after all.
Then the soreness returned, stronger than before. His steps became heavy, his breathing grew uneven, and the treadmill's steady movement began to feel unreasonably demanding.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered between breaths.
He tried to continue, but it soon became obvious that his legs had nothing left to give. Before ten minutes had passed, he reduced the speed, caught his breath long enough to step off safely, and leaned against the side of the machine.
He stood there, gasping, while everyone else continued exercising.
Nova stared at the treadmill with an expression of personal betrayal.
He'd survived the collapse of civilizations, witnessed the deaths of stars, and held the authority to destroy entire galaxies. Yet a machine designed to help mortals run in one place had defeated him in less than ten minutes.
He couldn't decide whether to laugh or be offended.
I'm definitely going to regret this tomorrow, he thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead.