The smell of fried plantains and rice clung faintly to Jason's clothes as he walked back into the house. The evening air outside had been damp and heavy, but inside his small home, there was warmth. Sophie was sitting at the dining table, legs dangling off the chair as she sketched something in her little notebook, completely absorbed. The soft scratch of her pencil was the first sound he heard before she looked up, eyes brightening the moment she saw him.
"Jay!" she called happily, though her tone carried a trace of relief.
Jason smiled. No matter how tired he was, her voice always seemed to pull him back to himself. "What's this? You didn't wait for me to start dinner?" he teased, setting his bag down by the doorway.
"I was hungry!" Sophie grinned, stretching her arms dramatically. "But don't worry—I left a mountain for you."
Jason chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. He moved toward the kitchen, and sure enough, the aroma of spiced rice filled the air. Sophie had tried again. He could see the effort she put into the food, and while she wasn't the best cook yet, every meal tasted better because of her heart. He warmed his portion, plated it, and carried it back to the table.
They ate together, quietly at first. Sophie chewed lazily, leaning her head on her palm. Jason's gaze softened as he watched her. She was trying to stay awake just to share dinner with him.
"How was work?" she asked between bites.
Jason sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Busy. Everyone kept asking me why I skipped yesterday. They think I've turned into some lazy old man."
Sophie giggled, covering her mouth. "But you're already old, Jay. You're practically ancient."
He gave her a look, feigning offense. "Ancient? At my age? I'll have you know I'm still very young, missy."
"You don't drink, you don't smoke, you don't party… yep, you're ancient."
Jason laughed, shaking his head. "I'd rather be ancient than wreck my body. Trust me, those things don't help."
The conversation meandered into little jokes, stories from his workshop, and Sophie's drawings. She showed him another sketch—this one of a cat with oversized wings. Jason chuckled, nodding seriously as though it were a masterpiece worthy of framing.
But soon, Sophie's eyelids began to droop. She pushed her plate aside, rubbing her eyes.
"Go on," Jason said softly. "You're falling asleep right there. I'll clear this up."
She hesitated, then stood, stretching with a yawn. Before disappearing into her room, she turned and gave him a small smile. "Thanks for dinner, Jay."
The words, simple as they were, warmed him in a way no system reward could.
Jason sat alone after she left, the house suddenly too quiet. He leaned back in his chair, letting the silence settle. His thoughts wandered. For a brief moment, he imagined a life where Sophie could simply be a normal girl, going to school every morning, complaining about homework, laughing with friends. That was why he was pushing himself. Every bruise, every aching muscle, every fight—it was all for her.
The sudden buzz of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. The screen lit up: Mariana.
Jason froze, staring at the name. He hadn't spoken to her properly in days. Something inside him stirred—a mix of guilt, curiosity, and reluctance. He remembered her laugh, the way she always seemed to carry herself with that strange mix of confidence and mystery. But tonight? Tonight he didn't have the strength.
His thumb hovered, then pressed decline.
The phone went dark. Jason exhaled, burying his face in his hands. "Not tonight…" he whispered.
And then the system's voice rang out in his head, cool and commanding as always:
[Host, prepare yourself. Day Three training begins now.]
Jason groaned aloud. "Now? Seriously?" He looked at the clock. It was past eleven. His body screamed for rest. But the system was relentless, merciless in its schedule.
[Your progress must not falter. Every day matters.]
He rubbed his face, muttering curses under his breath. "Fine. Fine!" He pushed his chair back, stood, and stretched his arms. His muscles still carried soreness from the last session. This was madness—but it was necessary.
He slipped outside into the compound. The night air was cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of dust and grass. A lone streetlamp flickered nearby, casting broken light across the ground.
Jason took his stance. The system's training outline unfolded in his mind. Push-ups, squats, shadowboxing, endurance runs. All without rest, all with brutal precision.
The first set went smoothly. His body had grown stronger, but soon the burn returned, spreading through his arms and legs like fire. Sweat poured down his face, dripping onto the concrete. His breaths came faster, rougher. But he pushed on, counting every rep.
"Come on," he muttered between clenched teeth. "For Sophie. Just… keep going."
The system occasionally gave cold remarks:
[Form sloppy. Correct it.]
[Increase pace.]
[Host is underperforming.]
Jason cursed aloud. "Underperforming? Try doing this yourself!"
But he didn't stop.
Minutes turned into hours. By the time he was shadowboxing, his arms felt like lead. He swung anyway, fists slicing through the night air. His knuckles burned with every strike. The memory of the Crimson Den fight came back to him—the sweat, the blood, the roar of the crowd. That was only the beginning.
He couldn't fail.
His body finally gave out near dawn. He collapsed onto the cool ground, chest heaving, limbs trembling. Every muscle screamed for mercy. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the pale sky as it began to lighten.
His thoughts blurred. He imagined Sophie's smile, her laughter, her little drawings. That was enough to keep him from giving in.
With what little strength he had left, he staggered inside, dragging his heavy body to bed. He barely managed to pull the sheet over himself before sleep swallowed him whole.
As the night fades very quickly.