Marvel Universe.
June 15, 2012.
Friday.
New York City, Midtown High.
Seventeen-year-old Hawk was sweating profusely inside the old gymnasium.
"Bang!"
"Bang, bang, bang!"
One heavy thud after another rang out as Hawk pounded away at the suspended black sandbag. Each strike made the chains above screech as the bag swayed violently.
His hair was already drenched with sweat.
Sweat streamed down his high cheekbones, traced along his tight jawline, and finally dripped into the already soaked collar of his worn-out T-shirt.
But Hawk's eyes never left the sandbag.
His focus was absolute.
Right now, the sandbag before him was his entire world.
"Nine thousand nine hundred fifty-one!"
"Nine thousand nine hundred fifty-two!"
…
Hawk adjusted his footwork, muttering counts in his heart, weaving around the swinging bag with swift sidesteps. Left hook, right swing—every punch landed with bone-shaking force. The bag shuddered under the storm of his fists, its leather surface splitting and wearing thin with every blow.
Punch.
Withdraw.
Punch again.
Faster and faster.
Until…
"Ten thousand!"
"Bang!"
At that moment, the fire deep in Hawk's eyes flared. His fist shot out like lightning, as quick as a viper's strike, smashing straight into the falling bag. The sandbag caved inward with a painful groan, and the chain above snapped apart.
Freed from its restraints, the bag flew back, wailing through the air before crashing onto the floor with a thunderous boom.
"Boom!"
"Whew!"
Having completed his daily ten-thousand punches, Hawk exhaled the stale air he had held in. His chest rose and fell as he steadied his breath.
Sweat poured down his face, gathered at his chin, and dripped onto the cheap sweatpants clinging to his legs.
Cheap… but only in other people's eyes.
For Hawk, those twelve-dollar pants were not cheap at all.
After all…
He was an orphan in this life. A transmigrated orphan in the Marvel Universe.
If not for his excellent grades earning him a scholarship at Midtown High, the tens of thousands of dollars in tuition per semester would have been impossible for him to pay.
Even with the scholarship, Hawk still lived frugally.
Not because he enjoyed being frugal, but because his scholarship wasn't the best one.
At least not like Gwen Stacy's.
Gwen Stacy had earned the top scholarship—free tuition, plus extra money every semester, not to mention prize money from countless academic competitions.
Hawk's scholarship only covered tuition.
His grades were excellent, but not outstanding.
Still, Hawk was satisfied.
His tuition was free, and as a federally registered orphan—aged sixteen to eighteen in the "Independent Transition Period" with no foster family—he received $800 in federal aid each month.
On top of that, because Midtown High was an elite school in New York State, he also received $500 in monthly state subsidies.
That added up to $1,300 a month.
For an adult in New York, it might not be enough.
But for Hawk, a student with free tuition and orphan subsidies, it was more than enough.
Sometimes even plentiful.
He ate at school, slept in a federal welfare apartment.
Out of $1,300, he only needed $500 for basic living costs. That left him saving $800 every month.
What?
$500 isn't enough?
For an adult, maybe not. But for Hawk, it was more than enough.
Every afternoon, he finished his "daily ten-thousand punches" in the gym, then showered and washed his clothes there. Afterward, he took the last free school bus home, went straight to sleep, and caught the earliest bus back the next morning.
No utility bills. No phone bills. No internet bills.
He was an orphan.
Who would he even call? Who would call him?
As for the internet?
Ha. He didn't even own a computer. If he needed it, the school library had free computers, even free printing.
So…
Though he had started life in this world as an orphan, Hawk felt his life wasn't bad.
He could save $800 every month, sometimes splurge on a cheap fried chicken bucket for extra protein.
By now, he had saved over $30,000.
Sweet.
Of course…
If only the fried chicken shop had fewer Black folks, it would be even better.
…
After a while, Hawk stood still, eyes half-closed. When he opened them again, he gazed absentmindedly at the sandbag on the ground.
He wasn't looking at the bag.
He was looking at the glowing prompt floating before his eyes.
Or rather, his cheat.
[Microcosmos Cultivation!]
[Current Status: "Inactive"]
[Activation Condition: "Ten thousand punches daily, for one thousand consecutive days"]
[Progress: "999/1000"]
"Almost!"
"Almost there."
"Tomorrow, it will activate."
Staring at the progress bar only he could see, Hawk's heart burned with excitement. He wished tomorrow would come instantly.
This cheat had appeared when he was fifteen.
Specifically, September 10, 2009.
He remembered clearly—because that was the very day Hulk fought Abomination in New York City.
So he never slacked.
The cheat appeared, so he trained!
After all…
This was the Marvel Universe—"where superheroes crowd the streets, extraordinary beings are common, and cosmic gods roam freely."
Without a cheat, fine, he would have laid low.
But with a cheat?
Why waste it?
So, ever since the day it appeared, Hawk had kept his daily habit: ten thousand punches.
Never missing a day.
Rain or shine.
Without fail.
One sentence summed it up:
Meals could be skipped.
Punches could not.
Today…
After nine hundred ninety-nine days of training, his dawn of victory was finally about to arrive!
…
(End of Chapter)
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