The mornings were becoming a ritual of pain and discipline.
The cold dawn wrapped around Daniel's small frame as he ran along the cracked pavement of the neighborhood park. His legs, still round and untrained, burned with each step, his lungs felt like they would tear apart, sweat blurring his vision. Yet he ran. One lap after another, push-ups, sit-ups, squats—every motion a step toward rebuilding a body that had once been weak, clumsy, and mocked.
Even the smallest improvement brought satisfaction. His breaths became steadier, his steps slightly lighter. Fat was slowly giving way to muscle, and though the transformation was subtle, he could feel the promise of strength beneath his skin.
Patience, Jinwoo reminded himself, feeling the sting of soreness in every joint. A weapon is forged layer by layer. Every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, is an investment. And I… am building the ultimate weapon.
---
School was another battlefield.
From the moment Daniel stepped into the classroom, he felt it—the weight of judgment and cruelty.
"Hey, piggy Daniel!"
"Careful! Don't get near the desks, you'll scare everyone with that smell!"
"Bet your mom's digging through trash right now, huh? Hahaha!"
The words slashed like knives, but Jinwoo remained unmoved. He did not flinch, did not argue, did not even glance at them. His eyes instead cataloged every detail: the arrogance in their posture, the smugness in their laughter, the way their eyes darted to teachers, expecting no consequences.
He observed the adults, too: teachers, committee members, staff. All indifferent. Some glanced quickly, others pretended nothing was happening. To them, the power and wealth of these bullies mattered more than justice.
He cataloged the other students—the timid ones who endured silently, the secretly relieved ones who weren't the target, and the occasional smirks of those who secretly envied him. Every detail, every reaction, was data to be analyzed.
Jinwoo's lips curved into the faintest smirk. So that's how it works here. Power shields the arrogant. Weakness ensures silence. Justice is only a performance for those with influence. Fine. I'll play your game… on my terms.
I will endure. I will wait. And when the time comes, I will strike—not blindly, but with precision, like a hunter stalking its prey. Every insult, every slight, every ounce of mockery will be repaid tenfold. The world will remember my name.
---
Evening brought the neon glow of the Internet café, a familiar sanctuary.
The air smelled of fried snacks and cheap coffee. Screens glowed with online games, forums buzzed with chatter, laughter, and curses. Teens shouted over StarCraft II, their hands dancing across keyboards with precision. To them, this was fun. To Jinwoo, it was opportunity.
He logged onto his corner computer and opened the draft of Solo Leveling.
The story poured from him, faster now than before. Sung Jinwoo's journey mirrored his own in more than just fiction: a weak individual climbing, fighting, and surviving in a world stacked against him. Every word carried his own rage, his own cold ambition, his own calculated plan for power.
When the first draft was complete, he uploaded it to a small web novel forum. A simple post in a sea of thousands of others.
The responses came quickly:
> User1: "Weak guy becomes strong? Typical. Dropped."
User2: "Interesting pacing, but has potential. Keep writing."
User3: "This is FIRE. Can't wait for the next update!"
User4: "Copycat story. Boring. Next."
Jinwoo read them all with the cold, unflinching gaze of a CEO evaluating a product launch. The praise was data, the criticism was market feedback. The mockery amused him. Attention is attention. Exposure is growth. Even haters serve a purpose.
The product is sound. Distribution is minimal, but the seed is planted. And seeds, when nurtured correctly, grow into forests.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers twitching with anticipation for the next chapter. I will refine, improve, and dominate. The readers are my consumers. Their loyalty is my currency. And I will take it all.
---
Back home, the apartment was small, worn, and cramped, but alive with warmth.
"Daniel, can you hold this for me?" his mother asked gently, struggling to fix a loose rice cooker plug.
He knelt beside her, steadying the wire as she worked. Sparks popped, and both jumped, then laughed together at the clumsy mishap. The sound filled the tiny apartment, blending with the faint hum of the city outside.
Sitting down for their humble dinner, Jinwoo studied her face: lined from labor, hands cracked from work, yet a soft smile rested on her lips. Her love was unwavering, even in poverty, even when the world was cruel.
This is worth everything, he thought. For her, I will endure every insult. For her, I will climb higher than any human has climbed. For her, no one will dare mock or harm us again.
That night, lying in bed, Jinwoo's body ached from training, but his mind raced. The bullies, the teachers, the indifferent students—all etched in his memory. The story he had uploaded online—the first sparks of attention—all carefully cataloged.
The world thought he was prey. The world thought he was weak.
They are wrong. Every hunter waits. And the hunter will strike.
---
🔥 End of Chapter 10 – The Hunter's Patience and First Strike