Morning light filtered weakly through the small apartment window, dust motes dancing in the quiet air. Daniel—or rather Jinwoo in Daniel's body—stretched, feeling the familiar aches of training. His legs were a little firmer, his arms a little stronger. Every day, the mirror reflected the slow yet unmistakable change. He could see it in the way his chest rose and fell with less effort during running, in the way his arms flexed involuntarily as he carried laundry or groceries.
Progress is slow. But it is still progress, he reminded himself. Endurance, strength, reflexes. Every day builds the foundation.
After a series of laps around the small neighborhood park and a short session of shadow sparring, he returned home. His mother was already busy at her workbench, sorting recyclables and mending clothes. The apartment smelled faintly of detergent and old fabric, a comforting scent that had come to mean safety for him.
"Daniel, can you carry these boxes upstairs?" she asked.
He lifted them easily, his body already beginning to respond to months of gradual training. He set the boxes neatly, stacking them with precision. Efficiency and strength—both are necessary. One without the other is useless.
---
Later, Jinwoo returned to the Internet café. The glow of the monitors and the hum of online chatter greeted him like an old companion. He opened his forum account to check the latest responses to his uploaded chapters of Solo Leveling.
The first comments brought a small, satisfied smile:
> User1: "Wow… this chapter is amazing! I can't wait to see what happens next!"
User2: "The pacing is better than before. I feel invested now."
User3: "Finally! A story that doesn't just copy clichés. Well done."
But as always, the detractors appeared:
> User4: "Still a weak guy becomes strong? Boring. Don't waste my time."
User5: "Some of the dialogue feels unnatural. Not impressed."
Jinwoo leaned back, expression unreadable. He cataloged each response silently, analyzing which readers were potential long-term followers, which were fleeting attention-seekers, and which comments were actually useful for refining the story.
Criticism is not failure. Criticism is data. Praise is traction. Every reaction is currency. And I will profit from all of it.
The thread was slowly growing. Each chapter garnered more attention, more praise, and—most importantly—more eyes on the story.
---
Evening came, bringing the small comforts of home.
His mother, exhausted from a long day of work, looked at him and smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling softly. "Daniel, can you help me with these repairs? I've got a lot to finish tonight."
He knelt beside her, guiding her hands on the stubborn thread and nail. They worked together quietly, the soft scrape of tools and quiet murmurs filling the apartment. He laughed quietly when a nail bent under her grip, and she nudged him playfully in return. Moments like this reminded him why he endured the pain, why he endured the cruelty of the world.
For her, he thought. Everything. I'll become stronger. Richer. Unchallengeable.
---
Training continued late into the night. Jinwoo practiced kicks, punches, and defensive maneuvers, gradually increasing speed and precision. He incorporated observations from his "Eye of War" into every movement, noting weak points in his motions, angles of attack, and timing. Shadow sparring was relentless; every swing and block was methodically calculated, the feedback immediate and unforgiving.
Even as he trained, his mind never left the larger plan. The bullies at school, their wealthy connections, and the systemic indifference of adults were all part of a web he intended to unravel in due time. Patience, endurance, and calculated action—this was his method.
By the time he lay down in bed that night, his muscles ached pleasantly, and his mind was alight with ideas for the next chapter of his story, the next stage of his training, and the next small step toward gathering capital.
The world thought Daniel Park was weak. It thought he was prey.
But patience was a weapon, and the hunter was only just beginning to sharpen his claws.
---