Before heading back to his apartment, Brian made his usual stop at the gym. A ritual he never skipped.
The room smelled of rubber, magnesium, and the faint clang of iron plates. Neon lights glared down, reflecting against long mirrors on the wall.
Brian stood in front of one, tall at 178 cm, his black hair combed neatly back, his sharp dark eyes staring right through his reflection. His body was lean but well-trained, every muscle taut like a bowstring.
He began shadow boxing.
Wush—wush.
His right hand shot forward. Then his left. Shoulder and hip rotated in sync.
In his mind, he wasn't fighting thin air. He pictured an invisible foe—bigger, faster, stronger.
"Shadow, if you had an HP bar, it would be maxed out with cheat codes," he muttered, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "But hey, I've got debug mode."
Jab—cross—hook. His rhythm grew sharper. Feet tapped the mat with measured precision, even though each step felt like lead.
Wush—tak—tak!
The air trembled with every strike.
For most, it was just training. For Brian, it was more than that.
Every punch was his way of erasing doubt.
Every dodge was proof he could survive anything that tried to break him.
Sweat rolled down his face, dripping onto the black mat. His breathing grew heavier, but his gaze never wavered.
"Not just muscles," he whispered. "This is my mental firewall."
He kept going, pushing his limits. It wasn't just routine—it was his private ritual. Within that circle of strikes and footwork, he stripped away weakness and reforged himself into steel.
The sound of fists against the heavy bag still echoed when the gym door creaked.
A tall figure with broad shoulders entered—Caleb. His sharp eyes made other members shrink away, suddenly busy tying shoelaces.
Caleb walked straight toward him, expression as hard as stone.
"Still playing with shadows, Brian?" his deep voice rumbled.
Brian turned, lips curling into a grin. "Shadows don't complain when they lose. You're a different story."
Caleb raised a brow. "Spar?"
"Loser buys roasted chicken. With rice. I'm not an elf."
For a split second, Caleb's lips twitched upward. "Deal."
Sparring Ring
An imaginary bell rang.
Caleb advanced with a quick jab. Brian brushed it aside, muttering,
"Seriously, bro? That jab's straight out of a level 1 tutorial."
Caleb didn't answer, swinging a left hook instead. Brian ducked low, answering with a light uppercut. Not full force—just a reminder.
"Nice try," Caleb said flatly.
They circled faster. Caleb went for a clinch; Brian slipped out with a smooth turn. Caleb shot for a double-leg takedown. Brian sprawled perfectly, pinned him for a moment, then… patted his back.
"Pat-pat. Relax, young one," Brian quipped, pretending to sound wise.
The people watching around the ring chuckled.
Caleb exhaled sharply. "You're really…"
"Unstoppable? Yeah, I know," Brian cut in.
The spar lasted five more minutes before the coach waved it off. Caleb was all grit and focus. Brian, on the other hand, looked like he was doing stand-up comedy inside the ring.
Convenience Store
Later that night, the two sweaty men pushed into the 24-hour convenience store under Brian's apartment.
Behind the counter, Jaden—as always—was glued to his phone, hoodie slouched, headset half-on.
"Headshot! Yes!" Jaden shouted, oblivious to the customers entering.
Brian cleared his throat dramatically, lowering his voice like a politician.
"Ehem. My dear citizen, customer service is the highest priority of this nation."
Caleb burst into laughter. "God, Brian. You sound like parliament giving a speech."
Jaden spun around, startled. "Bang—! Damn, I almost got a chicken dinner. Wait… are you working the register now?"
Brian was already behind the counter, hands moving across the machine. "Good evening, Mister Caleb. Would you like a printed receipt or just a digital invoice?"
Caleb held up an isotonic drink. "Receipt. But not QR code. I'm traumatized by bank notifications."
Jaden smacked his forehead. "This place is turning into a comedy club. Brian, quit the politician act, you're giving me goosebumps."
Brian handed back the change with a flourish, tone solemn. "Thank you for shopping with us. May you prosper, stay healthy, and… may your leveling go smoothly."
Caleb laughed so hard his bottle almost slipped. "Brightveil, you're more dangerous behind the counter than in the ring."
Jaden covered his face with his hoodie, giggling helplessly.
And so the strange trio—a philosopher-programmer, a stone-faced fighter, and a gamer clerk—sat outside with instant bread and roasted chicken, teasing each other like old friends.
Everyone else thought they were eccentric. But within this little circle, they knew—this bond was what made life a little easier in a hard world.
The Next Day – Preparations
Morning came. Brian spent the day finishing resignation paperwork, double-checking his passport, and shopping for gear.
At the outdoor store, he examined lightweight tents, sleeping bags, and sturdy boots. Holding up a small multipurpose hatchet, he murmured,
"If life is a quest, at least I've got my starter equipment."
Everything was checked off neatly on his notepad.
Dinner at His Sister's House
That evening, Brian arrived at his sister's home. The place was warm, filled with the smell of chicken soup.
"Master Sect Leader!"
A little boy ran up, hands clasped in front of his chest, bowing dramatically. It was Easter, Brian's eight-year-old nephew, lively and full of imagination.
Brian stroked an invisible beard. "My talented disciple. Have you mastered the basic arithmetic cultivation technique?"
Easter furrowed his brows, flipping open his math book. "Master, if this is a fraction, can it dual cultivate into a whole number?"
Brian almost laughed but kept a wise face. "Remember, disciple. Whole numbers are the core. Fractions are merely branches. Combine them with the same denominator, and harmony will be achieved."
Easter's eyes lit up. "Ooooh! So this is the 'single denominator technique'! Amazing, Master!"
Everyone at the table chuckled.
They gathered around the dining table:
Susan, his graceful mother, smiling gently.
Clara, his caring older sister.
Evan, Clara's husband, always ready with a joke.
And Easter, still chanting "Master Sect" every time he looked at Brian.
Susan set her spoon down, gaze soft. "Son, where exactly are you planning to go? You suddenly resigned… I want to hear it from you."
Brian smiled, bowing his head slightly. "Mother… ever since I was a child, I've been curious about the ancient stories you told me—Egypt, pyramids, the old gods. One day, I'll have to see them for myself. But first… I want to climb Everest."
He glanced at Evan mischievously. "Bro, I'll be the first. Take care of Clara and Easter for me. Don't try to steal my sect master title."
Evan pulled a face. "Hah, if I make it to Everest before you, I'll be Patriarch of the Sky-Blue Sect."
Easter jumped up, pointing at him. "No! There is only one Patriarch—Master Brian!"
The room erupted in laughter. Susan only shook her head with a smile, her eyes bright with pride and worry.
The dinner continued with warm chatter—stories about work, Evan's lame jokes, Easter's endless "sect" roleplay. Yet silence settled when Clara looked at her brother seriously.
"Brian," she said softly. "If you're really leaving tomorrow, don't forget to stop by Dad's grave first. He'd want you to. You know how much he believed you'd walk far."
Brian lowered his gaze. A tremor stirred in his chest. Then he nodded with a small smile. "I know. I won't forget."
Susan added gently, "Your father always said—wherever his children walked, however far—it would always be part of his prayers."
The table went quiet. The clinking of spoons was the only sound.
Farewell Night
By the time the clock neared ten, Brian stood to leave. He kissed his mother's hand, clapped Evan's shoulder, and ruffled Easter's hair.
"Master! Don't ruin my cultivation hairstyle!" Easter protested dramatically.
Laughter broke out one last time.
Stepping outside, the mood shifted. The night air was sharp, the street quiet, lamps casting dim halos on the pavement.
Brian looked up. Stars peeked faintly between thin clouds. He drew a long breath.
"Dad…" he whispered. "Tomorrow I'll set out. I don't know what waits for me, but I'll live it without regret. Just like you taught me."
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence embrace him.
Then, with steady steps, he walked on.