I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by a truck full of anvils. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The "Stamina Drain of Shame" from the gym had been replaced by the more familiar, but no less unpleasant, agony of DOMS. I needed fuel. I needed caffeine. I needed something to make me forget I had a body.
My luxurious dorm kitchenette had a coffee maker that looked like it could launch a satellite. After fumbling with it for ten minutes—it had more buttons than a starship console—I managed to produce a jet-black liquid that smelled like victory and bitterness. I took a sip. It was so strong it could wake the dead. Perfect.
Sipping my life-giving brew, I pulled up my class schedule on the holographic terminal. Classes started next week: "Introduction to Spatial Crack Theory," "Basic Combat Maneuvers," and, worryingly, "Monster Cuisine: Identifying Edible Organs." I had a week to get my act together.
"Right. Training. But smarter this time," I declared to my empty, fancy room. "No more almost dying in public."
Then I remembered: my special treatment included access to private training rooms! No one needed to see the String Theorist in action until I was ready to unveil my glorious, stringy majesty upon an unsuspecting world.
The private room was a blank, white cube with reinforced walls and a single, indestructible-looking dummy. Perfect.
The stamina problem was my biggest hurdle. I couldn't lift heavy things without passing out. So, what was the opposite of lifting heavy things? Precision. Speed. Efficiency.
I held up my hand, index finger and thumb extended like a kid pretending to shoot a gun. *"Pew, pew,"* I whispered.
But instead of a sound, I focused on the concept of a bullet. A compact, dense, incredibly fast projectile. I poured that intent into a tiny, needle-thin string no longer than my finger and launched it.
*Puff!*
A small hole, no wider than a pencil lead, appeared in the chest of the practice dummy. The string itself had vanished the moment it hit, the energy dispersed.
I waited for the wave of exhaustion.
It didn't come. I felt… nothing. A slight tinge, like the mental equivalent of blinking. It was less than 0.2% of my stamina, if I had to put a number on it. I could probably do that all day.
A massive, manic grin spread across my face. "Oh. Oh, hello. What do we have here?"
I started rapid-firing. *Puff-puff-puff-puff-puff!* A cluster of holes appeared on the dummy's torso, like it had been attacked by a very determined and invisible woodpecker. The rate of fire was insane, and the stamina cost was negligible. I could be a machine gun! My ammo was literally limitless!
Excited, I sat down and started a list on my holophone. I titled it: **"Ron's Ridiculous String Skills (Ver. 1.0)"**
**1. [Monofilament Slash]:** Create an ultra-thin, nearly invisible wire. Effective range: 100-150 meters (as far as I can see clearly). Max effective cutting power unknown. High Stamina Cost for sustained use. (*Note: Do NOT use for cutting cake. Or friends. Results will be messy.*)
**2. [Puppet Strings]:** Attach semi-sentient strings to objects (and theoretically, living things?) to control their movement. Control precision is high, but mass and complexity increase Stamina Cost exponentially. (*Note: Tested on chair. Do NOT test on people. SUPER-JAIL. Also, do not try to puppet a running blender. Lesson learned.*)
**3. [Sting Shot]:** Fire a concentrated, needle-like string projectile. Extremely low Stamina Cost, high rate of fire, low individual stopping power. Perfect for annoying opponents, poking holes in things, and probably winning every bar bet ever. Lethal if aimed at eyes/throat. (*Note: My new favorite thing. Pew pew!*)
I stared at the list. Three distinct techniques. I'd had these powers for less than two weeks. "God damn," I chuckled. "I am kinda genius. Or this power is desperately trying to make up for its lame name."
Buoyed by this success, I headed to the public gym. My physical body was still a wet noodle. I needed to work on that. I couldn't rely on my strings for everything.
It was brutal. Trying to lift actual weights was a humbling experience. My arms shook. My face turned purple. I managed to bench press the bar that the rock-skinned guy used to warm up his pinky finger.
"Come on, any cheat system?" I grunted, veins bulging on my forehead. "A pop-up menu? A stat分配 screen? Maybe a nice old man in my head named 'String Grandpa'? Nothing? Just me and my pathetic muscles? This is a terrible isekai deal. I was promised overpowered abilities, not a membership to a gym I'm too weak to use!"
I was reincarnated with the powers of… a moderately creative guy who skipped leg day. Fantastic.
Over the next few days, a brilliant, lazy idea took root. The [Puppet Strings] didn't just work on other things. What if I used them… on myself?
The next morning, instead of struggling to sit up, I imagined strings attached to my own limbs and torso. With a thought, I levitated myself right out of bed. I hovered there for a second, a few inches off the ground, before setting myself down gently. "Whoa. That's… incredibly useful and will undoubtedly make me even lazier."
It became a habit. I used tiny, invisible strings to pull my socks on. I puppeted my toothbrush to brush my teeth while I stared blankly into the mirror. I used them to pour cereal and milk, the spoon and carton moving through the air like a scene from a poltergeist-themed breakfast commercial. I even used them to turn the pages of my textbook while I lounged on my bed, using a separate string to hold a chip and guide it to my mouth.
I was becoming the laziest person alive, all in the name of "training my fine control and efficiency." It was a perfect excuse. Why walk when you could have your own personal marionette strings gently guide you? The stamina cost for these tiny, self-focused actions was practically zero.
The day before classes started, I was "walking" to the cafeteria—which involved me subtly using strings to lighten my steps and add a little spring, making it look like I had a very upbeat, bouncy stride—feeling pretty pleased with myself. I had a list of skills. I had a (lazy) mastery over my body. I had a plan.
I might have been a C-Rank [String Theorist] in a second-rate academy, but I was going to be the most efficient, surprising, and well-rested C-Ranker they had ever seen.
Now, I just had to hope my first day of class didn't involve any surprise demon attacks before I'd had my coffee. My strings were good, but they weren't *that* good before 10 AM.