One thousand days.
Two years, nine months, and five days.
After finishing his daily routine, Hawk stood under the shower in the school gym, water running over his body. He once again summoned the cheat panel only visible to him. Looking at the progress bar—just one day away from fully activating Microcosm Cultivation—he still felt like he was dreaming.
After all…
Throwing 10,000 punches a day, every single day, for a thousand consecutive days—
Easy to say, hard as hell to do.
Sometimes even Hawk didn't know how he had managed to persist.
Maybe it was because of his naturally stubborn personality?
Or maybe, just maybe—it had something to do with the fact that he was living in the Marvel Universe.
He wasn't sure.
But one thing was certain:
"One day."
"Just one more day."
After today, tomorrow he could finally activate his cheat.
Microcosm Cultivation...
"I wonder if it's what I think it is."
That thought lingered in Hawk's mind.
In his past life, there was only one thing that came to mind when he heard the phrase "Microcosm Cultivation"—
If it truly was what he imagined…
Then his future was bright!
According to the Greek philosopher Democritus, all matter is made up of atoms—and that includes the human body.
In other words, the body contains a microcosm.
To cultivate the microcosm means to awaken the life energy buried deep within, activating the cosmos within one's body. Through constant training, one elevates their inner universe, eventually reaching a state where they can transcend physical laws.
Hawk remembered an anime from his previous life that was all about this very idea.
It was called—
Saint Seiya.
Where Bronze Saints mastered the five senses and touched upon the sixth…
Where Silver Saints awakened the sixth sense and glimpsed the seventh…
And where Gold Saints completely grasped the seventh sense.
Above that, there were even the eighth and ninth senses…
Fragments of the anime played through Hawk's mind like a slideshow.
Then—
He snapped out of it and chuckled to himself.
He didn't even know if this cheat system was the same "Microcosm" he remembered from Saint Seiya. What was the point of overthinking it?
Besides—
He had no delusions of punching out Odin or kicking Zeus into the sun.
Most importantly—
He had been in this world for 17 years now. Even before the cheat system appeared at age 15, he had already mentally prepared himself to face this brutal world without any powers.
So…
"Mindset is everything."
"The bigger the expectation, the bigger the disappointment if it turns out otherwise."
Hawk dismissed the stray thoughts from his mind. He wrung out his freshly washed T-shirt, folded it along with his clean pants into a plastic bag, and wrapped a towel around his waist. As he dried his hair with another towel, he pushed open the door to the shower stall.
Bang!
The door to the gym showers burst open.
A skinny-looking figure was shoved inside from the hallway.
The kid stumbled, then landed hard on his butt on the tiled floor.
"Wait a second..."
"Peter?"
Hawk raised an eyebrow as he looked at the kid who had just been shoved into the showers.
It was none other than the original Spider-geek himself—Peter Parker.
Peter spotted Hawk stepping out of the stall and looked visibly awkward.
Just as he opened his mouth to say hi—despite the fact they were in the same grade, they had hardly spoken—laughter echoed from outside the door.
Seconds later, a tall, broad-shouldered teen walked in, carrying a football. Behind him were three cronies. It was Flash Thompson, nicknamed "Flash", better known as Midtown High's resident bully and the captain of the football team.
But the moment they walked in—
The laughter stopped cold.
Hawk, still drying his damp hair with one hand and holding the plastic bag of clean clothes in the other, was now face-to-face with Flash Thompson.
Flash was big.
But so was Hawk.
After 999 straight days of 10,000 punches, Hawk had developed a lean, powerful physique.
And unlike the artificially bulked-up bodies seen in commercial gyms, his build was all natural, forged through relentless repetition and real effort.
His arms were defined with functional muscle—not swollen or grotesque, but tight, coiled strength.
The towel around his waist hugged his narrow hips, with a shallow groove marking the upper edge of his pelvis. His abs were sharply cut, eight distinct bricks aligned like sculpted armor.
Their eyes met.
For a second, the air froze.
Everyone knew—
In American high schools, there was a very real social pecking order—a bullying hierarchy.
And based on the rules of that game, Hawk—an orphan with no parents or family—should've been prime prey.
But oddly enough—
He wasn't.
Not because he had stood up to bullies or fought back.
The truth was simpler:
No one dared to mess with him.
Whether it was his looks, his build, or just the intense aura he gave off—Hawk didn't exactly scream easy target.
And for the past three years, since no bullies had ever picked on him, he never felt the need to play hero either.
No one's a savior.
And today was no different.
Hawk averted his gaze, walked over to the bench, and pulled out clean clothes from his backpack. After getting dressed, he slipped the plastic bag inside and slung the bag over one shoulder.
Then he walked straight toward Flash Thompson, who was still standing in the doorway.
Flash frowned as Hawk approached.
He knew who Hawk was.
After all, it was hard not to notice someone who spent two-plus years punching a sandbag 10,000 times a day in the corner of the gym.
But "know" was about as far as it went.
Hawk never went to parties, never showed up at social events—it was like he lived in his own parallel universe.
Now, Flash watched as Hawk came to a stop in front of him.
"Hawk..."
"Excuse me."
"..."
Flash instinctively stepped aside.
His three cronies looked like they wanted to say something, but the moment they met Hawk's calm, ocean-blue eyes—eyes that seemed to care about absolutely nothing—they also silently shuffled aside.
"Thanks."
Hawk nodded politely, tone neutral, and walked out of the showers.
Flash watched his retreating back, brows furrowed—clearly thinking about something.
Just then—
One of his cronies gasped.
"Holy sh*t!"
"Boss! Peter ran!"
"What?"
Flash snapped out of it and turned to see Peter Parker slipping away down the hall, clearly having taken advantage of the distraction.
Enraged, Flash roared:
"After him!"
"NERD PARKER! Get back here!"
"..."
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