"Hold still bro." John Markus set the fluffy chick with a tuft of red down onto the table, his finger tapping lightly against the wood.
The chick tilted its head, eyes gleaming with a fierce spark.
"Little Fire," he chuckled softly, "that'll be your name. Small flame, but one day you'll burn into a sea of fire."
The chick chirped like it agreed, stomping its tiny feet all over the place.
John's tone shifted, eyes sharpening. "Time to start the training plan."
He pulled a box of premium beef from the drawer. The fluorescent light reflected off the dark red meat. The grinder roared, a low grinding noise, until the beef turned into a smooth paste. John scooped a spoonful, mixed it into crushed feed, and a strange meaty smell quickly spread through the room.
Little Fire caught the scent and whipped its head around, eyes flashing with suspicion. It pecked once, then stopped, chirping in protest.
John leaned his chin on his hand, lips curling. "Don't like it? Too bad. If you want to get strong, you can't be picky."
First day, the chick ate reluctantly. By the third day, it started sniffing out the bits with meat. By the end of the week, it was diving at the bowl, fighting for every piece, ignoring the greens.
In the cramped dorm room, empty cans piled high, notes plastered across the wall. John scribbled down every stat: "Day 12: add 0.2 grams of meat. Day 15: eating speed up 30%."
Time passed, and the room looked more like a mad scientist's lab than a dorm.
One night, John sat at the desk, eyes following Little Fire's every move. Today's portion had way more meat. The chick tore into it, beak tapping rapid-fire.
Then, suddenly, its body trembled.
"It's here, huh?" John leaned in, eyes blazing.
A faint green light wrapped around the tiny body. Feathers quivered, its breathing grew heavy. The air thickened, like a thin current of spiritual energy slipping in.
Inside John's head, a sharp "Ting!" rang out.
A glowing panel popped up:
[Your chick has absorbed enough high-level energy. Hidden potential activated!]
[Ting! Little Fire has broken past its species limit, successfully evolving its stomach.]
[Ability to absorb protein from meat increased 500%. Food capacity increased 1000%.]
"We did it." John clenched his fist, whisper slipping out into the quiet backyard. Sweat slid down his temple, but his lips curled with excitement.
Right after that moment, the physical training plan officially began. He scavenged scrap iron from the nearby workshop, sawing and filing each piece into small blocks. The sound of metal against stone rang sharp, sparks flying across his face, his eyes growing firmer in the glow.
"Little Fire, come here." He beckoned. The tiny yellow chick waddled over, eyes still innocent. John wrapped the iron blocks with old cloth, then tied them to its legs, body, even the wings.
Little Fire twisted and stumbled. Its legs gave out, crashing face-first, wings flapping wildly in protest.
"Patience. You can do it." John crouched, pressing a steady hand against its back. The pounding heartbeat under the soft down made him pause. This little life felt just like a spark, fragile yet brimming with explosive power.
First day, Little Fire could barely walk. It wobbled, toppled, sometimes furiously pecking at the straps. John never untied them, only stood nearby with a thin smile. "Go on. The more you fall, the faster you'll stand back up."
Days passed, and the change showed. Its steps grew louder, stronger, even able to run laps around the yard with the iron weights dragging behind. Every time it flapped, though clumsy, the gust swept up dry leaves on the ground. John recalculated the weight, adding a little more each week.
Time slipped by. Under the setting sun, Little Fire's figure transformed. From a fluffy chick, it became strangely solid. When John stroked its back, the smooth feathers couldn't hide the tight muscles beneath, firm as stone.
Its eyes changed too. Once round and naive, now sharp, carrying a light that made John freeze. Whenever it looked at him, deep in its pupils a faint flame seemed to flicker, like a torch smoldering inside.
"You've really changed." He muttered, strapping on another ring of iron. Little Fire clucked once, then dashed off to test it, muscles flexing, movements sharp enough to make John squint.
One afternoon, John decided to try real combat. He led Little Fire to the corner coop, where several grown roosters strutted and flapped, infamous for their aggression. Any intruder got swarmed with pecks.
"Alright, let's see what you can do." He unlatched the wooden gate, motioning inside.
Little Fire stepped in, iron weights still dangling from its body. The roosters ruffled their feathers, then charged like little cannonballs.
In that instant, the golden blur shot forward. Little Fire didn't retreat. Its legs kicked off, wings tucked tight, body slamming straight through.
A loud smack echoed in the yard, one rooster rolling head over tail.
"Not bad." John gave a slight nod, eyes flashing.
The brawl didn't last long. The little chick spun, pecking and kicking, its movements quick and sharp, nothing like its tiny body suggested. Feathers flew everywhere. The roosters, twice its size, went down one after another, squawking as they scrambled to escape.
When the dust settled, Little Fire still stood in the middle of the yard, breathing steady, eyes glowing red under the sunset. The heavy iron weights didn't slow it down, if anything they made its stance firmer.
John stared in silence, the corner of his mouth slowly curving. In his gaze wasn't just satisfaction, but a rare flicker of memory.
"You… really look like a warrior." His voice shook faintly, like he was whispering to the past. Little Fire's figure in the wind blurred with a hazy memory. He remembered a creature from his previous life, one that appeared on a game screen—a small fire bird named Torchic, also called Achamo.
John froze in the yard, his hand still resting on Little Fire's back. The image of victory over the roosters hadn't even faded before another shape surfaced in his mind.
"Achamo…" he murmured, his brow creasing. A memory from another life. That little fire bird in the game, with its next form called Wakashamo.
"You could become something like that," John muttered, taking a step back to watch the yellow chick slowly preen its feathers. Little Fire tilted its head, eyes glowing faint red, as if answering him.
In his mind, Wakashamo was tall, wrapped in flames, a close-combat fighter. Its legs unleashed furious kicks, both fire and martial skill, crushing any enemy in reach. The thought stirred him.
"Close combat, devastating power…" he whispered, eyes flashing like he could already see Little Fire landing a flaming kick that burned down an arena.
But the rush faded fast, replaced by cold analysis. John picked up a stalk of straw, rolling it between his fingers, the way he always did when thinking.
"If we follow that path, you'll gain short-term strength," he said slowly, like lecturing himself, "but… your future potential will hit a ceiling."
Little Fire tilted its head, wings trembling faintly, like waiting for judgment. John stared straight into it, his calm gaze making the small creature freeze too.
"Wakashamo lacks mobility. Too heavy. Against enemies that can fly, it loses its edge, maybe even becomes prey. That's not your future."
The wind swept across the yard, dust curling at their feet. Little Fire let out a sharp cry, then leapt, landing neatly on the wooden beam. The swift move made John raise his brows.
"You think so too?" he chuckled, folding his arms. "Right. That evolution path from my memory is just reference. I can't take it as a mold."
Little Fire stretched its neck, flapped once, and a wave of heat blew against John's face. He squinted, snapping the straw to pieces in his hand.
"No." His voice was firm. "You'll walk a unique path. One that breaks every frame, stronger than anything else."
The little creature's eyes burned, reflecting his master's resolve. It answered with a crisp cry, like a vow.
In that moment, John tilted his head back toward the sky. The clouds of dusk burned red, spreading like an endless sea of fire. He clenched his fist, tendons standing out, heartbeat pounding in rhythm.
Little Fire still stood on the beam, small body casting a long shadow across the ground. In the twilight glow, it looked like a spark about to burst into a storm of fire that could scorch the heavens.
"You'll walk your own path," he said without thinking.