Marvel Universe.
June 15, 2012.
Friday.
New York City, Midtown High School.
Seventeen-year-old Hawke was sweating profusely in the old gymnasium.
"Bang!"
"Bang, bang, bang!"
The resounding sound echoed repeatedly as Hawke repeatedly struck the suspended black sandbag.
The chains suspending it rasped as the bag rose.
Hawke's hair was already drenched in sweat.
Sweat trickled down his high cheekbones, flowing over his taut jawline, finally dripping onto the collar of his old T-shirt, which was also soaked with sweat.
But Hawke's eyes never left the sandbag. He was completely focused.
At that moment, the sandbag before him was his entire world.
"Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty-one!"
"Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty-two!"
"..."
Hawke paced, silently chanting as he nimbly sidestepped the sandbag's swinging blows. Without a pause, he unleashed left hooks, right hooks... punch after punch, the sandbag wobbling violently under his stormy attack, the leather surface becoming increasingly worn and torn from the repeated impacts.
Punch.
Retract.
Punch again.
With each punch, Hawke's movements seemed to gradually increase in speed.
Faster and faster,
until...
"Ten thousand!"
"Bang!"
The fire in Hawke's eyes suddenly flared. His recently retracted fist shot out like lightning, striking the sandbag with pinpoint accuracy like a venomous snake spitting its tongue.
The bag suddenly caved in with a painful thud, and the chain connecting it finally gave way and broke.
Freed from its chains, the sandbag flew backward, wailing in the air before slamming heavily onto the floor with a resounding thud.
"Bang!"
"Whoosh!"
As his ten thousand punches were complete, Hawke, looking at the shattered sandbag, finally released a breath he'd been holding in.
His chest rose and fell slightly as he steadied his breathing.
Sweat streamed down his face, pooling at the tip of his chin before dripping down the legs of his cheap sweatpants.
Of course,
cheap is relative.
To anyone else, these twelve-dollar pants might be cheap, even incredibly cheap.
But not to Hawke.
After all he was an orphan in this life, an orphan who had traveled through time and space to the Marvel Universe.
If it weren't for his excellent grades in this life, earning him a scholarship to Midtown High School, the tuition alone, tens of thousands per semester, would have been beyond his reach.
Even with the scholarship, Hawke lived frugally.
It wasn't that he was a thrifty person, but rather that while he received a scholarship from the school, it wasn't the highest-tier one.
At least not the same as the student assistant Gwen Stacy received in the same grade.
Gwen Stacy's scholarship was the highest-tier one.
Not only was her tuition free, but she also received a stipend each semester, not to mention various quiz competitions with generous prize money.
Hawke's scholarship was the most common kind, offering tuition waivers.
After all, his grades were merely excellent, not exceptional.
But Hawke was content with it.
Midtown High School waived his tuition, and for federal orphans like him who were between sixteen and eighteen, without foster care and in the "transition to independence" period, they provided a monthly stipend of $800.
And because Midtown High School, the elite New York State institution he had been admitted to, also provided a $500 monthly stipend.
All told, he earned $1,300 a month.
This amount might not be enough for an adult living in New York City, but for Hawke, who still receives federal orphan assistance and attends school tuition-free, it's enough for now.
More than enough, even.
After all, he eats at school and sleeps in a federally subsidized apartment.
With a monthly subsidy of $1,300, minus $500 for basic living expenses, he still has $800 left.
What?
$500 isn't enough?
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It's the same thing.
It might not be enough for an adult, but it's more than enough for Hawke.
Every afternoon, he'd complete his "10,000 punches a day" routine at the gym. After showering and washing his clothes, he'd take the last free school bus home, sleep, and then take the first bus back the next day.
He didn't even have the utilities, let alone phone or internet.
He was an orphan.
One person's food feeds the whole family.
Who could he call, and who would call him?
As for internet?
Haha.
He didn't even have a computer. If he needed internet, the school library had public computers, and printing was free.
So even though he started out as an orphan again, Hawke felt like he was doing okay.
He saved $800 a month, and every now and then, he could even go to the same cheap fried chicken place and order a big bowl of fried chicken to fuel himself.
He'd already saved over $30,000.
So happy.
Of course.
It would be better if there were fewer black people in fried chicken shops.
After a while,
Hawke, standing there with his eyes slightly closed, slowly opened them and stared at the sandbag that had fallen to the ground before him, seemingly lost in thought.
He wasn't looking at the sandbag, but at a notification box that had appeared before his eyes.
More precisely, it was his cheat.
"Small Cosmo Training!"
"Current Status: Inactive" "
Activation Condition: Throw 10,000 Punches for 1,000 Days" "
Activation Progress: 999/1,000"
"Almost!"
"Almost."
"It will be activated tomorrow."
Hawke looked at the activation progress displayed in the notification box that only he could see, and his heart warmed. He wished time could teleport to tomorrow.
This cheat was launched when he was fifteen in this life.
To be exact, it was launched on September 10, 2009.
He remembered it very clearly.
That day was the day Hulk and Abomination fought in New York City.
So he didn't slack off.
He started practicing right away!
There was no other way.
Who made him travel to the Marvel Universe, where "superheroes roam the land, extraordinary beings are worse than dogs, and cosmic gods roam everywhere"?
Before, if he hadn't been cheated, he would have just laid down.
But now that he's cheated, why would he still lay down?
Then wouldn't he have come here for nothing?
So from the day the cheat went online, Hawke has maintained the habit of punching ten thousand times a day.
Not a day less.
Rain or shine.
Unwavering.
In short, in a word:
You can skip food,
but you must practice boxing.
To this day,he has maintained the habit of punching ten thousand times a day for nine hundred and ninety-nine consecutive days.
Now the dawn of victory is finally coming!
...
A new book for a newbie, begging for collection, 200,000 manuscripts in reserve, a decisive battle!!
(End of this chapter)