It was early. Maybe a bit too much for Edgar's liking, but he had already woken up, so going back to sleep wasn't going to happen.

 Covered by faint rays of orange sunlight peeking through his window, the black-haired young adult sits up on his bed and yawns deeply, his eyes closing as he does so. Checking the clock hanging above the door to his front, he frowns slightly at the sight. Not even 6:00 AM yet.

 Having more than an hour to spare, he glances at his computer, a small smile on his face at the thought of playing something, before standing up and stretching his arms and back.

 Seeing no reason to put on his clothes yet, Edgar walks over to said machine with only a pair of boxers covering his pelvic area and spends his extra time playing some online game.

 Not seeing how fast time flew (not that one hour is a lot of time, anyway), the young adult shuts his pc down and walks over to his wardrobe, grabbing a pair of black shorts and a black tank top, as well as a towel. He then slides his feet into his slippers and leaves his room, walking over to the bathroom.

 Not long after starting to shower, someone knocks on the door.

 "Edgar, let me in real quick", a female voice says. "I know you're in the shower, so let me grab my stuff."

 "Yeah, how about no," he deadpans, but she doesn't give up.

 "C'mon. just one second."

 "Just wait until I'm done here!"

 "I can't! Dad's home and he asked me to check on something."

 "Ugh! Fine..." Edgar says, defeated and with reluctance. He then swiftly unlocks the door and goes back to showering.

 Good thing that where he was had an opaque glass heavily blurring about everything, both to him and his sister. That didn't stop him from turning away, annoyed and with light pink tinting his cheeks. At the sound of her chuckling, he frowns. "Just get outta here."

 Once he hears the door behind him shut, he locks it again just as fast, small pools of water all over the floor, and finishes his shower at peace.

 He towels himself, dries the floor, puts on his clothes, and brushes his teeth. With those out of the way, he goes downstairs. Seeing no one anywhere in the living room or the kitchen, he walks over to the fridge and gets hold of an orange juice bottle, giving it a long, refreshing gulp.

 Seeing the big sandwich he made last night still there, the juice right next to it, Edgar's stomach roars, demanding for its well-deserved breakfast. He suits himself on the counter, bottle in one hand and his sandwich in his mouth.

 Out of nowhere, a big, heavy hand slaps the young man in the back, causing him to flinch, choke on some of his chewed meal and drop some of his drink. Trying to get the thing down his throat, he hits his chest with the side of his fist several times in an attempt to swallow the chunk of stuck bread and meat. All the while, a loud and contagious laugh could be very well heard from anywhere in the house.

 "Gotcha."

 After finally swallowing the thing, Edgar takes a deep breath before chuckling, which quickly turns into a fit of laughter. Once he manages to get a hold of himself, a tear forming in the corner of his eye, he looks back, spotting the responsible for this scene.

 "So much for looking out for your own, ay, dad?"

 Baxter, a man that looked almost exactly like Edgar, except older, with grey hair and with a thin full beard was wearing comfy-looking sweatpants with a hand-made sweater. It had a poorly-sewed yellow star in the right chest area. A mug could be seen in his left hand.

 "I was looking," he says with a deep, relaxed voice before taking a long, audible sip from whatever he was drinking. "At your eyes bulging out of their sockets, that is."

 "I really think you should stop doing that, dear," a female voice, older than Edgar's sister's, speaks while walking downstairs. She wore a simple long skirt with a loose white shirt. "What if he chokes for real?"

 "Didn't happen before, won't happen ever," is the man's response, it followed by another sip of his mug.

 "Just try not to break his back next time," is what Marie says with a sigh.

 "Like that'll ever happen. Anywho, tell Derick I said hi," Edgar's father says, the wiggle of his eyebrows emphasizing his greeting.

 "He'll love to hear it," is what the young man says before focusing on what was left of his breakfast.

 After some more small talk and a few minutes, Edgar finishes eating and waves to everyone, who wave back, before leaving his house.

 What would a boy who just made 18 with all the free time in the world do on a Saturday morning? To Edgar, the answer would be a routine jog across the entire city.

 Said young man lived in a circle-shaped street, his house in the dead center of the sidewalk. The neighborhood was fairly nice and quiet, far from the city's ruckus. Some hijinks here and there but nothing too major, just enough to spice things up every once in a while.

 The sun was settling in and the air was fresh from last night, perfect conditions for any routinely exercises.

 Not long after leaving, Edgar finds himself nearing the park where mostly old people were hanging with their dogs. Some were even feeding pigeons. No youngsters in sight, as usual.

 Getting worked up, the black-haired runner speeds up just enough to start catching up with some cyclists with no trouble. Granted, they were going at snail pace.

 Half an hour flies by and Edgar finds himself in the more busy part of Makrinos, his birthplace and home. To the right of his immediate line of sight, the still closed Plaza, which had some small, random food and drinks stands surrounding the Mall. To his left, some road and the parking lot.

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 Further down his tracks had tall buildings, each belonging to a different company. Some hotels, apartments, and other, smaller stores were sprinkled in between.

 Despite the time, given the nature of such place, some movement could be seen. Cars honking, people going by while on their phones... Saturday or not, a lot had to be done. Used to such sight, Edgar keeps going.

 Finally, the runner stops in front of an apartment. It didn't have anything special to it. He catches his breath for a minute before going in.

 Inside, he greets the doorman with a nod, used to the presence of the black-skinned man. He returns the gesture with a smile.

 "A bit too early to be here, don't you think, Young Wildwest?"

 "Been here earlier," is his response as he shrugs. "Is Derick home?"

 As if waiting for a cue, a pair of arms tighten themselves around Edgar's torso, catching him by surprise. What was odd about the sight, however, was the fact that said arms were brownish in color, rough and pointy, almost as if they were made of stone.

 Raising an eyebrow, Edgar turns his head back, seeing the target of his earlier question. Not paying it much attention, he elbows his trapper with enough force to release himself, gaining an audible "oof" from his friend who bends slightly, a hand in his gut.

 "I think that answers your question," The doorman says while chuckling under his fist, used to the scene taking place.

 The "attacker" was a man that had to be Edgar's age, if not slightly older. Clad in camo pants and a white tank top showing his in-shape muscles with black boots to match, the only things "missing" were a leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses.

 On second thought, he did have a dark brown jacket that he left on the floor behind him.

 "Sup," the new face says while fist bumping his friend. "What do you want?"

 "Just passing by, wanted to say hi," Edgar says while looking around, pretending to not be paying attention.

 "Right..."

 "Oh, right. Dad came home and wanted you to know."

 At the news, Derick's face lit up, his excitement almost tangible. "For real?"

 "Yeah. I think he wants to give you something, I don't know."

 "Well," the brown-haired man says while going for his jacket. "Then let's go already."

 "Easy there. He just came home and it's not even 10 yet. Go there when it's evening."

 Derick picks his jacket regardless, not without groaning, before fist bumping his friend once again and going up through an elevator. "See ya," is what he says just as the door closes.

 Seeing no reason to stay for longer, Edgar goes back to jogging (to be fair, he was going so fast one could say he was actually running), going straight home.

 Once there, he goes straight to the fridge and takes a long, delicious gulp of what was left of his juice. Seeing no one nearby, he walks over to his room to grab some things. Said things included two pieces of rope and a bag full of rocks.

 With them, he goes to the backyard. The thing was fairly big, about the length of the house, and had a small shed in one corner. The lawn had some mowing to do.

 In the middle, he tightly ties the cargo on his back with one of the rope pieces. He does some light hops to test it and satisfied, prepares to do some rope skipping. Not just it but other exercises that didn't involve weights or any sort of tools, all while having over 10 kilos strapped to his torso.

 After an hour of this, his father shows up, same mug, same attire. "Still with the whole weighted training nonsense?"

 Despite being in the middle of a section of push-ups, Edgar still finds enough breath to speak without much trouble. "I already told you, it isn't nonsense. I did the comparisons and it works."

 "Not buying it. I have the word of some experts in the field to back me up."

 "And I have my word of experience to back me up," is the young adult's response, at which his father chuckles.

 "Suit yourself."

 Trailing his attention off to the shed, the older of the two has an idea. Walking over it, he goes in and comes back with an iron pipe in his hands.

 Seeing that his son isn't paying attention, or so it seems, he sneaks from behind and raises his makeshift weapon high up with one hand. Up there, the thing started to vibrate slightly. As soon as he descends it with a strike, Edgar throws himself to the left, having the pipe hit the ground instead, dirt flying everywhere. Where he was standing, a sizeable dent was visible, the grass that was around it torn apart.

 "Want something?" Is all Edgar asks while still focusing on his workout section. The young man's father straightens his eyes and tosses the pipe.

 Instead of dodging, this time Edgar swats the thing away with his right backhand.

 The pipe wasn't fresh out of the store but it was by no means old or rusty. Despite this, a dent could be seen where the black-haired man's hand hit, the pipe itself now slightly curved.

 "Give him a break, dad," the sound of Edgar's sister makes itself present from the door to inside.

 Serene was older than her brother, had short hair that had a tint of purple in it, and wore simple track pants and a sweater, slippers for shoes covering her feet. "If mom catches you doing this, you won't hear the end of it."

 "Already happened before and I'm still in one piece," is his response as he takes another sip from his mug. Funnily enough, his daughter also had a mug in one of her hands, from which she takes a sip. "Did you finish seeing the houses I found for you?"

 Suddenly, a spark finds its way into her eyes, a wide smile to match. "I loved the one near the Plaza. I mean, the outside could use some redecoration but the inside is perfect. Thomas will love it."

 "Good to hear it. I'll let them know you'll want that one."

 Still down and going, Edgar says. "About time the house was all mine."

 "You do realize I'm not moving until after the wedding, right?" For emphasis, Serene gestures at the finger that should hold her wedding ring. Instead, it was in the opposite hand.

 "And who said the house will be 'all yours?'" Baxter asks with a raised eyebrow.

  Seeing he had enough of push-ups, Edgar stands up and starts a section of squats. "I mean, you're rarely around because of your job and mom wouldn't mind giving me the house's deed."

 "If only it was in her name."

 After his nonchalant shrug, Serene goes back in. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Ed."

 Seeing his son at it, Baxter gives a suggestion. "Want a hand?"

 "Sure."

 With his mug now on the floor and like a switch had been flipped, the older man's hands, now cupped in fists, start to vibrate slightly. This effect passes onto his arms and eventually his entire body as the ground beneath him sinks slightly, an indication that he got heavier.

 Walking over to his son and taking what he said literally, the man starts punching the boy's gut every time he came up from a round. These hits were audible from a fair distance but despite this, neither of them, mainly Edgar, seemed to be uncomfortable with the situation.

 This goes on for about five minutes before Baxter's breathing grows heavy and uneven.

 "Tired already?"

 For an answer, he punches his son considerably harder, knocking him off and on his rear. "Ouch..."

 "Give me a minute," Baxter says while releasing whatever pressure he was exerting on himself and catching his breath. Not wanting to wait, Edgar continues with his squats.

 Similar sights to such play over and over throughout the course of half an hour as the younger of the two hops from push-ups to sit-ups to squats to skipping rope, all while keeping his bag of rocks firmly tied to him. Having enough of 'helping' his son, Baxter finally calls it quits and goes back inside but not before grabbing his mug and taking another long sip from it, finishing whatever was inside.

 The rest of the morning goes by without much else to it. Noon kicks in and so does lunch. With a refreshing bath and a change of clothes, Edgar now finds himself wearing black pants instead of shorts and a white undershirt.

 The whole family was waiting for him around a round table in the center of the living room, the tv in the news channel. In it, the still image of a fairly old man wearing a lab coat next to a headline that read 'Tennessee Cossack does it again! A new revelation regarding society's ever-so mysterious powers!'

 No one but Baxter was focusing on it as they enjoy their meal together. With a full stomach, everyone but Marie goes to their respective rooms, said woman being responsible for the day's dishes. Edgar thanks for the meal and goes to his room to have some rest in the form of watching something on his computer.

 Without noticing, he gets way too comfortable and ends up napping, his head tilting forward as his eyes close shut.