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Author's Note:

Hey readers,

I know that one of the main attractions of the litRPG genre is seeing the protagonist level up rapidly, using the system like a cheat to achieve quick growth and power. However, in this story, you might notice that the pace is a bit slower in the beginning, despite the protagonist having access to a cheat system. This is intentional, as I want to take the time to focus on plot development and give the characters the depth they deserve, building a solid foundation for the journey ahead.

That said, don't worry—quick growth and power-ups are definitely on the horizon, and they'll come at the right moment to make the payoff even more satisfying. I promise it’ll be worth the wait! Stick with me, and I hope you’ll enjoy the journey as much as the destination.

Thank you for your patience and support!

************************

Chapter 1

Nero's eyes snapped open. Reality hit him harder than a two-bit thug with brass knuckles.

Sweat-soaked sheets clung to his skin, a second skin he couldn't shed. The air in that flophouse was rancid, a cocktail of terror and neglect that would make a sewer rat gag. A rather disagreeable layer of musty perspiration coated the wall, its pungent odour stinging his nostrils with each heavy breath.

"Damn it," he hissed, voice raw as sandpaper, probing the tender spots on his face. Fresh bruises. Fantastic.

Nero hauled himself up, every muscle screaming bloody murder. Pain lit him up like a Christmas tree, each movement a fresh slice of agony.

Those bruises on his mug pulsed in time with his hammering head, a symphony of misery that would make the devil himself wince.

This wasn't no fairytale wake-up call. This is the kind of morning-after that makes you wish you'd never been born.

Nero's gaze darted around the room, taking in the cracked plaster and peeling wallpaper. A prison cell would've been an upgrade.

"Another day in paradise," he muttered.

Nero's eyes, deep pools of midnight framed by puffy lids, burned with unshed tears. He blinked hard, forcing back the flood. Crying was a luxury, like steak dinners and unbroken bones. He couldn't afford any of them.

Each movement sent ripples of pain across his battered face, but he didn't flinch. Couldn't flinch.

His fingers brushed against the mottled purple and yellow landscape of his cheekbone, which spoke silently of the violence he had endured, each mark a harsh reminder imprinted on his skin.

The memories of yesterday's beating hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. The taunts, the fists, the homework he'd slaved over – all for nothing. Just another day in the life of Nero, punching bag extraordinaire.

A faint groan escaped his lips—a muted cry for help that would reach no ears.

The cracked mirror across the room reflected a sorry sight. Nero stumbled over, squinting at his battered reflection. Purple and yellow mottled his cheekbones like some sick Picasso painting. Swollen eyes, split lip, hair matted with dried blood. A masterpiece of misery.

Nero's hair was a disaster, a tangled mess plastered to his forehead like cheap black paint. Sweat made it stick in clumps, a dark crown for the king of misery.

"You look like shit," he muttered to himself, running fingers through the mess.

Nero tried to smooth his hair, but it was a lost cause. Just like everything else in this godforsaken life.

"Forget it," he growled, giving up. "Not like I'm heading to the fucking prom."

A single tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek. Nero watched it fall, a tiny crystal of weakness in a world that demanded steel. It splashed on the cracked porcelain sink, gone in an instant.

"Get it together," he hissed at his reflection, midnight eyes hardening to onyx.

Nero's hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. The pain grounded him, a reminder that he was still here, still fighting.

The bruises from yesterday's thrashing still throbbed, but it wasn't merely his body that suffered—it was his mind. Day after day, the same wretched routine: the taunts, the punches, the endless homework he completed on their behalf, only to endure their fury whenever something went awry.

"I can't handle this anymore," he muttered, grabbing his backpack and tossing it into the corner of his room. "Maybe if I just disappear for a while, they'll have to fend for themselves."

Ten days off. It seemed like a sound plan. He could take a breather, sort through his thoughts, and maybe cook up a scheme to give those wiseguys a taste of their own medicine.

Day one rolled around, and what was our hero doing? Flat on his back, eyes glued to that glowing rectangle like it was going to spit out the meaning of life. That was when Lady Luck decided to play a dirty trick. He chanced upon a dubious website boasting a bold claim:

Enhance your mind—become more efficient, smarter, stronger with our brain stimulant pill. Limited offer!

He mused to himself, "Limited offer? Yeah, limited time before I'm fitted for a padded cell and drooling into my oatmeal."

Just another day in paradise for a schmuck trying to catch a break in this cesspool of a world. But hey, at least the laughs were free, even if they tasted bitter as day-old coffee.

Nero stared at the screen, his finger trembling as it hovered over the order button. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and his heart pounded in his chest. The decision weighed heavily on him, the consequences of his actions looming like a dark cloud. "This can't be real," he thought. "But what if it is? What if this could give me the edge I need?"

The image of his bullies laughing, their voices taunting him, pushed him over the edge.

He clicked *Order*.

---

The next day, Nero lounged in his room, his fingers flying across the controller, playing video games—something he hadn't been able to do freely in ages.

The air hung heavy with the musty aroma of days-old pizza and neglected laundry, a far cry from the immaculate, polished realm of his video game. The hours slipped by, yet he couldn't rid himself of the restless unease that accompanied the wait for the delivery.

The rhythmic beep of his console was suddenly interrupted by a sharp rap on his door. Nero's heart pounded against his ribs as he reluctantly pulled himself away from the screen, his fingers twitching with the urge to return.

He paused the game and went to answer it. His hand hovered over the knob, heart pounding. A sliver of hope – maybe it was that new controller, the one that'd give him the edge he needed.

Half expecting some miraculous delivery from the gaming gods, he yanked the door wide open.

Reality check. Some pimply-faced kid in a uniform, clutching a box like it might explode.

"Parcel for Nero," the delivery boy squeaked, thrusting the package forward.

Nero's eyes narrowed, scanning the label. Sure enough, 'Brain Juice Pills' in garish neon letters. His stomach did a backflip.

"You've gotta be shitting me," he muttered, snatching the box.

The kid bolted, leaving Nero alone with his disappointment.

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Nero closed the door with a touch more haste than he'd intended.

He set the parcel down on his desk, eyes fixed upon it as if time itself had ground to a halt.

The words from the website lingered in his mind, echoing with an unsettling clarity. *Enhance your performance, memory, study power…* Could this be the answer? The solution to his problems?

Finally, he ripped open the packaging. Inside was a small bottle with a single pill. His heart raced as he unscrewed the cap, revealing a tiny blue capsule. "Am I really going to do this?" he asked himself, staring at the pill in his palm.

For a moment, he considered throwing it away. But then, the faces of his tormentors flashed in his mind. He clenched his fist around the pill and made his decision.

"Here goes nothing," he whispered before swallowing the pill.

Five minutes later, all he felt was a slight tickle in his toes. Thinking it was a placebo, he decided to test his newfound smarts by attempting a Rubik's Cube. As he fumbled with the colorful squares, a strange sensation washed over him. His vision went fuzzy, the room started to spin, and he collapsed to the floor, muttering, "Well, at least I tried."

---

When Nero came to, he found himself lying on his bed. Everything looked... different. His room seemed sharper, more defined, as if someone had turned up the resolution on the world. But that wasn't all. Floating in front of his eyes were numbers and symbols. A holographic interface hovered over everything.

"What the...?" Nero blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the display remained. Words scrolled across his vision.

[Welcome, Nero. Tutorial Mode activated.]

He sat up, staring at the floating text. A voice, soft but clear, echoed in his head.

"Greetings, Nero. I am your personal AI assistant. My purpose is to guide you through your new abilities."

"My... what?" Nero muttered, still groggy from the experience.

"Abilities," the AI repeated. "The pill you consumed has unlocked your potential. You now see the world through a different lens, like a video game. Allow me to explain."

Suddenly, a screen popped up in front of him, listing stats like *Strength*, *Intelligence*, *Agility*, and more. Each stat had a number next to it.

"These are your basic attributes," the AI explained. "They represent your current capabilities."

"This is insane," Nero muttered, rubbing his temples. "I've finally lost it."

"The pill has altered your perception and capabilities," the AI continued. "It has also granted you access to a special ability."

Another window appeared, displaying:

[Rapid Regeneration]

Level: 1/5

Description: Accelerate natural healing processes. Higher levels increase healing speed and effectiveness.

Effect: Heal 1 HP per second

Mana Cost: -

"This ability allows you to heal faster than normal," the AI explained. "Would you like to test it?"

Nero nodded, still in shock. He picked up a small knife from his desk and, with a wince, made a tiny cut on his finger. As he watched, the cut began to close, much faster than it should have.

"Incredible," he whispered.

For the next few days, Nero experimented with his new ability, pushing its limits. But as the end of his self-imposed break approached, anxiety crept back in. How would this help him against Marcus and his gang?

---

The alley reeked of piss and broken dreams, a familiar stench that turned Nero's stomach. He leaned against the graffiti-covered wall, heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. This shithole was usually his personal hell, but today? Today it was an arena.

"Come on, you fuckers," he muttered, eyes scanning the entrance.

His palms were slick with sweat, but he clenched them into fists anyway. But something had snapped inside him, like a rubber band stretched too far.

Nero's midnight eyes hardened to obsidian. His body thrummed with nervous energy, fight or flight kicking into overdrive. But he planted his feet, rooting himself to the spot.

"No more running," he growled, a mantra and a promise.

A shadow fell across the alley mouth. Showtime.

Sure enough, they appeared, three of them. Marcus, the biggest of the bunch, led the way, his usual sneer plastered on his face.

Marcus lumbered into the alley like a freight train with legs, a walking tsunami of muscle and menace. His shoulders could've doubled as a linebacker's wet dream, stretching his ratty t-shirt to its breaking point. That face? Pure trouble. A scowl etched so deep it could've curdled concrete, let alone milk.

The sun had cooked his skin to leather, testament to a life spent prowling streets instead of hitting books. That hair, though – black as sin and spiked like a porcupine on meth – screamed 'fight me' louder than any battle cry.

Nero's gut clenched. Marcus wasn't just the alpha, he was the whole alphabet of pain.

"Well, well, look who's back," Marcus said, cracking his knuckles. "We were starting to think you ran off for good, nerd."

The others laughed, but Nero stood his ground, fists clenched.

"Not today, Marcus," Nero said, his voice shaky but determined. "I'm done being your punching bag."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You think you can stand up to us now?"

Without warning, one of the goons rushed forward, landing a solid punch to Nero's gut. Nero doubled over, gasping for air. But as the pain surged through him, he felt his regeneration kick in. The ache began to subside almost immediately.

As he straightened up from the blow, a rush of fear swept over him.

The bullies stood there, stunned. Their eyes widened, and their mouths hung open in disbelief as Nero rose, his body defying every expectation they’d had.

Yet, the moment was short-lived. The reality of his situation hit Nero with a force that sent his heart pounding.

Nero's breath came in short, panicked gasps as the first goon advanced.

His legs trembled, screaming at him to run, to escape like he always had before. But something kept him rooted to the spot – a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

Despite his growing fear, Nero tried to find his voice.

"P-please," Nero stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "We don't have to do this."

The goon's laughter sent chills down Nero's spine. "Aw, is the little nerd scared? Good. You should be."

Right then, as the ruffian lunged forward, young Nero's body reacted on pure instinct. The poor lad stumbled backward, tripping over his own blasted feet and landing with quite the thud on the grimy alley floor. A right nasty bit of pain shot through his elbow where it struck the concrete, but a warm tingling sensation spread through the area almost immediately. The scrape that ought to have been there was already fading away, as if by magic.

"What the...?" Nero muttered, gawking at his unmarked elbow in utter disbelief.

"Stop staring at your arm and take your beating like a man!" the second goon shouted, charging forward.

Panic surged through young Nero like a bolt of lightning. He scrambled backwards on all fours, quick as you like, his hand plopping into a puddle with a splash. Without so much as a thought, he flung the mucky water straight at the approaching ruffian's face.

The goon recoiled, sputtering and pawing at his peepers like a cat in a rainstorm. "You cheeky little rat!" he roared.

Nero, seizing the moment like a crafty fox, clambered to his feet in a hurry, his back pressed against the cold brick wall as if it were his last hope. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.

"I... I don't want to fight you," Nero said, his voice quavering. "Just leave me alone!"

The first goon, recovered from the initial charge, threw a punch aimed at Nero's stomach. Instinctively, Nero tried to dodge, but he wasn't fast enough. The fist connected, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping, waiting for the familiar agony to set in.

But it didn't come. The pain flared briefly, then began to subside almost immediately. Nero straightened up, his eyes wide with shock.

"That's... that's impossible," the goon muttered, staring at his fist in disbelief.