“801 pounds of force. 828. 832!”

“815 pounds of force, 826, 829!”

“835 pounds, 863, 894!”

A soothing, rhythmic flow of thuds diffused, spreading across the room. Each wave added to the ambiance, increasing the tension and anxiety.

In the crowd, Sikhail GodFiend stretched his arm, generating blood flow. He remembered the despair, then the excitement, then the anxiety. These last few weeks, he felt that things had become odd. He often closed himself off from distractions when studying, but he still desired companionship.

As he did his reps, he slowly felt himself become more and more distant from the affairs around him. When someone hit a milestone, he would look, acknowledge it with a nod, then stop paying attention.

He was unsure of the exact cause but knew that adrenaline was the surefire counter. His goal of pursuing higher academics complemented the thrill of his newfound strength opening up new paths for him. He eventually tossed the feeling to the back of his mind.

Strongman? All bones and no meat. Being too big had its fair share of disadvantages. You were more of a status symbol at that point. Genuine relationships were difficult if the difference in stature was too wide. He’d be a sugar daddy in the best-case scenario. A relationship based on exchange rather than long-term sentiments.

A lean, fit, and muscular tone was the fantasy every boy had, and now he had it. Being ripped was the dream. Overly ripped was out of the question.

He loved it when his dream physique turned into reality. It felt ridiculous. He reached for this goal too late, yet magic. He got the effect he sought when others were intimidated by his physique. No one got smart with him. Someone who didn’t fall from a single tap was interesting. He had unknowingly picked up an innate desire to meet strong people.

He stepped up and threw a punch rather casually. A violation of etiquette. The instructor had been ignored, but they assessed the quality of the punch, pretending not to take issue. A lackadaisical personality was not a big deal. A freak who wasn’t a pushover was priceless to the military.

(BOOM)

“Results exceed Stage 1 limit of 1000 pounds. Stage 2 results of 8805 pounds of force!”

All the guys were checking him out from head to toe. All the gals were paying attention to other things related to him.

The average person could generate around 360 pounds of force if they went all out. Doubling that in two weeks was pretty impressive but not worth attention. Generating 10x the force with the same effort was borderline insanity.

“Cadet GodFiend, do you want to try again?”

Sikhail punched out again, using more of his shoulder.

…

…

(BOOM)

“Results exceed stage 1 limit of 1,000 pounds. Results exceed stage 2 limit of 10,000 pounds,”

(Silence)

“Results satisfy the threshold of stage 3. 25,000 pounds,” the instructor reported.

Everyone was stupefied and also unwilling. Wasn’t the training the same? Why were their gains fractional and his multiplicative? On top of that, it wasn’t 25,003 but 25,000, a sign of extreme control.

They had to train harder! They had to try harder!

Sikhail’s results had an inverse impact on the crowd. Every punch after him generated at least 1,000 pounds of force. Some even stood out from the crowd. One was the self-proclaimed *Battering Ram*.

Battering Ram generated 15,000 pounds of force on his first punch, and each increment after was precisely 2,500 pounds.

Battering Ram… he only discovered his abnormal physique during the harsh training. His family had always been poor, so they would have been in the dark without the sudden change by the government. He was bitter and, at the same time, convinced that he would rise in rank. It was impossible to predict a lot of things in life. He would just have to roll with what he had.

He looked at Sikhail, their gazes locking, before making a gesture that said, *I know I’m not as strong as you, but my strength control is as formidable if not more than you! Hehe*. He was not offended when Sikhail showed no reaction. In his opinion, the less someone cared, the more significant the gap in strength. He wanted to close any gap he found.

Another Cadet, Two-Faced Flower, had a deceptive physique, slimming down during the training. Her strength was her massive bursts. Her first punch generated 1,222 pounds of force, followed by 5,678, then 8,989.

She also glanced at Sikhail, shrugging. The difference between two people should not be compared. It’s still higher than average. Is every soldier as strong as Battering Ram? Now that made more sense.

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There were many other oddballs, but he stopped paying attention after the second one.

“Some of you exceeded your own expectations. We won’t praise you. It breeds complacency. Remember what you’ve achieved and create a new goal. Follow me.”

——|——|—|—|——|——

[Perimeter of Military Zone 5, Military Sector 25]

West, east, north, and south. They were too far away to recognize, but people were everywhere. It was very orderly and strict. No one started early or planned to be the odd person out.

As the lead instructors explained their route, they realized it *intruded* into personal spars and disputes, mock mission zones, the interception of bad actors, and numerous other conflicts. It was clear that everything was staged. In other words, this sprint was not really a sprint.

As everyone got into position, multiple instructors ran ahead. They blended in quite well, avoiding most of the distractions. When the lead instructor signaled the go-ahead, the track-and-field specialists were the first to start. Their form, speed, and focus intimidated the rest.

The differences started to show as disputes homed in on the Cadets, following them extensively. Even though they knew it was staged, their lack of depth showed as they stopped to resolve the dispute. The worry that an injury might impede them became more rational than losing points due to improper judgment.

What was an impressive temperament though? Not losing focus but also maintaining spatial awareness. If you’re slippery, this could be achieved. If you had the strength, this could be achieved. As time passed, it was obvious that the sprint was more like a *sprint through death*.

When it was Sikhail’s turn, he didn’t immediately sprint. He had been doing leg warm-ups the entire time and was still doing them. 1 second, 5 seconds, 10 seconds, 1 minute, 3 minutes, 5 minutes.

“Cadet GodFiend, are there any problems?”

Sikhail turned to look at the lead instructor.

“I’m still sore. Give me a few more minutes,” Sikhail looked at the lead instructor, giving an apologetic explanation.

The lead instructor only smiled.

5 minutes later, he seemingly disappeared from under the crowd’s eye. As they looked around, their attention was attracted by a whistling sound. A sign 100 feet in front was floating on an updraft.

(Clang)

(Clang)

(Whoosh)

The sound of metal pushing back the wind was eerie, given the context. They barely noticed a dot in the distance, bolting into the sea of dots on the horizon, vanishing the next moment.

Or was it an illusion?

——|——|—|—|——|——

Sikhail GodFiend overtook the first and second groups and even overtook the lead group. On his right, it looked like a snow globe was being rotated.

He didn't make use of the battle-suit. He wasn't flying either. This was pure physical strength. This was how much he had grown in the past two weeks.

He could feel the military’s identity in the way the battle-suit scaled with his physicality. It made him think about the other institutions.

He had run half the perimeter when he felt a gentle breeze from behind. He arced backward as he turned 180 degrees. The tip of a foot changed into a lean, slender body that turned in response. A girl was shocked, surprise visible on her face. She was slightly older than him. Her kick was athletic and graceful, like a ballerina jumping over the moon.

Using the rotational force from her spin, she threw a kick toward his head. The kick was about to land when she noticed peculiarities in his physique. He pulled out with lightning-fast speed, giving her a bad premonition.

He fed the momentum into a spin, throwing a palm at his opponent. She threw out a punch to deflect, but the palm was as fast as lightning, as tough as steel. A blow to her chest knocked her a few feet across the sky. She managed to twist her body, landing on her feet. As she looked up, what looked like a walk, became a blur that turned into a lightning flash.

Her neck was held quite tightly by a hand. Her eyes widened as he threw out a kick at his arm. She was teleported into a different hand as her kick hit empty air. The lack of awareness of the grip change instilled horror in her.

“You have a school uniform, but you’re well trained. Who are you?” Sikhail identified the oddity in the situation.

“Are you Sikhail GodFiend? The monster rookie? I was asked to train you, so I’m here to check you out. Not bad,” the girl asked with another question.

Sikhail raised his eyebrow, amused.

“I’m unaware of such matters. I’ve been doing push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and sprints for the past three weeks. What’s your name?” Sikhail responded.

“Jeez… that was all basic training! My grandfather knows every style in existence. If it’s mainstream, obscure, or even ancient, he knows it. I learned everything straight from him. I’m April Sigfrey!” April replied.

“What are you capable of teaching?” Sikhail asked.

“Flexibility, complex sequences, counters, compound movements, and more. You train your body to better fit the battle-suit, right? When you combine these tools, it deepens your arsenal. In this changing environment, having battle expertise at every range is essential. You seem quite technical, so training will be quite smooth. What do you think?” April said, trying to barter with him.

Sikhail only stared at April with a poker face.

“Why did you agree to this?” Sikhail asked.

“I wanted to join the military for experience, but my family is well connected. I’m the university belle, meaning plenty of idiots complained, even though it has nothing to do with them! It’s not that their parents cared, but you’ll probably cave into their demands when someone whines enough and you can’t stop them. Now that I have a legitimate reason to experience the Military without doing Military stuff, how can they complain,” April said proudly.

It was only at that point that she realized Sikhail paid little romantic attention to her. He was appraising her from head to toe, but it felt like he was assessing her qualifications.

She was satisfied when Sikhail nodded his head approvingly with a smile.

“Your sculpted face matches the exquisiteness of fine jade. A graceful, chiseled body crafted by legendary artisans, barely hidden by your vibrant silk cloth. Your snow-like complexion, skin that reflects the finer parts of life, beauty that topples a country. Alas, the feeling goes as easily as it comes,” Sikhail said in an unexpectedly poetic tone.

‘This… he complimented me, right? At least he didn’t say we would be the perfect couple…” April pondered while deciphering what he meant.

“I guess… your artistic prowess is not bad! What do you think? We can exchange pointers!” April proposed the question.

Sikhail only nodded, but that was more than good enough for her.

“Hey… let’s finish racing. What do you say? 100 miles right? No fair!!!!!” April asked enthusiastically, only to notice that Sikhail had long vanished.

April complained under her breath, disappearing the next moment.