“Yeah! I can feel it,” I exclaim as a grin stretches across my face, triumphant.

Glancing left and right, I watch how my shoulders have started to swell, muscles bulging with each tiny movement.

After managing just one shaky push-up using my actual muscle strength, I can sense the small amount of power I have being redistributed across my body, fueling precisely the muscles I need at the moment.

There’s zero pain, zero effort, and I’m able to crank out push-ups like a machine now.

“Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...” I count, the numbers rolling off my tongue as I keep going.

In one swift motion, I hop back onto my feet.

I reach into my inventory and pull out my bulletproof vest, feeling the weight in my hands before sliding it over my shoulders.

Once it’s on, I decide right then and there that it’s staying on for good.

It only adds five or six kilos, but it’s enough to give me that compressed feeling—enough to make me feel safer and most importantly more badass.

Breathing heavily, I manage to knock out almost a hundred push-ups in under two minutes.

I’m stunned, looking down at my arms and realizing how quickly they’ve grown. The muscle mass seems to have redistributed itself from less-used areas, like my calves and lower back, giving my arms required power.

“That’s enough,” I mutter to myself, standing up straight again, I glance around inconspicuously, hoping someone from the party notices my remarkable achievement, my new personal record.

But they’re all too absorbed in their conversation, oblivious to my efforts.

No matter.

I stand there for a moment, analyzing my body, thinking about how much and how far I can really go. But I realize that while Focus might make me stronger, it’s not actually building my real muscles.

Never an athlete, never a strongman. Despite my stature being rather bulky and large, I was never stronger than the average guy at my age and I definitely had worse fatigue than anybody.

Determined, I drop back down to the ground for another round, this time without the vest.

But something feels different now. My shaky wobbly arms automatically call on my Focus, flooding my muscles with borrowed strength. I stop instantly, letting myself fall face-first into the grass.

It seems that I’ve used all my stamina on my original muscles throughout making those hundred, thus the Focus kicked in right away now.

Again! I try to push up, but once more, I falter.

The same thing happens again and again, my face hitting the wet grass repeatedly, splattering mud across my clothes.

“Boy, Mark. What on earth are you doing?” I hear the old man’s voice, his gaze fixed on me with a curious look.

“Ugh. Don’t mind me,” I reply, throwing myself onto the ground again.

I don’t want to give up just yet.

“Your technique is terrible,” he says, walking over to me.

He presses down on my hips, adjusting my posture, and then he shows me a few push-ups, executing them perfectly right beside me. But the second my Focus kicks in again, and I feel the artificial muscle mass start to shift, I let myself drop to the ground again.

“I see what you’re trying to do now,” he says with a knowing smile.

“Good, good. It’ll work, but don’t forget—you need protein to build up that muscle. And a good sleep!” He stands up and pulls out a piece of cooked fox meat, spearing it on his dagger before taking a bite.

“Have some! It’s still warm,” he says, offering a piece.

I can see his jaw moving through the hole in his cheek, chewing, and although it’s unsettling, I’m starting to get used to his appearance.

----------------------------------------

I go through a few more rounds of push-ups, eventually managing to do about fifty without releasing my Focus despite my body being exhausted.

It’s progress, though modest.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

In gym class, I’d only ever been able to do three at most.

“Yes!” I whisper, feeling a flutter of excitement in my stomach.

This training is going to require a lot of protein to build muscle, and carbs for energy.

As much as I think about what to stuff myself with I completely forgot what substance am I under now. The painkiller acid.

While I ponder all this, I manage to squeeze out another forty push-ups without using Focus. It’s a decent start, but the toll it takes on me is immediate.

Sixty base strength. For my age and bodystructure, it seems that without Focus I’m on an average level of an adult who visits the gym occasionally.

I thought that Harald was definitely on a lower number, but he probably came here with a decent base stats and level 1. Theoretically if a strongman from earth comes here he will be hundred strength but level 1 as a starter?

I wonder how complicated and connected the system is and how it works, but my train of thought stops as the dark spots start to blur my vision, and I realize that if I don’t get water soon, I’m going to faint.

I stick my tongue out, rubbing it with my finger. It’s dry and rough, covered with a white film.

"Yuck." I bet my breath smells terrible, too. The dehydration is setting in, but the acid has dulled my sense of thirst and hunger to the point that I hadn’t noticed.

This painkiller isn’t just blocking physical pain—it’s making me numb to everything, even internal signals. I can sense the thirst and hunger, but when they should hurt, the acid shuts down those sensations. I’ll need to keep a strict routine to counteract these effects.

I think about Harald and how strong he must be naturally. He managed a hundred push-ups without any Focus. How. Freaking. Lame. I was.

And am.

*Sigh*

“Harald, can I get a sip of water?” I ask, my voice scratchy.

He hands me the bottle immediately and I pour a small amount into my mouth, careful not to touch the rim, but it’s not enough, and I cough as I hand it back to him. This isn’t funny anymore—my dehydration levels are worse than I realized.

He finishes the last drop himself, then puts the bottle away in his inventory.

“We should get moving. The stream’s still a ways off. Everyone ready?” he asks, looking around.

Mike and Astrid both nod.

----------------------------------------

I file my questions away for later and start walking toward the forest, remembering the green berries and snails. Those might speed up my reconvalescence process.

“Mark? The car’s right over there,” Harald says, pointing. The couple chuckles.

“Oh. How did I.. completely forget about it.” I act exhausted.

Quickly jogging towards the car I throw myself in.

Harald starts the engine and shifts gears.

The familiar hum comforts me as we drive. I notice the seatbelt is still there, unlike the others which Mike cut off.

For a moment, I consider using it to compress my forearms, maybe as a brace. Then, a thought about knights’ armor flits through my mind, and I feel a spark of excitement again.

----------------------------------------

After a few minutes, we reached the edge of the forest where we battled the snails before. I remember it being narrow and dense with moss and fallen logs.

Navigating it would be tough without damaging the car.

Yet I sit there quietly, the black spots in my vision still lingering. I’ve exhausted my water reserves, and the acid has blocked my thirst to the point where I could faint any minute.

“Markus, are you alright?” Astrid asks, concerned in her voice as she sees my cracked lips.

“I’ll manage,” I reply, exhaling deeply.

Harald quickly realizes the car can’t go any further and stops at the forest’s edge.

“We’re walking from here unless someone wants to guard the car. No one’s likely to steal it here, right?” he says, looking for input, with a smile.

“I don’t think I can make it,” I respond, struggling to keep my voice steady.

The moist forest air is a lifesaver right now. I’ve burned through all my water, and any attempt to walk further might push me to collapse. So I rather sit there leaning against the mossy tree.

“I’ll go alone. Give me your jugs and bottles,” Mike says, volunteering himself.

We nod, but Astrid and Harald start to protest. Mike stops them with a hand. “I’ve got this. Speed and agility are my strengths,” he says confidently.

I raise my head, closing my eyes, inhaling the moist air.

----------------------------------------

Astrid relaxes in the car as she can't move on her own, while Harald and I keep watch, wary of any approaching snails.

“How much gas do we have left?” I ask him again.

“Enough for one trip into the desert—maybe even an acid run, if you catch my drift.” He grins.

“Ah, yeah,” I reply, chuckling until it turns into a cough.

----------------------------------------

Trying to meditate, dreaming of fresh water I decide to lick a nearby wet leaf.

Harald takes the opportunity to pound out another hundred push-ups, his strength relentless.

How the hell is he so able? I look up to him.

After a hundred reps, he pauses to catch his breath.

The cool forest air adds a refreshing touch, and I decide to lick another bunch of few nearby leaves, hoping they aren’t poisonous.

“How much should I be doing each day if I want to get strong without hurting myself?” I ask, firing off questions after my mouth moisturizes.

“Five hundred a day, then we’ll add weights and cardio,” he replies, thinking.

“We’ll eat anything we catch—foxes, nutrias, even those white monkeys if we have to. Some salt would be a blessing, though.”

“Speaking of cardio, how are we going to stay clean? Because I had an idea.” He looks at me, intrigued.

“Let’s hear it Mark!”

“We could dig a pond or build a dam near the stream,” I say, excited by the thought. His eyes wander as he considers it.

“Good. We will, maybe even start today. If you’d be able to dig.” He smirks at me.

I grin, ignoring my dry mouth.

“It’s risky, maybe even impossible. But once I’m hydrated again…”

“What are you talking about, Mark?”

“Do you want to leave it here or.. are you thinking what I am thinking?” I answer.