The next month passed by quickly, and the changes in my body were undeniable. I had lost a staggering 40 kilograms, and the difference was apparent in everything—from the way my clothes fit to how light I felt during the day.
When I stepped into the bathroom one morning, the reflection staring back at me was unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar. My clothes hung more loosely around my frame, and my face seemed to have sharper angles now. It wasn't the dramatic transformation of someone who went from scrawny to ripped, but it was enough to be noticed. My parents were the first to comment on it.
They were shocked. My mother especially couldn't stop commenting on how much more "cute" and "handsome" I looked now. She'd always been encouraging, but this was a bit more than I was used to. She kept going on about how I'd "grown into my features."
But I wasn't fooled by her praise. I knew the truth. My face was still plain—nothing special. It wasn't handsome by any means. Sure, I wasn't as chubby, but I didn't exactly look like a model. It was just the weight loss. I was still the same person, just a thinner version. But still, the compliments made me feel like I had accomplished something, even if only physically.
The real transformation wasn't just physical, though. My training missions from the system had gotten increasingly difficult. After my body had adjusted to the routine, the system had upped the challenge—doubling the amount of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups I had to complete, as well as the distance I had to run. And with that, the rewards had grown significantly as well. It was no longer just about the physical strain; the difficulty of the challenges was starting to feel like a real test.
But it was worth it. Each time I completed a mission, I felt my body growing stronger, and the experience and rewards were adding up fast.
On top of that, I had reached a new level of proficiency with my internal energy. I'd managed to clear my meridians, which was no small feat. Now, I was ready to begin practicing the Qi circulation technique. I could already feel the subtle shifts in my body when I focused on circulating my energy. It was exhilarating to think about what could come next.
I had also leveled up four times, each time feeling a slight surge of power. I opened the System Interface to assess my current status:
System Interface
Name: Jin Kuroda Level: 5 Occupation: Student (Junior High)
Stats:
Strength: 10 Stamina: 8 Agility: 7 Endurance: 8 Vitality: 12 Dexterity: 7 Constitution: 14 Intelligence: 12 Wisdom: 6 Luck: 9 Energy: 500/500
Free Attribute Points: 8
Skills:
Passive: Insight (Level 1) Active: Energy Conduit (Level 1)
I reviewed my stats, and it was evident I was still far from where I needed to be to pass the UA Entrance Exam. Every time I leveled up, all of my stats increased by one—except for luck and wisdom. But every level meant more strength, stamina, and endurance. And the 2 free attribute points I gained each time gave me the flexibility to build on what I needed most.
It wasn't a sprint, but the progress was undeniable. 30 was the goal. That's where my stats needed to be to stand a chance in the entrance exam.
With that thought in mind, I looked out the window of my room at the dojo across the street. The building was simple, nothing fancy. It wasn't the kind of dojo that boasted grand architecture or the latest training equipment. It was relatively average in appearance—a modest structure with clean, sliding wooden doors and simple signs in front showing the dojo's name. But despite its unassuming exterior, the dojo was well-known and well-respected in the neighborhood.
I watched as children and adults alike walked in and out, all dressed in the traditional white karate gi. There was an air of discipline about them, their movements precise, their faces focused. I could hear the sounds of sparring and the occasional shout of encouragement or instruction wafting out from the open doors.
The dojo wasn't just a place to learn martial arts; it was a place that held a certain reverence in the community. A place where people came to learn, to grow, and to discipline themselves.
This was the dojo I had chosen to train at, and for good reason. It was in the perfect location—close to both my school and home, making it an ideal spot to fit into my training routine. But there was more to it than convenience. There were two main reasons why I had decided to train here, and both were equally important.
First, I needed to establish a cover. If I ever used martial arts in the future, I needed a legitimate story to explain how I knew those techniques. By training here, I could claim to have learned martial arts from this very dojo, building a solid backstory that wouldn't raise suspicion. It would be the perfect excuse.
But there was another reason, one that went beyond simple necessity. I wanted to see how traditional martial arts compared to the techniques I was learning from the system. The system granted me powerful skills, but I needed to know how those compared to the real-world martial arts I was studying. How effective were they? What were the differences in combat style, philosophy, and execution?
Learning martial arts here wasn't just for the cover story—it was a way to test the systems I was acquiring against reality. I couldn't rely solely on the system; I needed to understand both worlds, traditional and digital, to refine my skills and be ready for whatever came next.
I took a deep breath, feeling the determination settle into my chest. It wasn't just about becoming stronger. It was about becoming smart and resourceful, about blending both worlds in a way that would give me the upper hand.
With that, I pushed open the dojo's door and stepped inside, ready to begin my new training.