As I arrive home, the house is quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—more like the you-better-have-a-damn-good-excuse kind. I keep my cursed energy suppressed, masking my presence entirely. No one needs to know I've been out testing my powers in the middle of the night.
I quietly slip into my room, shutting the door behind me without a sound. I change out of my forest-worn clothes, toss them into the corner, and head straight for the bathroom. I just want a shower and maybe a few hours of sleep.
But, of course—because life never gives me a break—I hear her voice.
"Where have you been? I was worried sick about you."
Ugh. Not now.
I groan softly and take a deep breath, forcing myself to plaster on the most innocent face I can muster. I turn around, eyes wide with faux guilt and a touch of puppy-dog charm.
"Sorry, Mom. I just lost track of time."
She narrows her eyes at me, giving me that classic mom-side-eye. The kind that scans for lies like a built-in lie detector. I barely manage to hold back a chuckle.
"Okay… just be more careful next time, and don't stay out too late, alright?"
I nod like the obedient little angel she wants me to be and finally step into the shower.
As hot water cascades over me, I relax for the first time since unlocking cursed perception. The weight of cursed energy, memories, and power feels manageable here. Like the water is washing some of it away—at least temporarily.
After finishing up, I wipe down the mirror and glance at my reflection.
Yikes.
I'm built like a damn stick figure. Scratch that—more like a sleep-deprived scarecrow that's been skipping every meal and every gym session.
This body's got potential—but it's weak. Untrained. Not even worthy of the strength I now possess.
I clench my fists, watching the muscles shift under my skin. They feel stronger than they look thanks to my Viltrumite genes, but the aesthetics? Yeah, no.
This has to change.
I'll start tomorrow. Early. A run to wake up the system. Then push-ups, sit-ups, burpees—until I find a gym or something better.
The Next Morning
My eyes snap open before dawn. No alarm needed.
I get dressed, slipping into some beat-up sneakers and a hoodie, then quietly head out the front door. The streets are still, the sky just starting to lighten with the first signs of morning.
I take off into a sprint.
The world around me blurs almost instantly.
I lose track of time as I run through neighborhood streets, past parks, across small bridges, and into suburban hills. My breathing is calm. My heart rate barely rises.
Hours pass. I'm not even winded.
This isn't normal human stamina—this is Viltrumite endurance.
I could probably run a marathon around the planet and still be back in time for lunch.
By the time I return home, I'm drenched—but barely sweating. It's more from the ambient temperature than actual effort.
Inside, I find Mom and Issei sitting at the table, halfway through breakfast.
"Where have you been this morning, Nissei?" Mom asks, sounding curious but not suspicious.
Issei doesn't miss a beat. Of course he doesn't.
"He was probably patrolling the streets, making sure women don't wear tight shirts. You know—jugs and nips and—"
"Goddamn," I cut him off, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Is that seriously all you think about? Control yourself."
His stupid grin widens like he's proud of being a walking HR violation.
Mom just laughs like it's cute.
"Oh, that's good, sweetie—but try to be nicer to your brother, okay?"
Yeah, sure. I roll my eyes and head for the bathroom, muttering something about "family dysfunction" under my breath.
Back in my room, I get started on my real workout.
If this body is already enhanced, then I need to train it like it's indestructible.
Let's start with 1,000 push-ups, sit-ups, and burpees.
An hour later…
Nothing.
Barely even a twitch in my muscles. No burn. No ache. Nothing.
My enhanced physiology is too efficient. I need something more.
Something harder.
A normal gym won't cut it. I can't go full force there without accidentally demolishing a weight rack or sending dumbbells into orbit.
I need a place where I can go all-out. No limits. No witnesses.
A junkyard in the middle of nowhere would be perfect—someplace isolated where I can toss car engines like medicine balls and smash boulders without worrying about collateral damage.
But then I remember—I'm in Japan.
This isn't Murica. There's not a junkyard every 10 minutes next to a Taco Bell and abandoned lot.
If I want that kind of space, I'll need to find it. Or make it.
Maybe somewhere in the mountains? Or near some industrial zone?
Either way, I'm not going to become strong enough by doing school PE routines.
No.
If I'm going to become someone who can handle cursed energy, Viltrumite strength, and whatever else this world throws at me…
I need to train like I'm preparing to fight gods.
I sit down at the breakfast table, staring at the plate in front of me with the full weight of betrayal settling in my chest.
A single slice of toast. A sliver of fish. Half an egg. And one sad-looking cherry tomato.
I squint at it like it just insulted my ancestors.
Of course I'm thin as shit. This food looks like it's rationed straight from 1943. Europe. Wartime. Miserable.
I glance over at Issei, who's busy devouring his equally pathetic portion like it's gourmet. I sigh and get up without a word, walking over to the fridge. I throw it open, grab a carton of eggs, some chicken breast, and a few other proteins. It's not much, but it'll hold me over until I can figure out where to hunt my next meal—because this is clearly survival mode.
But just as I crack the first egg into a bowl—
"Hey! That's enough food, Nissei. There's no reason to cook more," Mom says from behind me, tone firm in that mom-knows-best way.
I turn slowly, like a villain about to deliver a monologue, egg dripping from my fingers as I stare at her. Issei doesn't even look up—his eyes are glued to his plate like he's trying to mind-control the fish into growing back.
"Mom," I say calmly, "I've come to realize that I need a lifestyle change. I've started working out. Training. Evolving. And I can't do that while looking like a damn stick figure. I need to add weight. Muscle. Power. Food is fuel. Right now, I'm running on fumes."
She blinks at me. Then turns to Issei.
And they both start laughing.
Out loud.
Full-on we're-in-a-sitcom laughter.
I stare at them. Stone-faced. My expression slowly morphs into what can only be described as: I fucking hate everything about this moment.
"What's so funny?" I snap. "At least I have an achievable goal. Unlike Diddy's unpaid intern over there."
The laughter dies instantly.
Mom's face transforms like she just caught the family dog pooping on the carpet.
"Nissei, what did I say about language in the house? And stop bullying your brother! He can achieve his dreams too… right, son?"
She turns to Issei, and just like that, her expression does a full 180—disappointment becomes rainbows and butterflies.
Issei nods enthusiastically, then climbs onto his chair like he's about to deliver a political speech.
"I'm going to be the Harem King! I'll touch all the boobs in the future!"
…
My soul briefly leaves my body.
My face now resembles someone trying to calculate how much butterfly effect damage I'd do if I buried this idiot six feet under right now.
Nope. Not today.
I toss everything back in the fridge with a loud clang, turn on my heel, and walk out the front door.
New plan: Find real food. Bulk up. Possibly commit a felony in the process.
Mission: Acquire Protein
Flying is stressful.
I coast just above the rooftops, keeping my cursed energy masked. I'm not trying to trigger radar, satellites, or bored gods watching Earth like a reality show.
After about 30 minutes, I make it to the far edge of the island—ocean stretching endlessly in every direction. I pull out my phone, open Maps, and spin the globe for a minute.
Alright. Screw it.
I lock my eyes on a random spot in the U.S.
Let's go to America.
3 Hours Later – Somewhere in the United States
I land in what I think is Kansas—or maybe Arkansas? Whatever, it's rural, flat, and boring. But more importantly: there's a Walmart.
Thank you, capitalist America.
Unfortunately, I forgot something important.
Time zones.
It's 10 PM. The sky is dark, and the store is half-lit with late-night stragglers wandering around like zombies. I lower myself behind the garden section, keeping my presence hidden, and walk in like I own the place.
No alarms. No sensors. Just a dude with a goal and zero morals.
I grab a large metal storage bin and start loading it with anything high in protein—packs of steak, frozen chicken, salmon, eggs, jerky, protein powder. I throw in a few boxes of protein bars and a 5-pound tub of peanut butter for good measure. On my way out, I pass the outdoor section and spot a portable propane grill.
Mine now.
I hoist the entire bin onto one shoulder like it weighs nothing, balance the grill on the other, and take off into the sky.
5 Hours Later – Somewhere Remote in Japan
That. Took. Forever.
Flying back while hiding my energy, carrying a literal metal bin full of meat, and dodging international air traffic like I'm playing Microsoft Flight Simulator? Exhausting.
But I made it.
I scout for a secluded area far from any roads or people. Eventually, I find what passes for wilderness—a large hilly forested area, quiet and undisturbed.
Not quite a mountain, but close enough.
I land softly, scanning the terrain with cursed energy.
No people. No curses. Nothing but bugs, trees, and peace.
Perfect.
I set down the grill, pull out the bin, and start prepping everything—until I realize something critical.
FUUUUUCCCCKKKKK.
I forgot propane.
Of course I did.
I slap my forehead, resisting the urge to scream. Alright, plan B.
Time to go caveman.
I scavenge the area for dry wood, which turns out to be near impossible in the humid Japanese forest. Every branch I find is soggy, and the underbrush is damp like it rained ten minutes before I got here.
I growl under my breath. "This ain't Murica where firewood is just chilling in backyard piles like furniture."
Eventually, I manage to scrape together a small bundle of half-dry twigs and use cursed energy to heat the grill. The flame's uneven, weak—but it's enough.
One by one, I start cooking.
Steak. Chicken. Eggs. Salmon.
I sit on a flat rock near the grill, the night air cool against my skin as smoke rises gently through the trees.
For once—finally—I eat in peace.
The stars above are quiet.
The forest around me is still.
No screaming twin brother.
No side-eye mom lectures.
Just me, meat, and the warm satisfaction of being full—for the first time since arriving in this world.