"Hey! You—"
The woman's voice was sharp with anger. A moment ago, Ethan had been caught in an awkward moment, Gavin making crude remarks and her overhearing. Without a second's hesitation, she stepped forward and drove her foot into Ethan's chest. The impact knocked him back two meters.
Pain flared, but he stayed on his feet. He wanted to shout after her, but Gavin was on the ground, still retching miserably. Ethan sighed. "What did I do in my past life to deserve this?" He couldn't leave Gavin to choke in the street.
Still, seeing the woman again stirred something in him. Before, he wouldn't have had the courage to approach a beauty climbing into a black Rolls-Royce. But now, with the ability to copy skills, he felt a new confidence.
It took effort to haul Gavin back to the dorm. By the time Ethan dumped him on his bed, he was exhausted. "My conditioning is pathetic. Even a woman can kick me that hard. I need to copy a serious training program from a coach or a special forces soldier."
After a quick shower—he couldn't stand feeling grimy—he collapsed into bed.
At dawn, he woke early, restless. By six, he was in the cafeteria. The senior class had already graduated, and the place was nearly empty. As he brushed past people, he checked for skills, but after thirty people, only one girl had something worth noting, and it was unfamiliar—too risky to copy.
"Maybe I should find professors or older professionals," he thought. But the only older people nearby were the cafeteria staff, and he couldn't reach them behind the counters.
Then he spotted a man in his early thirties in sportswear. Ethan hadn't seen him before. "Not a student. Maybe a coach or instructor," he guessed, quickly moving in line behind him.
The voice in his head chimed. Basic Sports Medicine detected. Specialized Endurance Conditioning Method (Tier 1) detected. Copy?
Ethan froze for a split second. He had been looking for a training method, but this… this was advanced. Without hesitation, he copied both.
A rush of knowledge slammed into him, but with the conditioning method came something else—a sudden drain, as if all his stamina had been ripped out. His legs felt weak, his stomach hollow.
"Something's wrong," he muttered, steadying himself.
The man left, and Ethan ordered ten steamed buns, two bowls of porridge, and five fried dough sticks. He devoured them at a table, feeling the food turn directly into raw energy.
"I get it. Knowledge-based skills like nursing or languages are just information. This is physical. My body has to match the training method's demands."
He kept eating. When the hunger persisted, he bought over eighty buns to take back to the dorm. Gavin was still asleep, curled under a half-slipped blanket. Ethan covered him, then tore into the buns.
By the time he had eaten more than seventy, the hunger finally eased. His body felt transformed—lighter, stronger, and humming with power. Muscles felt tighter, his breathing smoother. His mind identified it instinctively: Specialized Endurance Conditioning, Tier 3.
According to the method, conditioning was split into nine tiers, each with early, middle, and late phases, followed by higher phases like Advanced Foundation, Elite Core Strength, and Peak Endurance. The sportswear man had been early Tier 3. By copying, Ethan had matched him instantly.
He also knew progress would slow. At first, food was enough to push him forward. Later, he'd need specialized supplements, recovery regimens, or high-intensity environments to improve further.
A shower revealed another surprise—dark residue on his skin. Sweat mixed with expelled impurities from his body's overhaul. He scrubbed clean, feeling lighter still.
Dressed in sportswear, he went out to test himself. He ran five minutes at full pace without breaking stride or losing breath. The improvement was real.
By the riverside, a cry of pain caught his attention. A young couple was jogging; the girl had twisted her ankle. Ethan stepped up. "Let me see."
Thanks to his new Sports Medicine skill, he diagnosed a minor dislocation in seconds. A quick, practiced movement realigned it, and a short massage reduced the swelling. "No pressure for a while," he advised.
The boyfriend thanked him repeatedly before carrying her away. Ethan smiled faintly—helping people was something his parents had taught him to value.
He turned to continue his run—only to hear a deep voice. "Hold it, young man."
Three figures approached from under the trees. One was the sportswear man from earlier. The other two were older, perhaps in their sixties, dressed in traditional suits. The one in gray radiated a quiet authority, his posture sharp despite his lean frame.
Ethan's instincts told him—these were not ordinary men.