He grabbed the back of an old homework assignment from his desk, flipped it over, started scribbling numbers. Pencil scratching furiously, as if etching his future into reality.
Daily:Six stats. Twenty points. Five EXP.
Weekly (7 days perfect): Forty-two stats. One hundred forty points. Thirty-five EXP. Plus the seven-day bonus—fifty more points, ten more EXP.
So really, one hundred ninety points and forty-five EXP per week.
Monthly (30 days perfect): One hundred eighty stats. Six hundred points. One hundred fifty EXP. Plus that massive thirty-day bonus—two hundred more points, fifty more EXP, and a permanent five-point boost to all physical stats.
So, for one month of perfect execution: eight hundred points, two hundred EXP, and a permanent +5 to Strength, Endurance, and Agility on top of the daily gains.
His current stats were sixty-five Strength, sixty-five Endurance, sixty-five Agility.
If he kept this up for one month—just thirty days—he'd gain sixty points in Strength and Endurance from the daily rewards, sixty in Agility. Plus, the permanent five-point bonus at the end.
That would put him at: one hundred thirty Strength, one hundred thirty Endurance, one hundred thirty Agility.
Well above the average male benchmark of one hundred. Properly fit. Maybe even pushing into athletic territory. Sculpted muscles rippling under skin, breaths steady as steel, movements fluid and predatory—ready to claim whatever, whomever he desired.
And that wasn't counting the passive benefits. Actual visible muscle definition. Sexual stamina that would let him fuck for hours without his body giving out. Flexibility and control that would make him smoother, faster, more dangerous in bed and out of it.
A body honed like a weapon, every thrust a conquest, every session a domination without end.
Ninety days—three months of perfect execution—would transform him completely. The "Ascended Dragon" title, whatever that meant. Probably something insane: an aura that made lesser men shrink away instinctively, while women felt an inexplicable pull, their bodies responding before their minds even caught up.
Three months to become properly dangerous. A predator in human skin, capable of taking what he wanted without apology.
The only real penalty was cardio. Miss three days in a row of running or swimming, lose a hundred points. Made sense—cardio gains disappeared fast if you slacked. Your body adapted quickly but also de-adapted just as quick if you stopped.
Everything else had no penalty though. Just encouragement. Build yourself up or don't, but the system won't punish you for trying and failing. It was mercy wrapped in temptation, a gentle hand guiding him toward the monster he was meant to become.
Phei looked at the schedule he'd sketched beside the numbers.
6:00 AM - Wake up, Morning Warrior (20 min)
6:30 AM - Dragon's Stamina: run or swim (60 min)
7:30 AM - Shower, breakfast, get ready
8:30 AM - School (if bothering) or free time
3:30 PM - School ends
4:00 PM - Gym: Iron Body Challenge (90 min)
5:30 PM - Home, shower, dinner prep
6:30 PM - Dinner with family (suffer)
7:30 PM - Free time: homework, planning, marked women
9:00 PM - Flexibility routine (30 min)
9:30 PM onwards - His time: seduction, apartment, harem, sleep
It worked. It actually worked. He'd still have five or six hours free for other activities. And if he started skipping school—which, let's be honest, would probably happen once he had momentum—even more time opened up.
Hours to hunt, to claim, to build the life that had been stolen from him piece by piece.
Phei smiled at the numbers, but it was a complicated smile. Slightly manic around the edges. A wolfish grin, all teeth and promise.
Three hours and twenty minutes of working out every day. Currently, he wasn't confident he could finish all of it. Wasn't sure he could last that long, especially the ninety-minute gym session. His body would be screaming by the end of week one.
Muscles burning like acid, lungs heaving, every rep a war against the weak boy he'd been forced to remain.
But he had to. Each time, no matter how long it took, no matter how much it hurt. The rewards were too good. The transformation too necessary. Pain was just the price of power—and he was finally ready to pay it in full.
Thankfully, he was decent at running and swimming. Had been on the school's swim team briefly before Danton had gotten him kicked off by spreading rumors that he was "creeping on girls in the locker room."
Running he'd picked up naturally—good for escaping bullies, good for clearing his head when the house got too suffocating.
So Stage 2 wouldn't be an issue. That part he could handle.
The rest though...
Phei stood up from the bed, walked to his cracked mirror, and pulled off his shirt.
Then his sweatpants. Stood there in just his boxers, looking at himself properly for the first time in... months? Years?
His chest was almost flat. No muscle definition whatsoever, just pale skin stretched over ribs that were slightly too visible. His stomach was soft, no abs, just this slight pudginess that came from eating whatever cheap food was available and never exercising.
His arms were thin—spaghetti limbs, properly—no biceps, no definition, just skinny appendages that looked like they'd snap in a strong wind.
His legs were a bit better from all the running and walking he did, but still nothing impressive. Lean but not muscular. Functional but not attractive.
His shoulders were narrow. His back had no V-taper. His whole body screamed "weak" in capital letters. A body built for endurance of suffering, not for dominance.
Finishing all these exercises was going to be a real pain in his backside. Absolute torture for the first week, maybe two. His body would hate him. He'd be sore constantly, exhausted, probably wanting to quit.
Every morning a battle, every night a reminder of how far he still had to climb.
But the rewards were there. And he'd change his body in the process. Would become hot too, not just functional.
Broad shoulders that commanded space. Thick arms that could pin a woman down with ease. A chest she could claw without leaving a mark. Abs sharp enough to grind against. A physique that made clothes strain and eyes linger.
The thought made him grin despite the daunting challenge ahead. A slow, predatory curl of his lips, dark and certain.
Phei turned slightly, examining himself from different angles. Yeah. Loads of work to do. But doable. Had to be.
Now, though… now it mattered. Sharp cheekbones half-hidden beneath the strands, eyes that had always been too intense now burning with something new. With the right body beneath it, this face could stop hearts. He'd make sure of it.
He pushed his hair to the other side—black, messy, falling just past his ears now in that intentional-but-not way. It had gotten longer over the past few months, almost to his jawline. He'd been meaning to cut it but kept forgetting, kept putting it off because who bloody cared what his hair looked like when everything else about his life was hell?
It actually looked decent. A bit longer than that picture he'd seen online of some Korean model whose style he'd unconsciously been copying. Almost falling into his eyes when he didn't push it back.
He'd need to decide soon whether to cut it or let it keep growing. Maybe keep it? It made him look less like a desperate charity case and more like... someone with style.
Someone intentional.
His face, though. His face wasn't that bad anymore, was it?
Phei leaned closer to the cracked mirror, studying his features properly.
With 75 Charisma now—up this morning—he was becoming more visible. More noticeable. His jawline looked slightly sharper, more defined. His cheekbones were more prominent. His skin had better color, healthier, like he'd actually been eating and sleeping properly instead of barely surviving.
But the most striking change—the one that made him stop and stare—was his eyes.
They'd started producing this interesting, unique purple color that absolutely wasn't there before. Not brown anymore. Not that muddy, forgettable brown that everyone else had.
Purple. Amethyst purple, like the gemstone. Deep and rich and completely unnatural.
A change he welcomed. A unique, rare trait. System modification? Had to be. Normal people's eyes didn't just change color overnight.
It was beautiful though. Properly beautiful. The kind of eyes that would make people stop and look twice, make them wonder if he was wearing contacts, make them remember his face instead of forgetting it the second he left the room.
Nobody would think he was furniture anymore. Not with eyes like these.
Phei smiled at his reflection—at the purple-eyed stranger staring back at him who looked almost like someone worth noticing.
"Alright then," he said softly to that stranger. "Tomorrow, six AM. Dragon Rise starts. Let's see what you're actually made of."
The system pinged in agreement.
[DRAGON RISE ROUTINE will activate tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM.]
Yeah. Paradise.
His Paradise. Not theirs.
Phei turned away from the mirror, gathered up all his new possessions from the bed—credit card, apartment keys, secured phone—and hid them in the one place nobody ever looked.
The back of his closet, inside an old shoebox labeled "Phei's Junk" that even Danton hadn't bothered rifling through in years.
Safe. Secret. His.
Tomorrow, everything changed. Again.
But for now?
For now, Phei lay down on his narrow bed in his tiny shithole room and closed his eyes.
And for the first time in ten years, he fell asleep smiling.