"You completed a set of 312 weighted squats."
The system's quiet feedback surfaced in Noah's mind as he finished the final rep.
Based on the pattern of his recent training sessions, repeating similar workloads several more times would gradually push his limits higher—strength, durability, and mental focus alike.
By ten that night, Noah wiped the sweat from his forehead and lowered the massive barbell he'd been carrying.
The stacked plates together weighed well over three hundred pounds.
He glanced over the system's analysis.
Since equipping the additional boost to his strength, his training efficiency had increased dramatically. Compared to before, the same amount of effort now produced far better results.
In just four or five hours of training, he was already approaching the next improvement.
"That's enough for tonight," Noah said.
Coach Smith stared at him, his expression long since numbed by disbelief.
"You're stopping already?" Smith asked. "You only trained for five hours."
"It's fine," Noah replied casually. "You're closing soon anyway. I'll keep training when I get home."
He pulled on his shirt.
"I'll be back tomorrow after school. Same routine."
Smith nodded.
Noah was drenched in sweat but didn't bother using the gym's shower. He knew he'd continue training once he got home, which meant he'd just end up sweating again anyway.
So he simply headed out.
Smith watched him leave the gym before leaning against the wall with a quiet exhale.
Part of him felt excited.
Tomorrow, Noah would come back again.
And if the last few days were anything to go by, the kid might show up even stronger than today.
But another part of Smith couldn't shake a lingering concern.
Over the past week, he'd watched Noah transform at a rate that defied common sense.
This kid wasn't destined to remain ordinary.
One day, Noah would rise.
The question was—
Where would he land?
Public sentiment toward mutants had grown increasingly hostile in recent years, and Noah didn't exactly seem like the type who enjoyed following rules.
If things went badly, Smith could easily imagine him ending up with the Mutant Brotherhood.
A group like that would jump at the chance to recruit someone with Noah's potential.
Of course, Smith didn't actually want that to happen.
But he did have a backup plan.
Over the past few days, he'd started writing everything down in a journal.
If Noah ever became famous—or infamous—those notes could easily become a book.
If Noah joined the Brotherhood, Smith could publish something like:
"My Mutant Client."
A psychological breakdown of how a promising young man slowly turned toward villainy.
But if Noah ended up working with the government or becoming some kind of superhero?
No problem.
Same journal.
Different spin.
"My Mutant Brother."
Lots of praise. Lots of heroic storytelling.
Either way—
The book would sell.
Smith chuckled quietly.
A win-win situation.
Meanwhile, Noah returned home without incident.
Tonight's objective was clear.
Raise his constitution to 1.5.
That would push his body beyond normal human limits.
According to the system's analysis, once his constitution reached that level, even long-term physical damage could heal naturally. His recovery ability would likely improve dramatically.
That kind of durability would be invaluable in a fight.
Noah hung his shirt aside and walked over to a heavy wardrobe.
He gripped the sides and lifted it slightly off the floor, preparing to use it as an improvised weight.
Just then—
His phone rang.
Noah paused and carefully set the wardrobe down before walking to the desk.
A strange number flashed on the screen.
But he already had a suspicion who it might be.
He answered.
"Hello?"
A rough but cheerful voice came through the speaker.
"Hey, kid. Been a while. Running low on cash these days? I've got a big job coming up. If it goes well, I'll cut you in for ten percent."
Noah stayed silent for a moment.
Then he sighed.
"Sorry, Uncle Kane. I already told you before—I'm done with that life."
The man on the other end—Victor Kane—paused briefly.
Then he spoke again.
"You sure about that, Noah? You were made for this kind of work. Ever since you left, none of the other guys can keep up."
His tone grew persuasive.
"I was even thinking you might take over for me someday."
Noah's voice remained calm.
"I'm serious, Mr. Kane. I just want to focus on school now."
Kane clicked his tongue.
"School? Come on. One job with us pays more than a year of honest work."
His voice turned mocking.
"If I hadn't taken you in after your gambling-addict parents died, you'd probably have ended up on the street."
He laughed.
"With a face like yours, someone would've picked you up eventually."
Noah's eyes turned cold.
"I've made my decision," he said quietly. "I've got things to do. Goodbye."
He hung up.
The room fell silent.
A faint, humorless smile appeared on Noah's face.
He knew the real story.
His parents had once lived fairly comfortably in New York.
The reason they fell into gambling debt in the first place?
Victor Kane.
Loans.
Carefully staged games.
Interest rates designed to trap people.
Everything had been arranged.
If Noah hadn't been clever enough to survive those years, his fate might truly have ended the way Kane joked about.
Sold off somewhere.
Instead, Noah had spent years doing dirty work for Kane's organization, slowly paying off the crushing debt his parents had been forced into.
Only recently had he finally managed to walk away.
Even before recovering memories from his past life, Noah had already understood one thing.
Staying in the criminal underworld in New York was suicidal.
Between mutants, vigilantes, and supervillains, it only took one unlucky encounter to end up dead.
After the call, Noah leaned back in his chair.
Originally, he had planned to use Kane's network to launder the money he'd taken from the bank robbers.
Kane's people could turn the stolen cash into clean funds, usually taking about ten percent as commission.
But after tonight's conversation, that plan was finished.
Not because Noah felt guilty asking.
Because he didn't trust Kane.
There was a good chance the man would simply keep the money and pretend it had disappeared during the laundering process.
At that point, Noah would have two choices.
Accept the loss.
Or go back to working for him.
Neither option appealed to him.
He let out a quiet breath.
"I'll figure something else out."
For now, the money would remain hidden.
Standing up, Noah lifted the wardrobe again and settled it across his shoulders.
Training came first.
Becoming stronger mattered far more than any complicated plan.
Tonight, he would focus entirely on pushing his constitution toward 1.5.
He even decided to skip his usual energy cultivation for the evening.
If his constitution improved, his natural aptitude would rise as well.
The time saved during future training would easily make up for one missed session.
With that thought in mind—
Noah began lifting again.