Since gaining the system, barely a week had passed.
Yet Noah Vale's life had accelerated like an engine stuck at full throttle.
Events kept crashing into his routine one after another, leaving him no time to slow down. Every training session became another opportunity to think—about improving his methods, about future plans, about how to grow stronger faster.
But time remained his biggest enemy.
He simply hadn't had enough of it yet.
Right now, he was still in the early stage of development. Too weak, too inexperienced, and far from reaching his real potential.
Take the hydraulic press he wanted for training.
He knew exactly how useful that machine would be. But getting one installed wasn't simple. Permits, purchasing, modifications—all of that required time.
And money.
Even a single piece of equipment like that would drain most of his savings.
Living expenses would become tight again afterward.
There were ways to make money, of course. But doing it legally meant either complicated bureaucracy or waiting far too long.
And the press was just the beginning.
More advanced training methods—industrial voltage equipment, chemical exposure, even extreme experiments like interacting with nuclear reactors—would require massive financial backing.
Money solved almost everything.
Selling the Purple Dawn Technique would easily generate that money.
Its biggest advantage was that energy transfer could accelerate training with minimal loss. If enough people practiced it, someone could become a martial artist overnight.
The market value of that kind of technique would be enormous.
The problem was obvious.
Noah wasn't strong enough to reveal something like that yet.
In the Marvel universe, trusting the wrong person could get you killed.
Even someone relatively trustworthy like Tony Stark, before becoming Iron Man, would be a dangerous contact. Stark was constantly monitored by S.H.I.E.L.D., and organizations like HYDRA had a habit of showing up wherever valuable power appeared.
At Noah's current strength level, that kind of attention would be suicidal.
That was why he kept everything low-profile.
Until he reached at least Spider-Man's level of physical ability, dealing with those kinds of people would be reckless.
If Noah were rich right now, he wouldn't even bother holding Peter back.
He'd happily hand Peter a few million dollars as a farewell gift and send him off to chase his superhero dreams.
Reality, unfortunately, wasn't that generous.
"Hey, Noah," Coach Smith suddenly said.
Smith had been sitting quietly in the corner the whole time.
"I followed the instructions in the manual. I managed to hold a thread of energy inside my core… but it's incredibly weak."
Noah glanced at him.
His own body was still covered in blood from training as he set down the iron block he'd been lifting.
"That's normal," Noah said.
He nodded toward the floor.
"Turn around. I'll transfer a small amount to you and see how it works."
Smith's eyes widened.
"You're going to transfer energy to me?"
He had memorized Noah's notes already. He knew exactly what that meant.
"Less talking. Sit down," Noah said calmly.
"To generate that amount yourself would take you an entire day. For me it's about ten minutes."
Smith immediately sat cross-legged with visible excitement.
Noah placed a hand against his back.
Slowly, he guided a thread of violet energy into Smith's body.
The moment the energy entered his system, Smith's breathing steadied as he began circulating it according to the technique.
Three minutes later, the transfer was complete.
The energy inside Smith's body stabilized into a faint but functional flow.
Noah withdrew his hand.
Inside his own core, that particular thread of energy was gone permanently.
"So that's what energy transfer feels like…" Noah murmured quietly.
The process itself hadn't felt dramatic at all.
No lightning.
No mystical explosion.
Just a quiet shift of power from one person to another.
Peter, who had been watching the entire time, looked intrigued.
"Hey Noah," he said. "Can I learn that technique too?"
"Sure," Noah replied.
"But you can't teach it to anyone else this year."
He needed to maintain its rarity—for now.
Peter nodded.
Soon he resumed Noah's durability training, swinging the steel rod while reading Noah's notes during his breaks.
Even before gaining his spider powers, Peter had been exceptionally intelligent. With his enhanced mental ability, memorizing the entire manual didn't take long.
By the time he left that night, he already knew the technique by heart.
He planned to try practicing it at home.
Out of gratitude for Noah's help, Peter stayed until nearly eleven before finally heading home.
Once the gym was empty again, Noah returned to his nightly routine.
First, he dragged out the container of acid.
Then he began erasing the traces of his face.
After that, he slipped out into the city.
The streets of New York were quiet.
Noah moved through the darkness toward the homes of several gang leaders.
Ever since three gangs had been wiped out, the entire criminal underworld had become paranoid. Everyone was on high alert.
Tonight's visit proved that point.
The first location was empty.
Only a few armed guards remained behind as bait.
After dealing with them, Noah moved to another location.
Same result.
Another trap.
The gangs had clearly learned their lesson.
Eventually Noah gave up and began walking back toward the gym along a quiet side road.
The wind was cool.
Streetlights flickered weakly, casting dim yellow pools of light across the empty path.
With his partially healed acid-scarred face and the eerie lighting, Noah looked like something out of a horror movie.
Around him, the night was alive with small sounds.
Insects rustling.
A lizard scurrying through dry grass.
Then—
Noah stopped.
A faint scent reached his nose.
Blood.
Fresh blood.
After the past few days, Noah had become very familiar with the smell.
This one was recent.
The blood hadn't even begun to dry yet.
Someone was just killed nearby.
The thought didn't disturb him much.
After all, the number of people who had died directly or indirectly because of him was already approaching triple digits.
A single murder wasn't exactly shocking anymore.
Noah listened carefully.
There were no heartbeats nearby.
Which meant the killer had probably already left.
He stepped forward to investigate.
Then—
CRACK.
A sharp snapping sound came from the bushes beside the road.
Noah's head turned instantly.
"Who's there?"
The bushes rustled.
A tall woman stepped out.
She was striking—tall, elegant, with sharp features and cold, calculating eyes.
But her expression was tense.
She stared at Noah's scarred face with clear unease.
"What exactly are you?" she asked cautiously.
Moments earlier, she had planned to ambush him.
Then she saw his face.
The horrific burns had nearly made her lose her nerve.
For a moment she genuinely wondered if some kind of monster had wandered out of the shadows.
Noah's eyes narrowed slightly.
The scent of blood he'd noticed earlier was partially coming from her mouth.
Great, Noah thought.
Looks like I actually ran into something supernatural tonight.
Across from him, the woman had reached the same conclusion.
Both of them stared at each other in the dim light.
With the exact same thought running through their minds.
Did I just run into a monster?