At Noah's signal, Smith hit the switch.
The machine roared to life.
A surge of electricity flooded into Noah's body, powerful enough to damage cells almost instantly. At the same time, the reinforced press behind him began striking in a steady rhythm—dozens of impacts every second, each one landing with crushing force against his back.
His legs were locked in place, the restraints tightening and compressing from all sides, forcing constant pressure through his lower body.
And through it all, Noah moved.
His arms lifted a massive weighted rig again and again, the strain synchronized with the relentless punishment from the machine.
Pain. Damage. Recovery.
Over and over.
At this point, he no longer needed to isolate muscle groups. His body had reached a level where improving one area pushed everything else forward along with it. Fatigue barely registered anymore—just another signal to push harder.
The machine hammered on, filling the factory with a constant, thunderous rhythm.
Noah glanced at the system feedback scrolling through his mind, satisfied.
Finally. No more wasted time.
"Hey, Noah," Smith called out over the noise. "There's something I wanted to mention."
"Yeah?" Noah replied, not slowing down.
"My boss still wants to meet you," Smith said. "Now that you've been on TV again, he's even more interested. Dinner, maybe."
"No problem," Noah said casually. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Actually… why don't you come work for me instead?"
Smith blinked. "Wait—what?"
"I trust you," Noah said simply. "Twenty thousand a month to start. I'll raise it later."
Smith hesitated for a moment—then nodded firmly. "Alright. I'm in. But I've got a contract with my current employer. Might take some time to sort out."
"No, it won't," Noah said. "That'll be handled tonight."
He already had a plan. A quick call to Fisk would take care of it—and maybe bring Smith's former boss into the fold as well.
Noah didn't go out of his way to repay favors.
But when someone had been useful—and stayed reliable—he preferred to keep them close.
Not out of obligation.
Just because it made things smoother.
Elsewhere, in another world—
The Overlord stared at the interface in front of him, sweat forming along his brow.
"…Level two?"
He checked again, just to be sure.
Next to the username Deep Blue, a faint blue "2" had appeared.
Upgraded.
"How is that possible…?" he muttered.
It hadn't even been half a month.
Even with the method he had shared, progress like this didn't make sense. Not unless—
His expression darkened.
That world… it must be different.
A higher ceiling. Greater opportunities. Maybe even something more.
"And that guy…" he murmured. "He's not normal."
The Overlord leaned back, mind racing.
There was only one conclusion that fit.
Deep Blue wasn't just talented.
He was accelerating at an absurd rate.
The kind of growth that only happened when someone kept stumbling into advantages… or had something extra backing them.
The Overlord's gaze flicked toward the chat interface.
For a brief moment, regret surfaced.
He had muted Deep Blue too quickly.
Now, walking that back would make him look ridiculous.
"…No," he muttered, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter."
What mattered was getting access.
"I need to upgrade the chatroom," he said under his breath. "Before he reaches level four."
His finger hovered over the option—
Then pressed it.
Across multiple worlds, every member of the Interdimensional Chatroom heard the same cold, mechanical notification echo in their minds.
[Chatroom upgraded to Level 2. Member capacity increased to 20.]
In Hong Kong, Master Ronin paused mid-sip of tea.
Across from him, his opponent approached the table, but Ronin's attention had already shifted.
"…Huh."
He opened the interface, scanning the changes.
The group had grown.
Or at least, it could.
Messages began appearing almost immediately.
Kana Kimishima:
"Level two already? Does that mean we're getting more people? It's been pretty quiet lately."
Overlord:
"Member selection is handled automatically. I have no control over it."
His tone was dismissive.
In truth, he had no interest in filling the group with useless additions. He'd seen the candidate list—plenty of options, most of them worthless.
People with no knowledge, no power, no potential.
Dead weight.
He already regretted letting some of the current members in.
A new message appeared.
The Noble Blade:
"Has anyone noticed? Deep Blue's level is already at two."
The Overlord's expression tightened.
That name again.
Irritating.
Back in the factory, Noah registered the notification but barely reacted.
He continued his training without pause.
Still, his attention flicked briefly to the interface.
There it was.
His title: Deep Blue — Level 2
And just below—
Another name.
Deep Red — Level 4
Noah's eyes narrowed slightly.
He'd suspected it before.
Now he was almost certain.
That's him.
The administrator.
A second account.
Noah exhaled slowly, returning his focus to the machine as another wave of impact slammed into his back.
Good.
If that was the case…
Then once he reached the same level—
Things would get interesting.
...
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