The consequences came faster than expected.
Jared Alonzo woke up with a pounding headache.
Not mild.
Not manageable.
It felt like his skull was being squeezed from the inside.
"…tch."
He sat up slowly, pressing his fingers against his temple.
This is the price.
His thoughts were still sharp—too sharp—but now his body struggled to keep up.
Second donation without recovery… side effects confirmed.
He swung his legs off the bed.
The moment he stood—
His vision blurred.
"…!"
Jared caught himself on the table before collapsing.
Breathing steady.
Heart rate elevated.
Body weakness… coordination slightly impaired.
He closed his eyes.
Then adjusted.
Reduce movement. Stabilize breathing. Conserve energy.
Within seconds, he regained control.
"Still worth it," he whispered.
At school, the difference was obvious.
Not to everyone.
But to the observant—
Very obvious.
Jared walked slower than usual.
Measured steps.
Controlled breathing.
But his eyes—
Sharper than ever.
"You look like crap."
Jared turned.
Iris stood beside him, arms crossed.
Her gaze scanned him from head to toe.
"You're pale. Slight tremor in your left hand. Your walking rhythm is off."
Jared blinked once.
"…you're very observant."
"I'm serious," she said. "What did you do?"
A pause.
Jared considered lying.
Then—
"…I tested something."
Iris frowned. "Tested what?"
"Limits."
Silence.
She stared at him.
"…you're insane."
"Possibly."
Inside the classroom, Jared sat down quietly.
Ignoring the stares.
Ignoring the whispers.
Ignoring Mark—
Who was watching him carefully from across the room.
Focus.
Despite his weakened body, his mind operated flawlessly.
Better than before.
Faster.
Deeper.
Today's objective: adaptation.
Professor Dizon began the lecture.
Complex topic.
Most students struggled to follow.
Jared didn't.
Instead—
He improved it.
Mid-discussion, Jared raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Alonzo?" the professor said.
Jared stood slowly.
"There's a more efficient way to solve that equation."
The room went quiet.
Professor Dizon raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Jared walked to the board.
Each step controlled.
Precise.
Then he wrote.
Clean.
Direct.
Optimized.
A shortcut.
A better method.
When he finished, the room stayed silent.
Professor Dizon stepped forward.
Studied the board.
Then—
"…this is correct."
Whispers exploded across the classroom.
"No way…"
"He improved it?"
"Is that even allowed?"
Mark clenched his fists.
Jared returned to his seat calmly.
Ignoring everything.
Except—
Iris.
She was staring at him.
Not impressed.
Not amazed.
Concerned.
"You're pushing too far," she said quietly.
Jared didn't look at her.
"…I'm progressing."
"No," Iris replied. "You're breaking yourself."
A pause.
Jared finally turned.
Their eyes met.
"Same thing," he said.
After class—
Mark made his move.
"Hey, genius."
Jared stopped walking.
Turned slightly.
Mark stood behind him, two friends at his side.
"You've been acting real confident lately."
Jared said nothing.
Mark stepped closer.
"You think you're better than everyone now?"
A pause.
Jared looked at him.
Calm.
Measured.
"…statistically?" he said. "Yes."
Silence.
Then—
Anger.
"You—!"
Mark grabbed Jared's collar.
Pulled him forward.
A few students gasped.
"You really wanna test me?" Mark growled.
Jared didn't struggle.
Didn't panic.
Didn't react.
Instead—
He observed.
Grip strength: above average.
Emotional state: unstable.
Decision-making: impulsive.
Conclusion: predictable.
Jared tilted his head slightly.
"If you hit me," he said calmly, "you get suspended."
A pause.
"Your scholarship gets revoked."
Another pause.
"And based on your grades…"
Jared's eyes sharpened.
"…you don't recover from that."
Mark froze.
"…what?"
"You rely on that scholarship," Jared continued. "Without it, you drop out."
Silence.
"How do you—"
"Pattern recognition," Jared said simply.
Mark's grip loosened.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Jared stepped back.
Adjusted his shirt.
"You're not thinking long-term," he added. "That's your weakness."
Mark's face twisted with frustration.
But he didn't attack.
He couldn't.
"Stay out of my way," Mark muttered before walking off.
Jared stood there quietly.
Conflict avoided.
But—
His vision blurred again.
"…tch."
His body swayed slightly.
"See?"
Iris appeared beside him.
"I told you," she said softly. "You're breaking."
Jared steadied himself.
"…temporary."
"Or permanent," she replied.
Silence.
Jared didn't answer.
Because for the first time—
He wasn't completely sure.
That night—
Jared sat in darkness.
No books.
No notes.
No distractions.
Just thinking.
Mind is accelerating.
Body is lagging.
If imbalance continues… failure is inevitable.
A problem.
Which meant—
A solution existed.
Jared's eyes opened slowly.
"…optimization."
A faint smile formed.
"I just need to balance it."
And once I do…
His gaze turned cold.
There will be no limits.