Days passed, and he started being more comfortable .
Good thing he already mastered the art of being a shut-in. No social life, no problem—this was just Tuesday for him.
No new missions showed up, which meant no EC . But there was a pattern.
Whenever he cleaned or do something to make the place look better, the system responded with a simple message: Good job.
There was no reward, but it felt like doing more might lead to a reward later.
"One... two... three..." he counted under his breath, lowering his chest to the floor and pushing back.
His muscles slowly returned, shaped by effort and helped by good genetics.
Unlike others who relied on steroids, his muscles responded quickly when he put in real effort.
After finishing his set, he opened his laptop and launched H.E.O.
Though he made progress, letting go of old habits wasn't easy.
To avoid withdrawal symptoms, he started by slowly cutting down his playtime. If there was a silver lining, it was that he didn't have to pay—as long as he avoided messaging anyone in the game.
So, he mostly played solo, focusing on building up his empire's economy. He stayed away from active wars, which usually required forming alliances and sending out commands to other players.
After getting his daily dose of dopamine from gaming, he stepped outside and got to work.
The courtyard behind the motel was quiet—just enough space to train without interruption.
He started with shadowboxing, warming up his shoulders and arms.
Each punch snapped through the air—jab, cross, hook, uppercut.
Footwork came next. Light steps, shifting angles, staying on the balls of his feet. No wasted movement.
After ten minutes, he dropped into sprawls and takedown drills. To make it more effective, he ordered a practice dummy online—a basic one, but enough to get the feel right.
He practiced level changes, shooting in, then snapping back into stance.
Grappling wasn't easy without a partner, but he made do. He went through clinch positions, sprawled out again, mimicked throws, and shadowed ground-and-pound motions.
Sweat rolled down his back. His breathing grew heavier.
Every movement was about remembering—reminding his body how it used to move.
Mixed martial arts came first for a reason. It worked. In real fights, nothing beat a well-timed strike or a clean takedown. Flashy moves didn't matter if they left an opening.
He wasn't training to look good. He was training to survive.
Before, what made him so dangerous in the ring was how fast his brain sent signals to his muscles.
His body reacted before his mind caught up. He knew reclaiming that speed wouldn't happen overnight. For now, he focused on minimizing that delay.
He kept practicing until exhaustion set in. Then he stood up, lifted his chin, and slowed his breathing to steady himself.
Next, he reached for his water bottle, taking slow sips.
'Alright, I'm ready. Gotta open the motel soon, or I'm gonna burn through my points way too fast with how expensive everything here'
With that in mind, he bought one more item—a white polo shirt that made him look like a barista at a café.
He stared at the sign for a few seconds, before hanging it up.
There were no wires attached to it, so he wondered how it would light up.
The answer came almost immediately.
Suddenly, the sign glowed red, and the world outside the motel sped up—night fell in seconds, seasons shifted, and trees changed colors.
At first, the speed was tolerable. But it got worse—too fast, too bright. His stomach turned, and he looked away.
When the fast forward scene slowed down, he found himself standing in the middle of a forest.
The trees were much bigger—at least twice as tall as the ones from his old world.
[Welcome to your first world. Since the owner is very weak, the system picked a low-risk world to avoid an embarrassing premature death.]
[Main Mission: A runaway princess—hailed as the most beautiful in the land is being hunted by her step-mother. She was originally headed to the dwarves' cottage, but the System has rerouted her to your motel instead.]
[Protect her. Win her trust. And if you manage to woo her, you'll earn her Affection Points.]
[Bonus Mission: Sleep with her evil stepmother to unlock more reward]
"What kind of weird mission is this? And why does this story sound way too familiar?"
A children's story popped into his mind when he heard about dwarves and a runaway princess.
"Is this even legal?" he muttered, trying to fire back at the system's earlier roast.
[There are infinite worlds in the universe, so it's only natural that some share similarities. Almost every story created by a conscious mind exists somewhere in the expanse of infinite possibilities.]
"Woah, don't get so defensive, system. You're acting like I'm gonna sue you over copyright issues. Just a tip—try coming up with more original names next time. Call the dwarves 'little people with old faces' or something."
"As for the evil step-mother, I'm pretty sure she's way prettier than her stepdaughter. No, scratch that—I'm 100% confident."
[A severe penalty will be applied if the mission failed.]
'Damn it, I should've kept my mouth shut. This system can't handle a joke at all.'