Derek sat on the floor, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His arms throbbed, a dull ache pulsing from his shoulders to his fingertips.
He had taken a break from the push-ups, but the knowledge of the drawing apocalypse made him return as quickly as he could, to continue.
The first five push-ups had already drained him, leaving him sprawled on the wooden boards like a discarded rag.
[Mission Progress: 5/50 push-ups.]
[Time remaining till mission refreshment: 19 hours, 43 minutes.]
The system's cold, emotionless notifications didn't care about his exhaustion. He dragged himself up onto his hands and knees, shaking off the burning in his muscles. He had to finish this. His pride—and his only shot at getting stronger—demanded it.
He sucked in a deep breath and lowered himself again. His arms trembled like brittle twigs, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through.
"Six…"
The effort made his vision blur at the edges. He dropped again, his chest barely an inch from the ground before forcing himself up.
"Seven…"
His breath came out in sharp gasps. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. Every movement sent fresh jolts of pain through his limbs. By the time he hit ten, his body outright refused to cooperate. His arms gave out, sending him crashing onto the floor once more.
[Observation: Host's muscular endurance is comparable to a sea sponge.]
Derek let out a muffled groan against the wooden floor. "You… just can't… let me suffer in peace, can you?"
[Negative. The system's role is to ensure the host's improvement. Complaining will not accelerate progress.]
Derek closed his eyes, trying to block out the endless pain and the System's mocking remarks. He barely had the strength to sit up. His arms felt like jelly, his breath ragged. But if he gave up now, what was the point?
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His body screamed for rest, but the thought of remaining weak gnawed at his pride. He couldn't stop now. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to sit up.
"Alright…" he muttered. "If push-ups are impossible right now, I'll move on to sit-ups."
He locked his hands behind his head and pulled himself up for the first sit-up. His abs tightened painfully, reminding him just how out of shape he was. He barely managed the second one before collapsing again, panting.
[Mission Progress: 2/50 sit-ups.]
Derek exhaled sharply. "This is ridiculous."
[Correction: Host is ridiculously weak.]
If he had the strength, he would have punched the screen. Instead, he forced himself into another sit-up. Then another. His stomach burned, his body resisting every movement. By the time he reached twenty, his entire torso was on fire.
[Mission Progress: 20/50 sit-ups.]
His head lolled back against the floor, the exhaustion pressing down on him. He turned his head slightly, catching sight of the clock on the wall. If he wanted to finish everything before morning, he had to keep going.
"Alright…" he panted. "Jog… next."
Getting up was its battle. His legs felt like lead, and his arms were useless, but he stumbled to his feet, swaying. He forced himself to the door, each step a test of willpower. As he turned the knob, a gust of cold night air slammed into him, sending a shiver through his sweat-drenched body.
The scent of rain lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of gasoline and damp concrete. The distant wail of sirens echoed through the empty streets, accompanied by the occasional flickering of a failing streetlamp. Neon signs buzzed faintly in the distance, their glow casting eerie reflections onto puddles dotting the cracked pavement. B#rou%gh-t to you by the fol-k@s at *%..
He adjusted his footing, took a deep breath, and broke into a jog.
Pain flared in his legs instantly. His thighs felt sluggish, and his lungs burned with every inhale, but he pushed forward. One step. Then another. The pavement was rough beneath his sneakers, each impact jarring through his already aching body. His breath misted in the cool night air, swirling before dissipating into the darkness.
Each breath felt heavier. His feet slapped against the concrete unevenly, and before he knew it, his legs buckled. He stumbled, catching himself on a lamppost, his entire body shuddering.
[Mission Progress: 1.2/2 km jog.]
His heart pounded like a war drum. His breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. He wasn't even halfway there.
"I'm seriously… gonna die…" he muttered.
[Incorrect. Host's survival rate is 78.4%.]
Derek scoffed, pushing himself off the lamppost. "That's not as reassuring as you think."
He forced himself back into a jog, his legs screaming in protest. The seconds dragged on, stretching into eternity, but somehow, step by step, he kept moving. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement mixed with the hum of the city, creating a dizzying blend of exhaustion and determination.
By the time he reached the two-kilometer mark, his entire body felt like it had been beaten with a metal bat. His lungs burned, his skin was clammy with sweat, and his knees nearly buckled as he collapsed onto a nearby bench, struggling to catch his breath. The cold metal pressed against his overheated skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He slumped down on a bench and breathlessly looked at the screen before him.
[Mission Progress: 2/2 km jog.]
[Daily Mission 1: 42/50 push-ups, 20/50 sit-ups, 2/2 km jog completed.]
He wanted to celebrate, but he didn't even have the energy to lift a finger. Instead, he sat there, gulping down air, his limbs twitching from exhaustion.
[Host's physical performance has improved by 0.1%.]
Derek let out a breathless chuckle. "Great… only 99.9% to go."
After panting breathlessly, he returned.
After a few minutes, he forced himself back to his feet, every step feeling like walking through quicksand. The trip home was a blur of aching joints and heavy exhaustion. By the time he stumbled through his door, he barely had the strength to kick off his shoes before collapsing onto his bed.
His muscles ached, his skin was sticky with sweat, and his mind screamed for rest. But as he stared up at the ceiling, his exhaustion couldn't drown out the weight of reality settling in his chest.
The apocalypse. The end of everything as he knew. This wasn't just about getting stronger. This was about surviving when the world inevitably collapsed. If tonight's pathetic struggle was anything to go by, he wasn't ready. Not even close.
Tomorrow, he had to go to school and pretend like everything was normal. Like he wasn't just barely pushing himself through a system mission that would only get harder. He had no idea what would come next, what dangers lurked ahead.
Derek exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. One thing was clear—if he wanted to live, he had to push past his limits, no matter how much it hurt.
Because next time, failing wouldn't just mean exhaustion.
It would mean death.