Cultivating the Microcosm in the Marvel Universe (Please bookmark!!)
Marvel Universe.
June 15, 2012.
Friday.
New York City, Midtown High.
Seventeen-year-old Hawk was sweating profusely inside the old gymnasium.
Bang!
Bang, bang, bang!
The forceful sounds echoed again and again as the suspended black sandbag was relentlessly struck by Hawk. Each time the sandbag swung up, the iron chain holding it rattled with an ear-splitting screech.
Hawk’s hair was drenched in sweat. Beads trickled down his prominent cheekbones, slid along his taut jawline, and finally dripped onto the already soaked neckline of his worn T-shirt.
Yet his gaze never left the sandbag.
His mind was undistracted.
Now, the sandbag before him was his entire world.
“Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty-one!”
“Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty-two!”
…
Hawk adjusted his footing, counting silently as he deftly sidestepped the sandbag’s return swing, never pausing between his left hooks and right swings. Each punch landed with purpose, and under Hawk’s storm-like assault, the sandbag rocked violently, its leather surface growing ever more battered and torn.
Punch.
Retract.
Punch again.
As he struck again and again, Hawk’s movements seemed to grow faster—ever faster—until…
“Ten thousand!”
Bang!
A blaze surged deep within Hawk’s eyes. His fist, just withdrawn, shot out like lightning, striking the descending sandbag with venomous precision. The sandbag caved in with a muffled groan, and the chain at last gave way, snapping apart.
Freed from its restraints, the sandbag flew across the air, uttered a mournful sound, then crashed heavily onto the floor with a resounding thud.
Boom!
Hawk finally exhaled the breath he’d been holding. As he looked at the battered sandbag lying torn upon the floor, his chest heaved gently as he steadied his breathing.
Sweat streamed down his face, pooling at his chin and dripping onto the legs of his cheap sweatpants.
Of course.
Cheap is relative.
To others, these twelve-dollar pants might seem a bargain—perhaps even dirt cheap.
But to Hawk, they meant something else.
After all…
He was an orphan in this life—and not just any orphan, but one reborn into the Marvel Universe.
If his grades hadn’t been good enough to earn the Midtown High scholarship, the tens of thousands in tuition every semester would have been utterly impossible for him to pay.
Yet even with the scholarship, Hawk still lived frugally. Not because he was naturally thrifty, but because his scholarship wasn’t the most prestigious kind.
Certainly not like Gwen Stacy, the student assistant in his grade.
Gwen Stacy had the top-tier scholarship. Not only did she pay no tuition, but the school gave her money each semester—let alone the generous prizes from countless academic competitions.
Hawk’s scholarship was the most common kind—just tuition exemption.
His grades were excellent, but not exceptional.
Still, Hawk was content.
Midtown High waived his tuition, and as a fosterless orphan between sixteen and eighteen—what the federal government called the “independent transition period”—he received an $800 monthly stipend.
And because he’d been admitted to a New York state elite school, the state gave him an additional $500 per month.
Altogether, he had $1,300 a month.
For an adult living in New York, that might not suffice, but for Hawk—receiving federal orphan subsidies and tuition-free education—it was more than enough.
More than enough, in fact.
He ate at school, slept in the federal welfare apartments.
His $1,300 stipend, minus $500 for basic monthly expenses, left him with $800 in savings every month.
What’s that? Five hundred isn’t enough?
Again, maybe not for adults, but for Hawk, it was plenty.
Every afternoon he fulfilled his “Daily Ten Thousand Punches” at the gym, washed up, did his laundry, caught the latest free school bus home, slept, and rode the earliest bus back the next morning.
He didn’t pay for utilities—let alone phone or internet.
He was an orphan.
One mouth to feed, no one else to worry about.
Who would he call? Who would call him?
Internet? Ha.
He didn’t even own a computer. Whenever he needed to go online, the school library had public computers—and free printing.
So…
Even if he started this life as an orphan, Hawk felt he was doing fine.
He saved $800 a month, and every so often treated himself to a huge platter of fried chicken at the cheapest chicken joint, replenishing his energy.
By now, he’d amassed over $30,000 in savings.
Lovely.
Of course, if only there were fewer black faces in the chicken shop, it’d be even better.
After a while.
Standing in place, his eyes half-shut, Hawk slowly opened his eyes and gazed at the sandbag lying on the floor, lost in thought.
He wasn’t looking at the sandbag, but at a prompt floating before him.
To be precise, his cheat.
Little Cosmos Cultivation!
Current status: “Inactive”
Activation condition: “Ten thousand punches daily for one thousand consecutive days”
Activation progress: “999/1000”
Almost there!
Almost.
Tomorrow, it would finally activate.
Hawk gazed at the progress bar only he could see, his heart ablaze, wishing time would leap straight to tomorrow.
This cheat had appeared when he was fifteen.
September 10, 2009, to be exact.
He remembered it vividly.
Because that was the day Hulk and Abomination battled in New York City.
He hadn’t slacked off for a moment.
Cheat comes, train!
No choice.
After all, he’d crossed into the Marvel Universe—a world where superheroes roam the streets, extraordinary beings are less than dogs, and cosmic gods wander freely.
Before, without a cheat, he could only lie low.
But now, with a cheat, still lie low?
Wouldn’t that be a waste?
So…
From the day his cheat appeared, Hawk maintained his daily regimen of ten thousand punches.
Not one less.
Rain or shine.
Unwavering.
In short:
Food can be skipped.
Training cannot.
To this day.
He had kept up his daily ten thousand punches for nine hundred and ninety-nine consecutive days.
Now…
At last, the dawn of victory was upon him!