2. Lightning Thompson and Nerdy Parker (Signed! Please support!)

One thousand days.
Two years, nine months, and five days.

After completing today’s task, Hawke, now showering in the gym locker room, once again summoned the cheat interface visible only to himself. Gazing at the progress bar that was just one day away from full completion, ready to activate the “Microcosm Cultivation,” he still felt as if he were dreaming.

After all...
Throwing ten thousand punches every day, for a thousand consecutive days—easy to say, but incredibly difficult to do.

Hawke sometimes wondered how he managed to persevere.

Perhaps it was his inherently unyielding nature?

Or maybe it had something to do with being in the Marvel Universe.

He did not know.

But one thing was certain.

“One day.”

“Just one day left.”

Once today passed, tomorrow he could finally activate the cheat.

“Microcosm Cultivation...”

“I wonder if it’s the same as what I’ve imagined.”

Hawke pondered silently.

In his memory, the only thing linked to “Microcosm Cultivation” was one singular concept.

If it truly was what he hoped for...

Then...

The future looked promising!

According to the ancient Greek philosopher Democritus, all things are composed of atoms, and within the human body exists a miniature universe—

A microcosm!

Cultivating the microcosm meant continuously awakening the primordial life energy within oneself, activating the hidden microcosm inside the body, and through persistent cultivation, enhancing it. By burning this microcosm, one could attain combat power beyond the laws of physics.

Hawke remembered an anime from his previous life that depicted exactly this concept.

The anime was called—

Saint Seiya!

Bronze Saints who controlled the first five senses and touched the sixth sense.

Silver Saints who comprehended the sixth sense and reached for the seventh sense.

And Gold Saints who mastered the seventh sense completely.

Yet beyond the seventh sense lay the eighth and even the ninth sense...

Fragments of the anime scenes flickered through Hawke’s mind.

Then, in the next moment, Hawke snapped back to reality, shaking his head with a smile.

He wasn’t even sure if the microcosm in his cheat was the same as the one from his memories—no need to overthink it.

Besides...

He harbored no grand ambitions of punching Odin or kicking Zeus.

Most importantly, he had been in this world for seventeen years. Even before the cheat had gone online at age fifteen, he had already prepared himself mentally to face this brutal world without any cheats.

So...

“Mindset is crucial.”

“The greater the expectation, the deeper the disappointment if it’s not what I hoped.”

Hawke dismissed the distracting thoughts in his mind, wringing out the washed T-shirt in his hands. He placed it alongside the freshly laundered pants in a plastic bag, then wrapped a towel around his waist, dried his hair with another towel, and pushed open the shower stall door.

Bang!

The shower room door was pushed open, and a somewhat slender figure was shoved inside from outside.

The thin figure staggered a few steps before landing hard on the tiled floor of the shower room.

“This is...”

“Peter?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow as the first-generation Spider-Man was pushed in and fell to the floor.

Peter’s eyes caught sight of Hawke stepping out of the shower room.

His expression was awkward.

Just as he was about to greet Hawke—who was in the same grade but rarely interacted with him—laughter rang out from outside.

Soon after, Flash Thompson, nicknamed “Lightning” and also known as the “Midtown Bully,” strode in with a broad, towering frame, holding a football. He was the school’s football team captain, accompanied by three henchmen, all laughing as they entered.

The next moment, the laughter abruptly ceased.

Hawke, stepping out of the stall, one hand drying his wet hair, the other wringing the plastic bag with freshly washed clothes, towel wrapped snugly around his waist, fixed his gaze on Flash Thompson.

Flash Thompson was imposing and burly.

Hawke was no less formidable.

Having maintained the routine of throwing ten thousand punches daily for nine hundred ninety-nine consecutive days, Hawke’s body was sculpted with lean, powerful muscles.

Unlike those pumped-up by technology or bluster at the gym, his arms bore lines of strength—not exaggerated bulk, but refined explosiveness.

The towel cinched at his waist, cutting a shallow indentation above his hips that accentuated his narrow waist. His abdominal muscles were sharply defined—eight well-aligned blocks, as if carefully crafted armor.

Their eyes met.

In that instant, the air seemed to freeze.

It was widely known that American schools had a clear hierarchy of disdain or bullying.

Logically, an orphan like Hawke, with no parents and no family background, should have been easy prey for bullying.

Yet, surprisingly, this was not the case.

Not because he had confronted school bullies and earned their respect.

The reason the bullies left him alone was simple.

Because, whether by appearance or physique, Hawke was simply not someone to be trifled with.

Of course, over the past three years, since the school bullies never approached him, Hawke never felt the need to stand up for others.

No one was anyone else’s savior.

This time was no different.

Hawke withdrew his gaze, took the clean T-shirt and pants from his bag on the bench, changed into them, then put the plastic bag back into his backpack. Slinging the bag over one shoulder, he strode toward Flash Thompson standing by the shower room door.

Flash frowned, watching Hawke approach.

He knew who Hawke was.

After all, it was hard not to know someone who had spent over two years punching away in the corner of the gym, ten thousand punches a day.

But to say they were close—absolutely not.

Because Hawke never joined any parties or gatherings. Though seen daily at school, he seemed to live in a parallel world all by himself.

Flash looked at Hawke, who stopped in front of him.

“Ho...”

“Please move aside.”

“...”

Flash instinctively stepped aside. His three henchmen, about to say something, met Hawke’s calm, seemingly indifferent blue eyes and quietly obeyed, stepping aside as well.

“Thanks.”

Hawke nodded calmly and then walked out of the shower room without another word.

Flash watched Hawke’s retreating figure with a frown, lost in thought.

At that moment, one of the henchmen suddenly exclaimed.

“Holy shit!”

“Boss, Peter ran off!”

“What?”

Flash snapped back to attention and saw Peter Parker slipping out behind Hawke when he wasn’t looking. Furious, he roared,

“Chase him!”

“Nerd Parker, stop right there!”

“...”