Harem Quest: From Trash to King

Ryan pushed open the door to his room and flopped straight onto his bed, face-first. His arms dangled off the sides like dead weight, and his legs were still sore from the fight earlier.

'God... my ribs feel like mashed potatoes.'

Just as his eyelids started to close—

[DING!]

[Host, no rest. Get up and begin your evening exercise.]

Ryan groaned into his pillow. "'But System... it's literally 6 p.m. It's dark out. People are going home. Normal people.'"

[Not my fault you're not normal. You have me because you're supposed to become the best. You don't get to be the best by being soft.]

'I could punch you if you had a face.'

But Ryan didn't argue. He just let out a long, agonized sigh and dragged himself up. His shoulders slumped like a beaten dog as he grabbed his shoes and made his way outside.

The wind was chilly, the street lights buzzing with flies, and a few joggers passed by with their Bluetooth earbuds in, minds elsewhere.

Ryan adjusted his hoodie and started running.

[DING!]

[2 km Run Initiated. Reward: -0.5 kg fat burned]

He ran along the cracked pavement, sneakers slapping the ground with a rhythm that was more pain than pace.

The first few hundred meters were okay. Then the burn kicked in. His breath turned ragged, each step making his calves scream.

By the time he hit 2 kilometers, sweat poured off his face like a faucet. His chest heaved like a dying engine, and when he finally stopped, he collapsed onto a patch of grass near a rusted fence.

Flat on his back, gasping for air, Ryan stared up at the sky.

"'Can I go home now...? It's already 7.'" His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper.

[DING!]

[Not yet.]

[Next Set: 100 Dips, 100 Push-ups, 100 Sit-ups, 100 Crunches.]

[Reward: +2 Endurance | +0.15 kg Muscle Gain]

Ryan's jaw fell open. "'What the actual hell—are you insane?!'"

[Insanity is irrelevant. Victory is not. Now move.]

'I swear you're gonna kill me one day, you stupid glowing bastard.'

He dragged himself to a nearby park, one of those old open gym areas meant for senior citizens but mostly used by wannabe athletes and people with nowhere else to go.

He wiped his forehead, cracked his knuckles, and started with the dips.

One… two… three… by the time he hit fifteen, his arms were shaking like spaghetti noodles. At thirty, he wanted to puke. By fifty, he had to stop three times just to stop from passing out.

Push-ups weren't any easier.

He got to twenty, collapsed. Waited a few seconds. Did fifteen more. Collapsed again.

"'God damn... even hell must have breaks.'" he muttered, forehead kissing the concrete.

Sit-ups and crunches were no better. Every time he tried to sit up, his abs screamed betrayal. But he pushed. Again and again. Shaking. Groaning. Grinding through the pain.

By the time he hit the last crunch, his entire body felt like it had been chewed up and spat out by a cement mixer.

He staggered toward his building, drenched in sweat, hoodie clinging to him like wet rubber.

His legs barely held up as he climbed the stairs to his room. He opened the door, stumbled in—

And collapsed right onto the floor.

DING!

[Training Complete.]

[+2 Endurance Stat Increased.]

[+0.15 kg Muscle Mass Gained.]

[Fat Burned: 0.5 kg]

Ryan lay there, smiling through the pain.

'Yeah... I'm definitely gonna die.'