Nova went to the gym the next morning after a good, healthy ten hours of sleep. He woke up feeling refreshed, energized, and strangely ecstatic, as though he'd been given a second life. His muscles were still sore from yesterday's disastrous workout, but at least he no longer felt like his entire body was going to fall apart whenever he moved.
His back, thighs, and arms still hurt, but the sharp exhaustion of the previous evening had eased.
Good. That means I'm recovering.
He got up, checked on the kittens, made sure they had food and clean water, and ate something himself before leaving. The gym was only a short walk from his apartment, which was fortunate. He doubted his legs would have appreciated another long journey.
As he opened the gym doors, he sighed and headed straight for the treadmill. His legs were somewhat sore, but they weren't nearly as painful as they'd been yesterday. Surely that meant they were ready for something more demanding.
He stepped onto the machine, stretched his arms and legs, and twisted his body from side to side. Several joints cracked in the process, making him feel oddly satisfied. Then, without giving it much more thought, he set the treadmill's speed to six, as if he were some kind of Olympic runner.
At least that was what his dumbass thought.
The belt began moving faster, the numbers climbing until the machine reached the speed he'd selected. Nova hurried to match it. His legs flapped beneath him, his arms pinwheeled for balance, and his eyes widened as he realized he'd severely overestimated his recovery.
"Oh, come on," he muttered, forcing his feet to keep up. "It's only six!"
Unfortunately, the treadmill didn't seem interested in his opinion. His breathing grew heavier, and the familiar burn returned to his thighs. He tried to find a comfortable rhythm, but each passing moment made it harder to maintain one. A woman walking on the machine beside him glanced over, then looked away when he nearly lost his balance.
Nova reduced the speed, brought the treadmill to a stop, and leaned against the nearest wall, gasping for air. A few people stared, but he ignored them. At least he'd tried.
"Okay," he panted. "Cardio's a no-go. Again."
It was frustrating to discover that running demanded so much effort, but that was why he'd come to the mortal realm. If everything were effortless, he'd only be repeating the life he'd wanted to escape.
So, instead of leaving, he tried some light dumbbells. His arms shook through the first few curls, and he quickly discovered that lifting a weight and lifting it properly were two different things. A girl nearby, working with nearly twice the weight, noticed his struggle and gave him a faintly sympathetic look.
Nova shot her a weak grin. "First day."
The girl raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I see you here yesterday?"
"First day of doing it properly," he corrected.
She smirked, shook her head, and returned to her set. Nova watched her technique for a moment before looking down at his own dumbbells. There was clearly a great deal he still needed to learn.
He decided to follow a proper Push-Pull-Legs routine rather than exhausting every muscle at once. Today was his pull day, so he concentrated on his back and biceps. He began with dumbbell curls, moving slowly and trying not to swing the weights every time his arms got tired. Once he'd finished, he headed toward the seated row machine.
The machine was well engineered, with simple instructions explaining how to adjust the seat, position his body, and perform the movement without injuring himself. Nova read them with unusual seriousness. He was beginning to appreciate that mortal training came with rules, and ignoring those rules tended to end painfully.
He loaded twenty-five pounds onto either side and sat down. With his feet braced against the platform and his back straight, he pulled the handles toward his torso. The first few repetitions felt surprisingly manageable, and a small smile appeared on his face.
"Well, this isn't so bad."
After a one-minute break, he added another twenty-five-pound plate and attempted a heavier set. He concentrated on the stretch across his back and the tightening of his muscles as he pulled. By the tenth repetition, the weight felt considerably less friendly. His arms were trembling again, and his breathing had grown uneven.
He released the handles carefully and sat there for a moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Two exercises. I've barely done two exercises, and I'm already exhausted.
Still, he hadn't failed. Some of the exercises were finally becoming familiar.
He moved on to the lat pulldown, adjusting the seat and selecting a weight he could control. At first, he tried pulling mostly with his arms, but after remembering the instructions he'd read and the advice a trainer had given him, he slowed the movement and focused on his back. The difference was immediate. The exercise became smoother, though no less tiring.
Next came preacher curls. His biceps protested almost as soon as he began, but he finished what he could with proper form. He ended the session with two sets of face pulls, his shoulders burning as he completed the last repetitions.
By the time he left the gym, it was already close to midday. He'd apparently discovered entirely new ways to be sore, and even walking down the corridor felt like another exercise. Yet beneath the exhaustion was a quiet satisfaction. He felt stronger, or at least more capable of understanding how to become stronger.
It wouldn't happen overnight. He needed steady training, proper food and rest, and the willingness to return even after embarrassing himself.
Nova shuffled back home, determined to survive the short walk without collapsing on the sidewalk. By the time he reached his apartment, his expression had become so serious that anyone watching might have assumed he was preparing for an important battle.
He opened the door, slipped off his shoes, and dropped onto the couch.
Almost immediately, the kittens came toward him. Smudge, the little black kitten with one white paw, climbed onto his chest first. Luna, the orange kitten, followed him, while Nyx, the pure black one, Miro, the Persian-looking kitten, and Sol, whose fur was almost completely white, scrambled up beside them.
"You guys have no idea what I've been through," Nova mumbled.
Smudge responded by curling up against his chest and purring. The others quickly settled around him, turning his already sore body into their preferred resting place. He didn't have the heart to move them. Instead, he gently scratched behind their ears, smiling despite himself.
"You guys are the only ones who get me. You don't care how much I lift, do you?"
None of the kittens seemed interested in answering. Smudge had already closed his eyes.
His phone, the cheap prepaid one Talia had lent him, suddenly vibrated on the coffee table. Nova groaned when he realized it was just beyond his reach. He carefully shifted Luna and Miro, reached across the table, and retrieved it without waking the others.
A message from Talia lit up the screen.
"How's training going? You still alive?"
Nova snorted and began typing with one hand.
"Barely. My body hates me. It feels like I can break into a million pieces."
He hesitated, then sent another message.
"Tell me more about this tournament. Is there anything the books don't mention?"
A minute later, her reply appeared.
"It's intense, from what I've heard. Most people aren't allowed to watch unless they're guests or guild members. There's a lot of fighting and some weird tests, apparently. You also have to show you've got 'potential,' whatever that means. I'm not too familiar with it."
Nova frowned. Every answer seemed to raise another question.
"What's 'potential' supposed to mean?" he typed. "And how do they even test for it?"
"Nobody really knows until it happens," Talia replied. "Just keep pushing. You've got this!"
He stared at her answer for a few seconds before setting the phone down. Fighting and unusual tests were one thing, but being judged on something as vague as potential was another. He wasn't even awakened yet. What if the guild decided that an ordinary, unawakened young man had nothing to offer?
The thought of getting knocked out in front of a crowd made him wince. Then he remembered that he'd once come to Earth specifically because he wanted to experience helplessness and defeat. Apparently, he'd forgotten to account for how unpleasant those things felt when they were genuinely possible.
"Gotta get stronger," he muttered.
The idea of tomorrow's training made him want to hide under the couch, but he knew he would go back anyway.
His gaze drifted toward the books stacked on the coffee table. He carefully reached for Awakening in the Modern Age, trying not to disturb Smudge. It discussed the Surge again, describing how people had suddenly awakened extraordinary abilities. Some could move at incredible speeds. Others could manipulate objects without touching them. There were accounts of powers that would once have seemed impossible to ordinary mortals.
Nova searched the pages for something useful.
Yeah, that's nice and all, but how do I unlock something like that?
He thought about the abilities he wanted. Fire manipulation would be interesting. Void manipulation sounded even better. Something involving souls would be worth exploring as well.
His expression brightened.
"Or something to do with destruction."
That, at least, would have been familiar. But familiarity wasn't enough to awaken an ability, and the book offered no reliable method for choosing one. He closed it with a disappointed sigh and reached for The Path to Power instead.
Unfortunately, the second book was no more helpful than it had been yesterday.
He sat cross-legged on the couch as instructed, closed his eyes, and tried to visualize his strength. He pictured an energy building somewhere deep within him, or attempted to. Instead, a rather convincing image of a burger appeared in his mind.
His stomach growled immediately.
Nova opened one eye and stared at the book lying beside him.
"Are you serious?"
He tried again, but his hunger only grew worse. Eventually, he reached for the nearby jar of peanut butter.
"This is my life now," he told Smudge, scooping out another spoonful. "Peanut butter and pain."
Smudge kept purring on his chest, completely unconcerned by the difficulties of mortal progression. Nova watched him for a moment, then glanced at the four other kittens sleeping against him. They depended on him now, in their own small way. Talia had helped him more than he'd expected anyone to, and he wanted to repay that kindness instead of remaining dependent on her.
The tournament was the first real opportunity he had found to begin doing something with his new life. He wanted to compete, to improve, and eventually to become strong through his own efforts. None of that would happen simply because he wished for it.
He leaned back, his eyelids growing heavier as the exhaustion from training finally caught up with him. The path ahead was uncertain, and he still had no idea how he would awaken. But every painful workout had taught him something, even if it was only how much work remained.
I'll get there, he thought, looking down at the sleeping kittens. One step at a time.
Smudge kept purring as Nova closed his eyes.
He had promised to keep trying, for the kittens, for Talia, and for himself. Even if he felt like the dumbest guy in the room, he wasn't giving up.
Not yet.