"Wh-Who… who is it…?"
King's voice—frightened, hoarse from sleep—cracked through the door.
The response came bright and clear.
"King. It's five o'clock. Time for morning exercise."
…
Jack's sunny, vibrant, magnetic voice filtered through the wood. To King, it sounded exactly like a demon's whisper.
"AH—!!"
A desperate scream. King yanked the covers over his head. Attempted ostrich-mode escape from cruel reality.
Reality, however, was starker than any nightmare.
Ten Minutes Later
King stood on a secluded park path in M City. New tracksuit—slightly loose—hung on his frame. He stared up at the still-inky black sky.
A cold wind blew. He shivered.
I'm definitely still dreaming. This has to be a nightmare.
Jack, by contrast, radiated energy. He held a steaming cup of freshly ground pour-over coffee, sipping leisurely.
"Today's the first day. We'll start with the most basic exercises."
He took a delighted sip. Finally understood the joy King had felt yesterday—cola in one hand, controller in the other, effortlessly dominating.
King: …
Sorry, Commander. If I'd known you held grudges this hard… I wouldn't have dared.
(×﹏×)
"One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. Plus a ten-kilometer run."
Jack's tone was light. Casual.
"How about it? Pretty simple, right?"
King: …
The Strongest Face remained expressionless. A tiny person inside his head was already spitting blood.
This terrifying training load… I'm going to die. Aren't I?
Jack noted his immobility. Casually squeezed his fingers.
*POP. *
The knuckle crack vibrated through the air like an invisible whip—lashing directly at King's heart.
"King. This is a special training plan I meticulously designed for you. Stayed up all night thinking about it."
A pause.
"I call it—the 'Surface Strongest Cultivation Plan.'"
His gaze was kind. Earnest.
"You wouldn't want my efforts to go to waste, would you?"
King's body trembled. Tears streamed down his scarred face.
Just kill me now.
One Hour Later
"Huff… huff… I can't go on… there's nothing left…"
King collapsed on a park bench like a salted fish dragged ashore. Hands on knees. Gasping for breath.
Sweat had thoroughly soaked his branded tracksuit. The fabric clung to his frame—slightly flabby, soft from years of inactivity. A small potbelly strained against the damp material.
The eastern sky hinted at dawn's first light. King felt his soul preparing to follow the pre-dawn darkness into the distance.
"Here. Take a break."
Jack materialized beside him. Handed over a sports drink—fresh from a nearby vending machine.
"See? If you just grit your teeth, you can actually keep going." A nod of approval. "Don't underestimate your potential, Mr. Han Sen."
King accepted the bottle with trembling hands. Twisted off the cap. Guzzled desperately. Recovered enough strength to force out a smile—uglier than a cry.
"Mr.Jack… how about we call it a day? Let me… get used to it first."
"No."
Jack's refusal was flat. Righteous.
"The training progress is already more than halfway. If you give up now—all your previous efforts wasted. Giving up halfway isn't what a strong person does."
He leaned forward. Gaze burning with sincerity.
"King. Do you want to be a coward your whole life? Or become the true Surface Strongest?"
King: …
I feel like even if I train… I won't become the true Surface Strongest.
A desperate cry cut through the morning air.
"EEK—! Pervert! S-Stay away from me!"
Both men snapped toward the sound.
A hot female jogger—high ponytail, tight-fitting sports shorts, tank top—had been cornered in a park alcove. She trembled visibly, pretty face pale with terror.
The cause? An upright Jackal Monster. Gray fur. Lean, wiry frame. It radiated a fishy, foul stench—like someone who hadn't showered in three months while holed up in a rental room.
Most peculiar detail: perched above its wolf eyes—gleaming with unmistakable lecherous light—sat a woman's pink lace thong. Worn like a hat.
"Heheheh… Little miss, don't run!" The Monster's laugh grated like sandpaper. "What color are your pantsu? Hurry—show me!"
A claw extended toward the girl's already-revealing shorts.
"Quickly! Hand over your fragrant pantsu! I—the 'Pantsu Pervert' Elder—mutated due to an extreme obsession with girls' original-scented underwear—must properly admire them!"
The ponytail jogger's pretty face went ashen.
She was forced back against the decorative wall at the park's edge. Nowhere left to retreat.
Desperately, she hugged her ample chest with both arms. Squeezed her eyes shut. Screamed.
"HELP! There's a pervert—!"
King—despite feeling like he'd been disassembled and poorly reassembled, soreness radiating from every bone—still struggled upright on the bench at the girl's cry.
He saw the Pantsu Pervert's unbridled demeanor. His heart immediately began to pound.
*Thump. Thump. THUMP. *
Emperor Engine. Activated.
His face was pale. His mind raced.
Doesn't look very strong… Uh—should I…?
Years of playing the top-tier strongman had taught him survival. He'd summarized a set of experiences from countless life-or-death situations.
Many times—just stay silent. Maintain the cold, strong demeanor. Most weak Monsters will be scared out of their wits by the drumming heartbeat. Some even faint on the spot.
But Jack clearly had other plans.
"Focus on your training." His voice was calm. Dismissive. "I'll handle this minor matter."
Before the words finished, his figure blurred.
King didn't see any obvious movement. Jack was simply gone.
"Hm!?"
The Pantsu Pervert's claw halted mid-reach. A piercing gust of wind—strong enough to tear eardrums—slammed into its senses. It looked up instinctively.
The last thing it ever saw: a fist.
So fast that even afterimages couldn't form. Expanding rapidly in its vision.
*BOOM—! *
An instantaneous sonic boom—like a supersonic fighter jet passing at low altitude—thundered across the park.
The Pantsu Pervert's head snapped backward. Distorted. As if struck head-on by a high-speed truck.
Then—its deformed head, along with its entire upper torso, exploded.
A splash of mosaic blood. Then silence.