"Ugh," Cardo groaned, his throat parched. He felt as though he had been tossed into an industrial centrifuge and hurled off a rooftop.
Every single muscle in his chest, back, and legs burnt with a white-hot intensity. This was not normal soreness. The pain was the crippling consequence of compressing three times the physical exertion of a normal person into a single afternoon. He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his side, his abdominal muscles pulling so tight they felt ready to snap.
Poke.
A tiny finger jammed directly into his inflamed bicep.
"Ow!" Cardo yelped. He tried to recoil, but his battered body simply refused to move fast enough.
Clarissa stood next to his bed in her crisp school uniform, her signature red ribbons perfectly tied. She stared down at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Slowly, she raised her hand and aimed for his shoulder.
Poke.
"Stop doing that!" Cardo wheezed, weakly swatting at her hand.
"Big brother is broken," Clarissa announced to the empty room, shaking her head. "You did a few push-ups yesterday, and now you are a human jellybean. This is tragic. Should I dig a hole in the yard, or are we just going to leave you here to decompost?"
"I am... getting stronger," Cardo whispered, forcing himself to sit up. The room immediately tilted. "The feedback forces my muscles to adapt. I just need to walk it off."
"You look like you need a wheelchair," Clarissa retorted. She threw a pair of clean socks at his face and marched out to grab her backpack.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Cardo hauled himself to his feet. His legs trembled violently. He shuffled into the living room, moving with the stiff, uncoordinated gait of a zombie.
Uncle Jun sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of cheap coffee while splicing old copper wires. He took one look at Cardo's stiff-legged shuffle and whistled.
"Rough morning, kid?" Uncle Jun offered a wry smile. "You look as if you went twelve rounds with a Vanguard heavy-hitter."
"I just tried a new workout routine," Cardo lied, leaning heavily against the counter. He couldn't tell his uncle about his cheat code. If Uncle Jun knew Cardo had found a way to exponentially accelerate his growth, he would only worry that the military recruiters would catch wind of it.
Uncle Jun chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. "You pushed too hard. Look, I have a few credits to spare. I'll head to the pharmacy and buy you some muscle relaxants so you can at least walk straight."
"No, wait," Cardo said quickly, holding up a trembling hand. "Keep your money for the utility bills. I'll go to the store."
Uncle Jun raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You can barely stand."
"I need the fresh air," Cardo insisted, grabbing his worn jacket off the hook. "Besides, I don't need medicine. I need calories."
Cardo had been doing the math all night. His new innate ability was a cheat code, yes—one hour of maintaining his clones yielded the results of three hours of grueling labor. But there was a biological catch. His body was burning a massive amount of energy to repair the shredded muscle tissue. If he didn't consume enough heavy, nutrient-dense food, his body would start breaking down its muscle mass to survive. The cheat code would actually make him weaker.
He needed cheap, heavy fuel.
"I'm heading to the local market," Cardo said, wincing as he pulled his jacket over his sore shoulders. "I'll be back soon."
"Stay on the main roads," Uncle Jun warned, his tone shifting into protective seriousness. "Don't take the alleyways. The local syndicates have been getting bolder lately."
"I'll be careful," Cardo promised.
The local market was a chaotic labyrinth of canvas tents, rusted metal stalls, and packed-dirt paths. It smelled strongly of cheap synthetic meat, harsh spices, and unwashed bodies. Flickering neon signs buzzed above the heads of exhausted laborers.
Cardo avoided the busy weapon and scrap stalls and made his way to a dirty booth at the back of the market. A folding table had a lot of dull, gray, vacuum-sealed bricks stacked on top of each other.
"Grade F Nutrient Paste," the grizzled vendor grunted. "Tastes like wet cardboard and sits in your gut like a rock. But it contains a thousand calories per pack. Two credits each."
Cardo pulled out his meager emergency fund. "I'll take five."
The man snatched the coins and unceremoniously dropped five heavy bricks into a plastic bag. The sudden weight yanked painfully at Cardo's sore shoulder.
Five pack. Five thousand calories. It was exactly the fuel his body desperately needed.
Eager to spare his trembling legs the extra distance, Cardo made a calculated choice to ignore Uncle Jun's rule. The main road added a twenty-minute detour. The alleyway was a straight shot home.
I don't have anything worth stealing anyway. Cardo reasoned as he slipped into the narrow, shadowed path between two towering, rusted apartment blocks.
Halfway through the shortcut, a silhouette peeled off the brick wall.
"Well, well. Look who wandered off the main road."
Cardo stopped dead, his grip tightening around the plastic bag. Three men blocked his path. They were local enforcers—street thugs who made their living preying on the weak. The leader sported a cheap, poorly fitted cybernetic eye. The two hulking men flanking him casually tapped heavy steel pipes against their palms.
"You look lost, kid," the leader sneered, looking Cardo up and down. "You're built like a twig. A strong breeze could snap you in half. Why are you out here alone?"
Cardo kept his expression carefully blank, though his heart hammered against his bruised ribs. His sore muscles instantly locked up in fight-or-flight response.
"I'm just heading home," Cardo said evenly. "I don't want any trouble. And I don't have any credits left. I spent them all."
"Is that right?" The leader's gaze dropped to the heavy plastic bag. "No credits, but you're hauling a heavy load. Let's see it."
"It's just cheap food paste," Cardo said, taking a slow step back.
"Drop the bag, twig," one of the brutes grunted, stepping forward and raising his pipe. "And hand over the jacket."
Cardo weighed his options. He was exhausted, physically compromised, and completely outnumbered. If he tried to throw a normal punch, his torn shoulder muscles might give out completely. But he couldn't surrender the food. This nutrient paste was his only gateway to getting stronger.
If I can't beat them with raw power, Cardo thought, his mind racing, I have to outsmart them.
He didn't drop the bag. Instead, he channeled a sliver of Aether into his right wrist.
"Manifest," Cardo whispered.
The air pressure in the alley shifted. The black ink on his arm detached, surging upward into a tall, imposing silhouette. Clone One materialized beside him—faceless, silent, and entirely devoid of human features.
The alley fell dead silent for exactly two seconds. Then, the thugs erupted into cruel, barking laughter.
"Are you joking?" the leader cackled, pointing to the shadows. "Is that a parlor trick? It doesn't even have a face!"
"I'm shaking in my boots," the brute with the pipe mocked. He waved a hand directly in front of the clone's blank visage. Because of its inherent processing lag, the clone simply stood there, motionless and unresponsive. It looked entirely harmless.
"Playtime is over," the leader snarled. "Break his legs and take the bag."
The hulking man swung the steel pipe with lethal intent, aiming directly for Cardo's ribs. Cardo didn't flinch. He fired a rapid mental command through the tether.
Step left. Guard.
A fraction of a second before the pipe connected with Cardo, the shadow shifted. It stepped smoothly into the trajectory of the swing.
CLANG.
The steel pipe collided violently with the clone's solidified Aether ribs. The construct felt no pain, absorbing the kinetic impact like a reinforced brick wall.
The thug's eyes widened in shock. "What the—"
"Strike the jaw," Cardo commanded.
The clone threw a slow, heavily telegraphed punch. The thug easily leaned back, laughing again. "Too slow, shadow boy!"
But Cardo was already moving. Using the towering black shadow as a visual screen, Cardo stepped smoothly into the man's blind spot. Drawing on the flawless muscle memory he had downloaded the previous night, Cardo planted his feet, twisted his hips, and drove his fist directly into the thug's jaw.
Smack.
Cardo hissed sharply. It felt like punching a solid boulder. The thug stumbled backward, disoriented but far from unconscious. The blow had only made him angrier.
My physical output is too weak, Cardo realized grimly. I don't have the muscle density to deal real damage yet.
"You little rat!" the brute roared, raising his steel pipe high above his head for a crushing downward strike.
Cardo's mind worked in overdrive. If the shadow was too slow to fight offensively, he had to weaponize its exact limitations.
Drop, Cardo ordered.
The thug swung the pipe down with bone-breaking force. But just before impact, the shadow clone instantly dropped to its hands and knees, forming a solid, immovable barricade directly in front of the charging man's legs.
The thug had far too much forward momentum to stop. His heavy boots slammed into the crouching shadow.
"Whoa!" the man yelled, his center of gravity completely collapsing. He vaulted violently over the clone, crashing face-first into the unforgiving asphalt. His steel pipe clattered away into the darkness.
"Gut him!" the leader shouted, drawing a jagged combat knife and lunging forward.
Cardo didn't stick around to test his luck. Hugging the bag of food tightly to his chest, he sprinted down the alleyway, his battered legs burning with every stride.
Block the path, Cardo commanded through the fading mental tether.
Behind him, the clone rose to its feet, expanding its solid frame to completely barricade the narrow alleyway.
"Move, you stupid shadow!" the leader screamed. Cardo could hear the frantic, metallic scraping of the knife desperately hacking against the hardened Aether of the construct.
Cardo didn't look back. He kept running until he burst out of the shadows and into the safe, brightly lit expanse of the main street. He slumped against a flickering streetlamp, his lungs heaving for air.
A moment later, his Aether reserves hit absolute zero. The clone dissolved.
And then, the feedback struck.
Cardo gripped the streetlamp to keep from collapsing. In a single, overwhelming rush, his brain processed everything the clone had experienced. He felt the phantom vibration of the steel pipe striking his ribs. He felt the precise angle of the knife scraping across his chest. More importantly, he perfectly internalized the exact timing required to drop low and utterly dismantle a charging opponent's center of gravity.
Cardo closed his eyes, a slow, adrenaline-fueled smile spreading across his bruised face.
He hadn't just survived. He had acquired raw, real-world street-fighting experience without suffering a single broken bone. His physical body was still weak, but his tactical mind was evolving at a terrifying pace.
It's a combat simulator, he realized, staring down at his scraped knuckles.
Twenty minutes later, Cardo pushed through his front door. He looked like an absolute wreck. His clothes were covered in alley dirt, he was heavily favoring his left leg, and a dark, swelling bruise was forming on his cheekbone. But he held the plastic bag of food up like a hard-won trophy.
"I'm back!" Cardo announced, dropping the heavy bricks onto the kitchen counter with a satisfying thud.
Uncle Jun sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you to stay out of the alleys, kid."
"What happened to your stupid face?!" Clarissa demanded, marching into the kitchen. She dragged a wooden stool over to the counter, climbed up, and yanked open the family's battered first-aid kit.
"It's just a scrape," Cardo deflected. "I ran into some local trouble. I handled it."
"You look like a chewed-up dog toy," Clarissa scolded strictly. She aggressively dabbed his cheek with a stinging antiseptic pad.
Cardo hissed, pulling back. "Gentle!"
"I don't know the meaning of that," Clarissa stated flatly. She peeled the wrapper off a brightly colored bandage adorned with a cartoon dinosaur. "You keep getting your face punched. Are you actively trying to get ugly? Because you are already treading on dangerous ground."
She slapped the dinosaur bandage directly onto his bruise, pressing down with unnecessary, vindictive force.
Cardo looked at his little sister's fierce scowl, then over at Uncle Jun's worried posture, and finally down at the stack of heavy nutrient paste on the counter. His entire body throbbed with a deep, lingering ache, and he was currently sporting a child's bandage on his face.
But as he curled his fingers into a tight fist, he could feel the fresh combat maneuvers humming vividly in his mind. He didn't feel weak anymore.
He had the strategy. He had the fuel.
Now, it was time to grind.