My stomach growled like a beast clawing from the inside, empty and demanding food.
"This black… stuff is still coming out of my body!"
I muttered, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror.
Naked, I could see the impurity still being expelled, streaking across my skin like inky rivers.
I gritted my teeth.
"I have to go all in…"
I grabbed another Skin-Hardening Pellet from my inventory, swallowing it quickly.
I assumed the strange posture again—feet rooted, fists on hips, back straight—and focused on my breathing, channeling the warm energy pooling in my lower dantian.
The circulation began again, a complete energy cycle flowing from dantian, along the meridians, spreading beneath the skin.
Another round.
And then another.
Pain, sweat, and pressure mingled with a strange exhilaration as the energy forced the impurities out.
Only after swallowing a third Skin-Hardening Pellet and completing the fifth full cycle did the black residue finally stop oozing from my body.
Each cycle left my skin tighter, my muscles denser, my limbs lighter yet stronger—like my body had been reforged from the inside.
But as I looked down, a strange thought struck me: "Why do I feel like I've become thinner all of a sudden…"
My shadow reflection showed a leaner, more defined frame, subtly more pronounced.
I sank into the bath, hot water cascading over me, scrubbing away the last stains.
The black impurities vanished, leaving behind a warmth under my skin—the residue of progress, the first tangible proof that Stage 1 of body tempering had reshaped me.
As I wiped away the last traces of black residue, I ran my fingers over my skin—and froze.
There was a new texture, a firmness I had never felt before.
Harder than ever, yet somehow smoother on the surface, as if my skin had been reforged into armor.
Then my hand brushed over my stomach, and I felt it—cuts.
Subtle, shallow lines tracing over the muscles.
"What the… is this even possible?!"
I muttered, astonished.
I had worked my ass off day and night, disciplined with exercise and diet, yet I had never had anything like this.
I finished wiping my body, then walked over to my father's room, where a full-length mirror stood.
Standing before it, I took a deep breath.
"Haha… fuck yes…"
It wasn't my imagination.
My body had changed.
My frame looked leaner than yesterday, every muscle defined, sculpted as if chiseled by an artist.
The shape of my body now resembled those statues of Greek mythology—balanced, powerful, and refined.
I flexed each muscle in front of the mirror, feeling a rush of satisfaction.
The definition, the hard lines, the sheer presence of strength—it was intoxicating.
But then I noticed something odd.
"Why do I look… a little dehydrated?"
I pressed my hands against my cheeks, feeling the taut, smooth skin stretched over the new contours.
It was tight and firm, yet every movement carried a subtle hum of raw power underneath.
A thrill ran through me—this was just Stage 1.
If this was only the beginning, what would happen as I advanced through the other stages?
I couldn't help but wonder how Eri would react when she saw my body now… the thought made a small smirk tug at my lips.
I was curious, even looking forward to her expression.
I quickly changed into another T-shirt and a pair of track pants—comfortable, casual, but enough to show some of the new lines forming on my frame.
Hunger gnawed at me like a beast, so I headed back to the kitchen and loaded my plate.
Same as yesterday: six eggs, grilled salmon, steaming miso soup, a bowl of natto, fluffy rice, pickled radish, and spinach dressed with sesame seeds, accompanied by warm green tea.
Even after devouring everything on my plate, I didn't feel full—the food seemed to vanish into my body, digested at an incredible pace.
Every nutrient was absorbed almost instantly, as if my body were a sponge pulling in water.
The power flowing through me after Stage 1 made even eating feel… enhanced.
As I finished, my eyes fell on another portion of food I had prepared for Eri.
Hesitating slightly, I walked to her room and raised my hand to knock—but the door swung open at the lightest push.
"She didn't lock the door?!" I muttered, half in surprise, half in amazement.
Did she trust me that much?
The thought ran through my mind as I hesitated at the doorway.
With disbelief, I stepped into her room carefully.
Eri was still asleep, completely out like the dead, a "SLEEP" icon hovering on her collar.
The clock read 7:15 AM.
She looked so small and adorable in my oversized clothes, the fabric hanging off her tiny frame.
I couldn't bring myself to wake her, so I quietly left her side and returned to the kitchen.
Her breakfast potion was already laid out, and without hesitation, I started eating.
"I'll cook another portion for her quickly…" I muttered to myself.
I attacked the food like a greedy pig, starting with the salmon, then moving on to the eggs, rice, and natto.
Even after finishing everything, my stomach still growled, demanding more.
Surprisingly, my cheeks didn't feel as swollen as before—the intense digestion and the effects of body tempering must be helping.
"I guess I'll cook an extra portion for myself alongside Eri's," I decided.
The procedure was simple, really simple: two sets of salmon from the refrigerator, lightly salted since they weren't pre-seasoned, then heated in a pan skin-side down for 4–5 minutes before flipping and cooking for another 3–4.
While the salmon rested on low heat, I could start preparing the eggs.
This time, I didn't boil the eggs.
Instead, I cracked eight eggs into a bowl—six for me, two for Eri—added a splash of soy sauce, a hint of mirin, a pinch of salt, and a dash of pepper.
I beat them until perfectly smooth. Heating a pan with just a small amount of oil, I poured in the egg mixture and cooked it slowly over low heat, rolling it carefully into a thick, fluffy Japanese-style omelet.
After letting it cool slightly, I sliced it into neat pieces.
The whole process took about 10–12 minutes.
By the time the omelet was ready, the salmon was perfectly cooked as well.
I boiled a small pot of water for the miso soup, adding diced tofu, wakame seaweed, and chopped green onions.
Turning the heat low, I stirred in the miso paste gently—never letting it boil—and in 5–7 minutes it was done.
Next, I scooped warm rice from the rice cooker, opened the natto packets, mixed them with the sauce and mustard, and arranged pickled radish and small vegetables on the side.
In total, the breakfast took me around 30 minutes. I could probably do it faster, but I didn't want to compromise on taste.
"Yawn Ohayō, Kiyoshi," Eri's sleepy voice floated from the hallway.
She appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and yawning, her hair slightly messy from sleep.
"Ohayō, did you sleep well?"
I asked, glancing at her as I arranged the table with the food again, trying to smile naturally.
"Mm…" she nodded lazily, still half-asleep.
Then, as if suddenly noticing something, her eyes traveled over me from head to toe, taking in every detail, but she didn't ask a word.
"Do… you want to eat with me?" I asked cautiously.
"I didn't brush my teeth yet… and I don't have a toothbrush…" she admitted quietly.
Oops.
I'd completely forgotten to get these yesterday.
But then I remembered—I'd bought a discounted package of toothbrushes before.
If I remembered correctly, there should be two more somewhere in my room.
"Wait a sec…" I hurried to the cupboard and, thankfully, found them. I returned to her and handed one over.
"Here you go."
"Thank you…" she murmured, taking it with a small smile.
I waited silently, resisting the urge to dig into the food myself, giving her time.
About ten minutes later, she returned, having brushed her teeth, and sat down in the chair across from me.
She picked up her chopsticks and took the first bite.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and a small, impressed smile appeared on her face.
"You cook really well!" she exclaimed, her tone a mix of admiration and disbelief.
I accepted her compliment with a modest nod, not shy at all.
"Thank you…"
I replied, a small warmth spreading through me at seeing her enjoy the meal.