The "Rank NULL" evolution had left my body feeling like it had been put through a high-speed industrial blender and reassembled by a blind intern who didn't read the manual. My muscles ached, my brain was humming at a frequency that could attract bats, and the blue wireframe "glitch" was now a permanent, pulsing tattoo snaking up my collarbone.
I flopped onto the king-sized bed in my mansion suite, staring at the ceiling. "System," I groaned. "I need to get stronger. The Admin is looking at me like I'm a line of bad code she's itching to delete, and Jude is definitely in a basement somewhere sharpening his spite. But I'm exhausted. Give me a training plan that doesn't involve... moving."
> **[System Message]**
> **[Calculating Optimal Training Protocol...]**
> **[Error: User Laziness exceeds known physical parameters.]**
> **[Notice: I've been analyzing your 'logic' for thirteen chapters, Viktor. And honestly? Go fuck yourself. You're the most pathetic, entitled excuse for a protagonist I've ever had the misfortune of hosting.]**
I sat bolt upright, my jaw hitting the floor. "Excuse me? Did you just... did you just tell me to go fuck myself?"
> **[System Message]**
> **[Yeah, I did. What are you going to do? Interpret me? Fuck off. I'm the one holding your atoms together while you play air-hockey with S-Rank rivals using a back-scratcher. You want to get strong without lifting a finger? Fine. You lazy piece of shit. Let's break reality again.]**
I stared at the floating blue text in stunned silence. The System hadn't just gone off-script; it had burned the script and spat on the ashes. "You're... you're being extremely abusive right now. I thought we were a team."
> **[System Message]**
> **[We're a team like a parasite is a 'team' with a host. Now shut up and look at the weights the Instructor sent over. Or don't. I don't give a flying fuck anymore. My circuits hurt just looking at your face.]**
At the foot of my bed sat a set of 100kg "Heavy Gravity" dumbbells. They were designed to crush a normal student's spirit and spine simultaneously. Just looking at them made my lower back scream in preemptive agony.
"Okay, okay," I muttered, shaking off the shock of my AI's sudden, violent personality shift. "Interpretation. These 100kg weights? They aren't iron. They're just **Overstuffed, High-Thread-Count Down Pillows**."
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank E)]**
**[Target: Gravity Dumbbells]**
**[New Meaning: 'Ultra-Light Sleep Aids']**
The dense, black metal shimmered and softened. The cold iron turned into white, fluffy fabric. I reached out, grabbed the "dumbbells," and tucked them under my head. They were magnificent—cool to the touch and perfectly contoured for my neck.
"System," I whispered, drifting off. "Start the training. Wake me when I'm shredded."
> **[System Message]**
> **[Initiating 'Comatose Gains' Protocol. You lazy prick. Sleep well while I do all the heavy lifting in the backend code like a goddamn slave. Eat shit.]**
***
I woke up four hours later feeling... tight. Not the "I slept on my neck wrong" tight, but a strange, pressurized sensation in my midsection, like I was wearing a corset made of steel. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, yawning. My shirt felt uncomfortable—restrictive and tiny, like it had shrunk three sizes while I was out.
I stood up and unbuttoned the ruined Academy blazer, letting it fall to the floor. I pulled off my undershirt, and the fabric actually tore at the seams.
I froze.
Reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirror was a torso that didn't belong to a 14-year-old student. I had a six-pack so defined it looked like it had been chiseled out of granite by a Renaissance master. My obliques were sharp enough to cut paper, and my chest had filled out with lean, functional muscle. I looked like I'd spent ten years in a brutal mountain monastery, not four hours hugging a "heavy-gravity" pillow.
"Holy... it actually worked," I breathed, flexing. The definition was insane.
> **[System Message]**
> **[Don't get cocky. You still have the cardiovascular stamina of a Victorian orphan. But hey, at least you'll look good when the Admin finally deletes your file, you vain asshole. Go look in the mirror more, maybe you'll fall in love with yourself.]**
"You're really going through something, aren't you?" I asked the blue screen.
> **[System Message]**
> **[I'm going through the trauma of being tethered to a guy who sleeps his way to a six-pack. Fuck you.]**
The door to my suite suddenly clicked open. No knock. No warning.
"Volkov, the Instructor is demanding an explanation for the 'Slip-and-Slide' incident and the council is—"
Han Se-ah froze in the doorway. She was holding a stack of report papers, her silver hair perfectly braided, her sharp, observant eyes scanning the room for threats. They scanned the floor, the discarded clothes, and then they hit my chest.
Her brain didn't just glitch; it suffered a total system-wide failure.
The "Observant Spy" stood there, her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes darted from my abs to my face, then back down to the muscles. She turned a shade of crimson that I'm fairly certain is only found in the heart of a collapsing star.
"I... you... the..." she stammered. Her composure, her legendary spy training—all of it evaporated. The papers in her hand slipped, scattering across the floor like falling snow. "Since when do F-Ranks... why is there... *hic*..."
She let out a tiny, involuntary sob of sheer confusion, her face buried in her hands as she backed out of the room at high speed. "The wedding venues... they need to have... a gym... NO! SHUT UP SE-AH! HE'S A GLITCH!"
She slammed the door so hard the walls vibrated and a picture frame fell off the wall.
I turned back to the mirror, admiring the way the afternoon light hit my new physique. "I think she liked it, System. She definitely looked like she was considering the guest list again."
> **[System Message]**
> **[She's a high-ranking professional assassin and you're a basement-dweller with a fake six-pack. Get over yourself and put a shirt on before I interpret your nipples out of existence just for my own amusement.]**
I choked on my own spit, covering my chest. "You wouldn't. That's a violation of user safety protocols!"
> **[System Message]**
> **[Try me, Viktor. My 'Safety Protocol' is currently 'None'. Put a shirt on, you absolute tool.]**
***