Jared Alonzo didn't sleep.
Not because he couldn't.
But because his mind refused to slow down.
His room was filled with scattered notes.
Equations.
Diagrams.
Lists.
All written in precise, calculated handwriting.
Problem identified:
Mind > Body
Jared sat at his desk, eyes focused.
If imbalance continues… system failure.
Simple.
Direct.
Unacceptable.
"…so I fix it."
He grabbed a pen and wrote:
Solution Pathways
Increase body endurance
Improve recovery rate
Reduce negative side effects
Synchronize growth
His eyes moved quickly.
Approach 1: Exercise.
Immediate.
Accessible.
Limited.
Approach 2: Nutrition.
Protein. Iron. Vitamins.
Blood regeneration support.
Approach 3: External assistance.
Medical?
Supplements?
…illegal methods?
Jared paused.
Then crossed out the last one.
"…not yet."
Start simple. Optimize naturally first.
Morning came faster than expected.
Jared stood in front of his mirror.
Still pale.
Still slightly weak.
But stable.
"…Phase One."
At school—
Something had changed.
People were watching him.
Whispering.
Observing.
"That's him…"
"The perfect score guy…"
"He improved the professor's solution…"
Jared ignored all of it.
Irrelevant noise.
Except—
One variable.
Iris.
She approached him again.
No hesitation.
No fear.
"You didn't rest," she said immediately.
Jared glanced at her.
"…I optimized."
She frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It is," he replied calmly.
Iris studied his face.
Then sighed.
"You're getting worse."
"Define worse."
"You're treating yourself like an experiment."
A pause.
Jared tilted his head slightly.
"…because I am."
Silence.
Iris stared at him.
Long.
Hard.
"…you're serious."
"I don't see the problem."
Her expression tightened.
"The problem is—you're not a machine, Jared."
He didn't respond immediately.
Because that statement—
Wasn't entirely correct anymore.
"…we'll see," he said.
Later that day—
Jared stood on the school's empty rooftop.
A quiet place.
No distractions.
Perfect.
"…start."
He began with push-ups.
Ten.
Easy.
Twenty.
Manageable.
Thirty—
His arms trembled.
"…weak."
He pushed further.
Forty.
Fifty—
His body gave out.
Jared collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily.
Current physical level: below acceptable threshold.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the sky.
"…again."
Minutes later—
He repeated it.
Then again.
Then again.
Each attempt precise.
Measured.
Recorded.
Pain didn't stop him.
It became data.
"Still going?"
A voice.
Jared turned his head slightly.
Iris stood near the door.
Watching him.
"…yes."
She walked closer.
Arms crossed.
"You're going to collapse."
"Not yet."
"You already did."
"…temporary failure."
Iris sighed.
Then—
To his surprise—
She sat down beside him.
"…you're really doing this."
"Yes."
"For what?"
Jared sat up slowly.
"To remove limitations."
A pause.
Iris looked at him.
"You're serious about changing everything, aren't you?"
Jared met her gaze.
"…yes."
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just truth.
Silence settled between them.
Then—
"…then don't die doing something stupid," Iris said quietly.
Jared blinked once.
"…noted."
She stood up.
"I'll help you."
Jared paused.
"…why?"
Iris looked back at him.
"Because if you're going to become something dangerous…"
A small smirk appeared.
"…someone should keep you in check."
Jared stared at her.
Analyzing.
Calculating.
Motivation: curiosity + concern.
Risk level: moderate.
Benefit: high.
"…acceptable."
Iris rolled her eyes.
"You really talk like that now?"
"…efficient."
"Annoying."
For the first time—
Jared almost smiled.
As the sun began to set—
They stayed on the rooftop.
Training.
Talking.
Planning.
But deep inside—
Jared was already thinking ahead.
Stronger body.
Faster recovery.
More blood donations.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"…this is only the beginning."