Chapter 8: Bitches Love Pythons
The sound of David’s front door slamming shut behind him echoed through the cramped apartment as he stepped in, body still soaked in sweat, thoroughly humiliated by the fact that a ten-kilometer run had reduced him to a panting mess over what amounted to a glorified stroll. He’d made it back, at least. That much he could hang onto.
He glanced at the system’s earlier message still hovering faint in the corner of his vision — the one about consistency, about there being no shortcuts.
’Right. Consistency.’ He turned the thought over, wondering if there was some smarter, more efficient way to squeeze results out of a body this useless, and came up completely empty.
’No. There’s no hack for this. There’s no secret trick. It’s just gonna be reps, over and over, until something actually changes.’
He got down on the floor before he could talk himself out of it.
[That’s the spirit.]
"Shut up," he muttered, already lowering himself into position.
One. Two. Three. He kept counting under his breath, teeth gritted, arms shaking violently by rep seven, and somehow — through sheer stubbornness more than any actual strength — dragged himself all the way to eleven before his arms finally gave out and dropped him flat onto the floor.
He lay there for a second, face mashed against the carpet, chest heaving.
’Okay. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.’ He actually started to accept that, started to let his body go slack in defeat — and then some stupid, stubborn corner of his brain piped up with the one thing guaranteed to get him moving again: five hundred dollars.
Just for doing push-ups. Actual, real money, sitting there waiting on the other side of this humiliation.
He dragged himself up, stumbled over to the coffee table, and grabbed the same expired can of soda from earlier, taking a defiant swig despite already knowing exactly how sour it was going to taste.
He grimaced through it anyway, using the disgust like fuel, and got back down on the floor to finish the last ten reps, grunting through every single one until he finally, finally hit the full count.
That, he decided, was more than enough for one night. He was already drenched — properly drenched now, the kind of sweaty where a person starts questioning their life choices — and it was, without question, time for a shower.
He’d long since made peace with the fact that his utility bills were more of a suggestion than an obligation, so he’d taken the practical route months ago: a large water jug kept filled and ready by the bathroom door for exactly these occasions, because hot water wasn’t always guaranteed and neither, some months, was water at all.
He grabbed his phone off the counter, using its flashlight to navigate through the dark apartment, the clothes still scattered across the floor from earlier completely ignored — he’d learned that lesson already tonight and wasn’t eager for round two.
He stepped into the bathroom, the tile cool and slightly damp under his bare feet, and flicked the light on. His toothbrush and half-squeezed tube of toothpaste sat by the sink same as always, and beside it, the mirror.
He stopped in front of it, giving himself a proper once-over. Slender build, not an ounce of visible muscle anywhere, exactly the same as it had looked that morning — and yet he found himself flexing his arm anyway, turning it slightly under the light like he might catch some new definition if he just found the right angle.
"Yeah, look at these baby pythons. " he muttered, nodding slowly to his own reflection like he was genuinely convincing himself of something.
"Bitches loveeee Pythons."
There was, objectively, nothing to see. He knew that, yet he decieved himself anyway, until-
[Would player like to view updated stats?]
His face lit up for half a second — and then immediately fell right back down, because he already knew, deep down, that ten push-ups and a humiliating jog weren’t exactly the stuff of stat-screen miracles.
"...No," he said, deflating. "No, it’s fine. I know it didn’t do anything yet. Who the heck ask this one to check on me right now?..." he muttered, almost rhetorical as he rolled his eyes.
[I simply reciprocated my question from player’s actions.]
Tsk
He hissed at first, until he figured he might as well press for something more, if the system was in a talking mood tonight.
"Alright, if you’re not gonna give me the full picture, can you at least tell me something about the Harem Conqueror? Anything. Or just — I don’t know, more about how you actually work."
[This system exists as a mechanism to aid the player’s growth toward attaining greatness. Further information regarding the Harem Conqueror cannot be disclosed. That designation unlocks at Level 5.]
David sighed, unsurprised but still mildly annoyed. "Of course it does. Fine — what level am I at right now?"
[Player Level: 1.]
[Asking with the expectation of being in a higher level is despicable.]
He rubbed at his temple.
"Shut up... just tell me how exactly I actually level up"
[Level increases through the completion of Quests and Dungeons. These will raise player stats accordingly. For every cumulative increase of 10 points across all stats, Player Level will increase by one.]
David did the math out loud without really meaning to
. "So I need... fifty points. Fifty total, spread across everything, just to hit level five." He said it slow, letting the number actually sink in, and felt something heavy settle low in his stomach.
Ten push-ups and a humiliating jog hadn’t even dented his current stats, and here the system was casually informing him that fifty full points stood between him and even the possibility of learning what the hell a Harem Conqueror was.
"That’s a lot," he muttered, staring blankly at the ceiling. "That is a genuinely insane amount of work."
He dragged a hand down his face, wiping at the sweat still clinging there, and turned toward the shower, his whole body starting to ache in that dull, unfamiliar way that told him tomorrow was going to hurt significantly worse than today had.
’First day,’ he thought, stepping toward the water.
’Guess this is just what first days feel like.’
All those heavier thoughts drifted back in as he stood there, letting the water run over him, and for once they didn’t feel entirely bad.
’Today wasn’t actually terrible,’ he thought, turning the day over in his head — the humiliating stats, the pathetic 0.7 kilometers, sure, all of it real. But he’d also gotten his first skills. He’d met Holly.
He had, for the first time in longer than he wanted to admit, an actual reason to get up tomorrow that wasn’t just avoiding hunger.
’Gym with Holly,’ he thought, and something in his chest lifted slightly at the idea, separate entirely from stats or quests or system notifications.
’That’s the plan. Start hitting the gym with her, get consistent, and once that’s rolling — really push it. Max out the stats. Get to level five and finally find out what the hell all this Harem Conqueror stuff even means.’
’Tomorrow,’ he decided. ’Tomorrow, I start properly.’
It wasn’t procrastination this time, and he knew it wasn’t the moment the words left his mouth — there was something steadier in his voice, something that actually meant it.
***
Dinner wasn’t exactly a word in David’s vocabulary tonight — not when his stomach had already made peace with disappointment somewhere around kilometer zero point seven.
He gave the empty fridge one last, halfhearted glance out of habit more than hope, sighed at it like it had personally failed him, and retired to his room instead, letting hunger lose the argument for the night.
’Operation: Sheath My Sword In Holly starts tomorrow...’ he thought, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
’Preferably on a full stomach. Preferably.’
And with that, David’s long day finally came to an end.
~~~
Hey guys, I want to thank you for your support and due to that, I thought of a friendly challenge for both of us.
For every 200 powerstones I’ll release 10+ bonus Chapters...so, if you find it worth while, you can make your decision. Thank you.🫠
