Tyler smiled faintly as he stepped into the personal gym, the rubberized floor slightly cool beneath his bare feet.
He had just passed by the living area where his mom and Devin were curled up on the couch, watching TV.
His mother had smiled brightly at him, her eyes lighting up with a mix of warmth and relief.
"I'm glad you finally came out of that study," she had said with mock sternness, though the love in her voice gave her away. "You need to breathe some actual air once in a while."
He had only chuckled in response.
To an outsider, it might've seemed like Helena was exaggerating—that Tyler had holed himself up all day. But that wasn't true.
Yes, he'd been intensely focused, but he had still made time to eat lunch with them and spent a good thirty minutes playing a card game with Devin.
It had been a small moment, but one he refused to miss. Because no matter how hectic things got, he would never repeat the mistakes of his past life—of letting work eclipse the people who truly mattered.
His last life had been a slow suffocation. A life where progress meant absence. Where providing meant sacrificing connection. And when it all came crashing down, the only thing he had left was regret.
Not this time.
He reached Devin and ruffled the boy's hair gently, smiling at the loud giggle that erupted in response. The affection was quick, instinctive.
That boy was a walking light, and Tyler would do anything to make sure it never dimmed.
With that, he stepped away and entered the gym.
It was a modest space but well-equipped. Dumbbells of varying weights lined one wall beside a smart rack and resistance bands.
A treadmill faced the windows, where late evening light filtered in.
A multi-use station stood in the corner, gleaming under the soft glow of overhead lights. This was his arena.
Tyler exhaled and rolled his neck.
First things first—stats.
He summoned his status screen with a mental command, the semi-transparent interface flickering into view before him.
[Name: Tyler Reyes]
[Age: 16]
[Strength: 8—>12]
[Agility: 7—>12]
[Stamina: 6—>15]
[Intelligence: 8—>20]
[Stat Point(s): 0]
[System Point(s): 0]
[Mission: None]
[Knowledge: Financial Mathematics, Computational Mathematics]
[System Store]
He studied it for a moment, nodding slowly.
All of his core stats had crossed the threshold of an average human. Ten was the peak potential for an average person.
Now? Tyler was beyond that baseline in every category.
His Intelligence was the obvious outlier. At 20, it had doubled the human ceiling. He could feel the difference as his mind felt like a hyper-accelerated machine, constantly multitasking across streams of input, observation, and prediction.
This was one of the reasons he was able to come up with so many algorithms that would had melted the brains of scholars from even his past life.
His Stamina now stood at 15, and that was intentional.
Tyler had made a deliberate decision to push that stat up because he anticipated the kind of life he would lead.
Endless nights of research, long days of hands-on work, moments of physical exertion or potential escape, especially in hostile environments—he needed endurance. Mental and physical.
With Stamina at 15, he could go days with minimal sleep, run through the night, and work tirelessly without burning out.
As for Strength and Agility—both sitting at 12—Tyler hadn't specifically chosen them, but the system seemed to be rewarding balance. He wasn't complaining.
Though he wasn't a fighter, having enough raw power and quickness gave him versatility. He could lift twice what the average athlete could and move like a trained gymnast.
Satisfied, Tyler dismissed the screen and stepped toward the center of the gym. It was time to test his new limits.
The best way to do that, he figured, was to revisit the routine the system had once assigned him. Only this time, he was going to double it.
This might overly ambitious for him but this was the only way he knew he could test his body's new limit.
Tyler has no idea if it will work as even after he stopped receiving the mission, he had still continued doing the exercises daily.
"Two hundred pushups. Two hundred sit-ups. Two hundred squats. Twenty kilometers on the treadmill," he muttered.
It sounded insane on paper. It would've killed him a few weeks ago.
But now?
Let's see what these numbers mean in the real world.
He dropped to the floor and began the pushups.
The first fifty went by with ease. His arms moved like pistons, his breathing perfectly in rhythm. There was no burn or tension in his muscles.
By the time he crossed the 120 mark, his triceps began to tighten, but not painfully. Just a light resistance.
By 200, he sat up with a deep exhale. His chest rose and fell, sweat starting to form, but his heart rate was stable. He wasn't even panting.
The squats were the hardest—not because of weakness, but control. His legs now packed explosive strength. Each rep demanded restraint.
On the final set, he added resistance—weighted bands wrapped around his thighs and ankles.
At the 180th squat, something shifted. He went down a bit too fast and pushed up instinctively.
The force of the motion cracked the air like a whip. The floor beneath his feet groaned, and the reinforced mat tore slightly at the edges.
Tyler froze.
He hadn't stomped. He hadn't jumped. That was just a normal squat, but with enough force packed into it to maybe threaten reinforced flooring.
He moved to the pull-up bar mounted to the ceiling. It was rated for over 300 pounds and anchored deep into steel beams.
Tyler leapt lightly and grabbed hold. Then, with only his arms, he pulled himself up—not just to chin level, but above the bar until his waist hovered near it.
The steel creaked. He released and dropped to the floor, landing softly.
He tested his balance with standing vertical jumps next. No warm-up, no steps, but just a straight launch from the ground.
He cleared the storage shelf at the far wall—one built higher than a grown man's head.
No run-up. Just pure leg power.
Next, speed.
Tyler moved to the treadmill and dialed the speed to maximum—then overclocked it manually with his tools.
Twenty kilometers per hour… then twenty-five… thirty...
At thirty-five, the belt moved faster than most professional sprinters could handle.
Tyler kept pace like it was nothing. His steps were light, balanced, quick. Not thudding or panicked steps.
He had to stop the machine after ten minutes—not because he was tired, but because the sensors were starting to overheat.
He turned to the punching bag last.
It was a heavy one—triple-weighted, reinforced with steel coils inside. He stepped close and jabbed lightly.
The bag swung three feet to the side.
He blinked.
Then, curious, he threw a real punch—just one.
The chain holding the bag to the ceiling snapped, and the bag slammed into the wall, denting the drywall with a loud thud.
Tyler winced and stared at his fist.
There was no blood on it, neither did he feel any pain or see any swelling.
He shook out his arm and muttered, "Guess I won't need to install a new punching machine after all."
"Tyler?"
The voice made him turn. Devin stood at the doorway, peeking in with wide eyes.
"Dinner's ready."
Tyler grinned and ruffled his brother's hair as he passed.
"Thanks, bud."
He immediately went upstairs, peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes, and stepped into the shower.
The water hit like a second wind—cool, cleansing. The soreness in his muscles faded with every passing minute under the stream.
By the time he came downstairs, he was clean, relaxed, and ready to eat.
Dinner was a comforting affair—rice, beef stew, fried plantains, and fresh vegetables. Helena had outdone herself.
Devin chatted excitedly about a cartoon episode, and Helena occasionally reached across the table to refill plates or pour water. It felt like a snapshot from a perfect life.
After dinner, they moved to the living room. Devin had picked out a movie—one of those animated action-comedies he loved—and Tyler didn't protest.
They watched together, laughter filling the room, warmth wrapped in the glow of the TV and the comfort of presence.
It wasn't a school night, so Devin stayed up late, curling against Tyler's side by the second movie.
Tyler also allowed himself to unwind for the day, as he had worked hard. Noon tomorrow, he will meet with David and discuss about his plan to build a fabrication plant in Gumua.