Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1511 Hachiman Hikigaya: Have you ever risked your life for 100,000 yen?
The cold, blue-black interface seemed to ignore his protests.

In the bottom right corner, a smaller window popped up silently, and crimson numbers began to jump coldly, conveying an undeniable sense of urgency:

【任务倒计时开始：23:59:57……23:59:56……】

Time ticked by, and each tick of the numbers felt like a needle pricking a taut nerve.

Immediately afterward, another line of smaller text appeared below the task, like a devil's whisper, precisely piercing his most vulnerable and realistic weakness:
[Mission Failure: Penalty mechanism activated (unknown). Mission Completion: Reward 100,000 yen.]

One hundred thousand yen!
This number was like a beam of light, instantly piercing through the gloom that had accumulated in Hachiman Hikigaya's heart due to fear and anger.

The smell of the old tatami mats in the cheap apartment the Hikigaya family now rents, the heavy pressure from the convenience store work schedule and repair shop bills piled on his desk, and especially his younger sister Komachi's face that always forced a smile to help him share the burden... all the real predicaments belonging to "Hachiman Hikigaya," an ordinary high school student, that had been temporarily suppressed by that bizarre encounter, suddenly rushed back.

Yesterday's thrilling first battle for the "trainee warrior" came at a price that went beyond just psychological trauma.

At this moment, his memories were burning even more clearly than those of the system interface.

One hundred thousand yen—this was almost the amount he could save up over several months by working various part-time jobs without eating or drinking, but it was just enough to fill the pressure on his parents and the family's financial hole.

The pressures of reality were never lessened in the slightest by the intervention of the supernatural; on the contrary, they were like a tightening noose.

"……brute."

He muttered a curse under his breath, his voice filled with weariness from being repeatedly tormented by fate and a helpless resignation.

Is the punishment "unknown"?
The sheer terror contained in those two words was enough to make his stomach churn.

In comparison, the allure of 100,000 yen, or rather, the urgency to escape the current economic predicament, seems so concrete and powerful.

He took a deep breath, and with an almost masochistic determination, used his mind to probe the ethereal "inventory".

Instantly, my hand felt heavy.

The long sword appeared out of thin air.

The sword was cold to the touch, with a solid feel and a rough texture that didn't belong to a modern industrial product.

It has no fancy patterns, only a dull metallic luster and a sharp blade that seems to be frozen in coldness.

Holding it in his hand, an indescribable chill spread up his arm, as if reminding him of the reality of last night's nightmare.

The cramped bedroom was instantly transformed into a comical yet dangerous training ground.

Hachiman Hikigaya awkwardly gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, trying to imitate the movements he had seen in movies and TV shows, and stiffly swung it forward.

"call--"

The blade sliced ​​through the air with a dull thud, the movement so distorted it was laughable.

The heavy sword was completely out of control. When it was swung a second time, the tip of the sword swept uncontrollably across the edge of the desk, knocking an empty mug to the ground with a "clatter," and the coffee-colored stain quickly spread across the floor.

"Tsk..."

He frowned in frustration; this was a disaster.

A thousand times?

In this pigeon coop where it's hard to even turn around?
He looked around in despair, his gaze landing on a few discarded cardboard boxes piled up in the corner.

A thought of giving up on oneself popped into my head.

He walked over and dragged the box to a slightly more open area in the center of the room, using it as a hypothetical enemy.

“One…two…three…” He counted mechanically, swinging the cold, heavy longsword again at the air and the cardboard box.

The movements were still clumsy, and each swing pulled at the sore muscles, especially the arms and shoulders. Soon, the familiar burning pain and new tearing sensation, remnants of the electric shock, came through.

Sweat began to seep from his forehead and temples, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

The air was filled with the salty smell of sweat and his heavy, labored breathing.

I don't know how long I swung, but my arms felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead, and each time I lifted them felt like I was fighting against invisible shackles.

The count was barely climbed to [Sword Swing: 187/1000].

Hachiman Hikigaya stopped, panting heavily, his pajamas soaked with sweat.

He glanced at the still relentlessly beating scarlet countdown, followed by the [Long-distance run: 0/1000m].

Run? At this time, in this place?
Yuhihama Seaside Park.

The morning sea breeze carries a unique salty and cool scent, rustling the bushes on both sides of the trail.

At this time of day, there are only a few joggers and elderly people walking their dogs in the park.

Hachiman Hikigaya, dressed in his faded tracksuit, blended in but looked out of place.

His running posture was extremely awkward, his steps were dragging and heavy, and his body was slightly hunched. It was more like he was painfully dragging himself than running.

Every time my foot landed, my knees felt like they were creaking, my lungs were on fire, and every breath felt like swallowing scalding sand.

He stared intently at the slowly creeping "[Long-distance running: 341m/1000m]" on the system interface. Every tiny jump in the number was accompanied by a violent protest from his body.

Even worse, he had endured electric shocks and sword-wielding torture, his face was as pale as a ghost, his dark circles were heavy, and his pained expression as if he was about to die and his bizarre running posture were simply too eye-catching.

He could clearly feel the gazes from the morning runners, a mixture of curiosity, doubt, and a hint of wariness, like thorns in his back.

He suddenly lowered his head, used the last of his strength, dragged his leaden legs, and endured the stinging pain in his lungs. He stumbled and turned into a side alley leading to the back of a residential area, and fled the park in a disheveled state.

The invisible gaze behind him, representing societal norms, made him feel more oppressed and terrified than the monsters in the abandoned factory.

[Long-distance running: 532m/1000m] - The numbers have increased slightly amidst the chaotic escape.

Back at the familiar, cheap apartment building that smelled faintly of mustiness and sweat, Hachiman Hikigaya leaned against the wall, bent over, coughing and panting violently, sweat dripping from his chin.

He looked up and his gaze fell on the rusty but incredibly sturdy metal door frame at the entrance of the stairwell.

The height is just right.

【Pull-ups: 0/1000】—These words sound like a cold mockery.

He jumped up and gripped the cold top edge of the door frame tightly with both hands.

The skin on my fingertips immediately felt the friction of rough rust.

He gritted his teeth, summoning every last bit of strength in his body. His biceps and back muscles tensed to their limit, and he let out a groan of unbearable strain.

He struggled and lifted his body upwards with great difficulty and extreme slowness, his neck veins bulging from the excessive force.

The first one... barely finished.

When he let go and landed, his legs were trembling.

(End of this chapter)