Power Stone Goals from now on: I always post a minimum of 5 chapters. Henceforth the following are the goals:
Every 150 powerstones, I upload an extra chapter.
If we hit top 30 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we hit top 10 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we are top 5...well lets get to that first. Happy readings!
Chapter 14: First fight in a new world
As Sam walked closer to the group of people causing trouble, I instinctively reached out and put a hand on his chest, stopping him for a moment.
"Dude," I said firmly.
He looked back at me, confused by the sudden interruption.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and handed it to him. "Record what's about to happen."
His eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, what?"
"I'm a public figure now," I said, lowering my voice. "I'm not just a normal person anymore. Everything I do, everything I say, could end up on social media, in the news, twisted into something it's not. I can't afford to just swing at people without thinking. If something goes down, I need a record of it. This way, if we run into any legal issues, I've got evidence to back me up."
Sam looked down at the phone, then back at me. After a second of hesitation, he took it from my hand.
"That's well and good," he said slowly, "but if you go up against fifteen guys by yourself, you're going to get your ass beat."
I smiled.
It wasn't cocky. Not entirely. But there was a flicker of confidence behind it that hadn't been there a few weeks ago.
"I wouldn't be so sure," I said.
Because over the past two weeks, my body has changed. At first, I thought it was just a side effect of the new routine—the strict diet, the intense workout schedule, the discipline required for the role.
I had easily reached peak human fitness. My muscles were denser, more efficient. My stamina was off the charts.
The strength I'd developed couldn't be measured by normal gym standards anymore. I was able to do weighted pull-ups with 100 kilograms strapped to me—reps, not just one. And it wasn't stopping there. Every day, I felt stronger.
Standing at 6'1" and weighing 90 kilograms of solid, defined muscle, I looked like someone who trained professionally every day of his life.
But it wasn't just about size or appearance. There was something else happening. My reflexes had sharpened.
My perception of space and motion had become more acute. My balance had improved beyond what any coach could teach.
And then there were the senses.
Slightly enhanced. Just enough to notice. A shift in the air. The sound of a foot scraping against concrete.
A heartbeat slightly quickening. Subtle, but real.
All of it made me feel like I had an edge. Not enough to be invincible—but enough to feel like I could walk into a fight with better odds than any ordinary guy.
I glanced toward the group again. Fifteen guys, give or take. They were rowdy, full of cheap bravado, feeding off each other's energy.
A few of them were too busy laughing and joking to even notice me approaching.
I rolled my shoulders once, cracked my neck, and breathed in.
Whether I won or not… that was still up in the air.
But I was about to find out.
"Just keep recording," I told Sam, as he moved away and hid slightly.
He nodded, still unsure, but aimed the camera and pressed record.
And I stepped forward into the night, ready to put everything I had to the test.
As I walked over to the group—fifteen guys and about five girls—I could already hear their raucous laughter echoing against the surrounding buildings.
Their voices were loud, brash, and obnoxious, each comment building off the last in an escalating spiral of crude humor.
One of the men had his hand wrapped tightly around a girl's wrist, his grip controlling, possessive.
Her body language made it obvious she wanted nothing to do with him; she angled herself away, trying to create even the smallest amount of distance.
"Please, just let us go home," one of the girls said. Her voice carried a tremble, like she was trying to stay calm but couldn't quite keep the fear out of her tone.
"Who said no?" one of the guys replied, twisting his expression into a look of exaggerated confusion. His tone made it sound like she was being irrational, like she was the one making things difficult.
Another added with a smug grin, "We just wanna go home with you. What's wrong with that?"
Their laughter erupted again—loud, unfiltered, and completely lacking in self-awareness or empathy. It felt performative, as if they were daring someone to challenge their behavior.
I stepped forward, stopping just a few feet from them. I didn't speak loudly or aggressively. Instead, I kept my tone measured and composed.
"Hey," I said, keeping my arms slightly raised, palms open to signal that I wasn't looking for a confrontation. "Is there a problem here?"
One of the guys turned around slowly, scanning me with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and indifference. "Huh?"
"Everyone can just go their own way," I said, keeping my voice even. "No one needs to get into trouble tonight. No one wants that."
A different guy looked me up and down, clearly sizing me up, and then smirked. "Looks like we got ourselves a tough boy here."
He closed the distance between us and stopped only inches away from my face. His breath smelled strongly of beer and something sour, and without a word, he reached out and grabbed the collar of my jacket.
Despite the clear escalation, I still didn't react. My hands stayed up, not in surrender, but to keep myself from being accused of provoking anything.
"Hey man, I don't want any trouble. I really don't think they want any trouble either," I said, keeping my tone level and calm. "Why don't we all just call it a night and let everyone enjoy the rest of their evening?"
"We're just trying to have some fun with them," he replied, his fingers tightening around the fabric at my neck.
"I get that," I responded. "But they're not interested. And you guys? You're not exactly unattractive. I'm sure there's someone else out there who'd actually want to talk to you tonight."
At that, another guy in the group snorted and stepped forward. His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in. "You should leave, mind your own business, or we're going to beat your ass."
Even then, I didn't back down. My hands were still raised, my posture still non-threatening. I wasn't giving them an excuse.
But the guy holding my collar clearly wasn't interested in dialogue anymore. With a quick movement, he pulled back his fist and punched me hard in the face.
A burst of pain exploded across my jaw, sharp and immediate. My head snapped to the side from the impact, and for a moment, all I could feel was the ache spreading across my cheekbone and the slight metallic taste forming in my mouth. My body staggered a step, but I didn't fall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam. He had the phone up, still recording, but he had started moving forward, likely thinking he needed to step in.
But before he could get close, I turned back to the guy who had just hit me. My hand clenched into a fist. I didn't wait for another word. I pulled back and swung.
The punch landed squarely, a solid, deliberate hit.
I grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him forward, right into my left knee. The impact was immediate and brutal—I heard the unmistakable crunch of bone, and within a second, blood was pouring from his nose.
His eyes went wide, more in shock than pain at first, but it didn't take long for both to kick in. He staggered, and I gave him a push, sending him sprawling to the ground. He didn't try to get back up.
Almost immediately, another guy lunged at me. No hesitation. Just raw aggression. But I was ready. I pivoted, sidestepped, and kept him at arm's length, his momentum carrying him past me. My body was moving faster than I could think—reflexes honed by something beyond training.
But that's when things got serious.
Within seconds, I was surrounded. A full circle of aggression, fifteen bodies closing in, all of them pissed off and emboldened by numbers. My heart was pounding in my chest, and for the first time, I realized I was in a real pickle.
"Run!" I shouted at the girls, waving them off while trying to maintain my stance. They didn't hesitate. They bolted.
And then things got worse.
One of the guys reached into his coat and pulled out a chain, thick and heavy, wrapping it around his knuckles like he'd done this before. Another dude revealed a pair of brass knuckles, his fingers curling into them with practiced ease. And then—because apparently, we were in a video game—someone else pulled out a knife.
"What the hell is this country?" I muttered under my breath. "Why do random people have weapons?"
I could've just stayed home. I could've minded my own business. But that thought only flickered in my mind for half a second before it evaporated.
I kept moving, shifting in small steps to make sure no one got behind me. My eyes flicked between faces, bodies, and hand positions. I wasn't trained for this. Not really. But something inside me had started to wake up.
Still, all that confidence I had earlier about winning a 1v15? Yeah… screw that.
The second one of them stepped in a little too close, I launched forward and punched him square in the jaw. He dropped, and I didn't wait to see if he was getting back up.
I turned and ran.
Faster than I'd ever run in my life.
"Sam!" I yelled as I sprinted. "We gotta go!"
I saw him, still holding the phone, wide-eyed, recording everything.
"Why the hell are you still recording?!"
He stumbled backward, realizing it was real now—past the point of play—and then he turned and ran with me.
I'd never moved like that before. The world blurred around me as my legs tore into the pavement, lungs filling and emptying with rhythmic intensity. But one thing was clear: that was the fastest I had ever run.
...
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator