Only four days remained until the tournament began.
It was a bright, sunny morning in Boston. The kittens were tucked into their boxes, still asleep, while Nova lay awake in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded behind his head. He had been there for several minutes, mapping out what the rest of his day would look like, although his thoughts kept returning to the same problem.
Four days left. His expression hardened, almost as if he were preparing himself for a war. I need to train as much as possible. I haven't awakened yet, and there are bound to be awakened Players in the tournament. That puts me at a massive disadvantage.
He bit his lip, considering the difference between himself and the people he would be competing against. Some could manipulate fire, others possessed extraordinary physical strength, and a few had abilities he barely understood. Meanwhile, he had been spending his mornings trying to run without embarrassing himself and his evenings wondering why his muscles hated him.
His first instinct was to search for some way to bridge the gap, but he already knew his options. He either had to awaken or become strong enough to compete without an ability. There was, of course, a third option. He could abandon the restrictions he had placed upon himself and reclaim the strength of the Supreme God of Destruction.
But doing so would defeat the entire purpose of coming here.
"No," he murmured, shaking his head. "I'm doing this properly."
He raised one hand toward the ceiling, spreading his fingers as sunlight fell across them. His gaze seemed to travel beyond the roof of the apartment, beyond the clouds and the stars, through the Outer Heaven, and into the Inner Heaven, where Freya would be going about her day.
He missed her.
Back in Heaven, they had hardly spent a moment apart. Even when they were occupied with their separate duties, they found time for each other, sometimes visiting one another countless times in a single day. They even alternated between sleeping in each other's chambers. Nova had grown so accustomed to her presence that the quiet of his apartment still felt strange.
He wondered whether she was busy with another galaxy or one of her beloved black holes. He smiled at the thought of her losing track of time while tending to a new creation.
"I hope you're doing well, Freya."
After another moment, he sat up. Missing her would not make the tournament easier, and Freya would want him to look after himself.
He climbed out of bed, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and went to check on the kittens. They were still sleeping, their tiny bodies pressed close together. He made sure their water was fresh and prepared their food for when they woke, taking care not to disturb them.
Only then did he eat his own breakfast: a banana, followed by leftover chicken and rice. It was simple, filling, and, according to the things he had learned about nutrition, a decent meal for someone trying to build muscle. He had been asking Talia to get him the same combination whenever she was able, much to his growing realization that eating properly was almost another form of training.
After finishing his meal, he put on his sneakers, checked the kittens once more, and locked the apartment behind him.
The park wasn't far away. By the time he arrived, the morning sunlight had warmed the paths, and a few people were already walking or jogging between the trees. Nova found a clear spot, stretched his arms and legs, and began with a walk. He kept moving for almost thirty minutes, allowing his body to loosen up while his breakfast settled.
Then he started jogging.
His first few laps felt surprisingly comfortable. He had allowed himself two or three days of proper rest, and the soreness that had plagued him during his earlier workouts had finally eased. His legs still remembered the punishment of the treadmill, but they no longer felt as though they were about to give up after every few steps.
After ten laps, he found a rhythm, focusing on his breathing and footing rather than his distance.
This is better, he thought. At least I don't look like I'm fighting the ground anymore.
After about an hour, he reached fifty laps. In his rough estimation, he had covered close to ten miles, although he had never properly measured the park's loop. What mattered to him was that he had managed considerably more than he once thought possible.
As soon as he stopped, the exhaustion caught up with him.
Nova stumbled to a patch of grass and dropped onto his back, sweat running down his forehead. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared up at the clear sky. For several moments, he did nothing except breathe.
"Fifty," he muttered between breaths. "Not bad."
His calves were aching, but he still had the rest of his training ahead.
Bodyweight training at home, then the gym for legs. After that, I'll try those boxing bags I saw.
After a short rest, he walked back to the apartment, his legs still heavy.
Inside, he checked on the kittens, then cleared enough space in the living room to exercise. He lowered himself into a push-up position and began counting.
The first twenty came more easily than before. During his earliest attempts, his arms had trembled around that point, forcing him to stop. Now he passed it without much difficulty. Thirty followed, then forty. By fifty, however, the familiar burning sensation returned to his shoulders and chest.
"Come on," he whispered, forcing himself through another repetition.
Fifty-five. Sixty. Sixty-three.
By the time he reached sixty-five, his arms were shaking so badly that he could barely maintain his position. He tried to lower himself once more, but his strength gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor.
"Sixty-five," he said, sounding both pleased and deeply offended by how difficult it had been. "I'll take it."
He stayed down for another minute, then pushed himself upright. His heart was still pounding, but his next exercise was waiting. He moved into squats, counting each repetition while trying to keep his back straight and his movements controlled. When he finally reached two hundred and fifty-three, his thighs burned so badly that standing still had become an accomplishment.
He took a break before moving on to lunges, followed by a plank, dips using sturdy chairs, burpees, and mountain climbers. His pace slowed with each exercise. What had sounded perfectly reasonable while lying in bed now seemed like a personal attack on his body.
Still, he couldn't deny how satisfying it felt to improve. Every additional repetition was something he had earned through effort rather than divine authority.
When he finally finished, the kittens were awake and making their usual demands for attention. All five had begun stirring in their boxes, and the moment Nova approached, their tiny cries greeted him.
"Alright, alright. I know," he said, kneeling beside them. "You haven't eaten in an eternity."
He prepared their food, checked their water, and made sure each kitten had what it needed. Smudge nosed eagerly at his hand.
Nova smiled and gave each of them a gentle kiss.
"Be good. I've still got another workout to survive."
At the gym, he stretched his tired legs and began with an empty barbell for his warm-up squats. He was determined to finish his leg workout, though the morning had already taken plenty out of him.
After warming up, he added weight. His next set used a plate, and he gradually worked up to two twenty-five-pound plates. For his heaviest attempt, he loaded two larger plates and managed only two repetitions before deciding he had reached his limit. It wasn't a number that would impress the stronger people in the gym, but he was pleased with himself.
He was stronger than he had been when he started.
He moved on to barbell hip thrusts, eventually reaching two plates and a ten. Then came hack squats, slow-eccentric leg extensions, seated leg curls, and seated calf raises. He tried to keep his form steady despite the growing fatigue.
By the time he finished, his legs felt as though they belonged to somebody else.
Nova sat on a bench, sweat clinging to his shirt. He knew he ought to go home and rest, but something along the far wall caught his attention.
Three boxing bags stood along the far wall. There was a small speed bag, a medium-sized bag, and a massive heavy bag suspended from a thick chain. The largest one looked as though it had endured years of abuse without ever complaining.
Naturally, Nova chose that one.
"Alrighty," he muttered, rising from the bench. "Let's do this."
He rolled his shoulders and flexed his sore fingers. A couple of people glanced at him before returning to their workouts. He paid them little attention.
He was thinking about the awakened competitors who would enter the tournament with abilities he lacked. He needed to learn how to fight with the body he had now.
"Alright, you big ugly sack," he said quietly, looking up at the bag. "You're going down."
He planted his feet and threw his first punch.
The bag barely moved.
Pain shot through his knuckles, and he immediately drew his hand back. He had forgotten how much the earlier exercises had worn out his arms. It was a rather unpleasant reminder.
"Seriously?"
He shook his hand and tried again. The second punch landed harder and made the bag sway. He threw several more, struggling to maintain his balance.
Nova stepped back, remembering how fighters used their feet, hips, and shoulders together rather than relying entirely on their arms.
He attempted to imitate the movement.
His next punch landed with a deeper thud.
"There we go."
He alternated straight punches and hooks. Sweat stung his eyes, his shoulders ached, and his breathing grew uneven, but he tried to improve with each strike.
As the bag swayed, he pictured himself facing an awakened opponent without any ability to rely upon. Losing was a genuine possibility, and for the first time, he understood why mortals feared it.
Oddly enough, it excited him.
For once, victory was something he would have to earn.
Nova clenched his fists and increased his pace. One punch followed another. A jab, a hook, then an awkward attempt at an uppercut. His movements were far from perfect, but there was genuine force behind them now. The bag rocked on its chain, gradually swinging farther with each combination.
His knuckles began to sting. When he glanced down, he saw blood gathering on the scraped skin. It reminded him of his first astonished encounter with his own blood.
Now he had done it to himself through sheer stubbornness.
He knew he should stop, but he wanted to land one final, proper strike.
Nova adjusted his footing. He waited for the bag to return toward him, planted his lead foot, twisted through his hips, and drove his fist into its center.
A sharp crack echoed through the gym.
For an instant, he thought he had broken his hand. Then the front of the heavy bag split along a worn seam. Sand and filling spilled across the floor as the bag lurched backward, its chain rattling overhead.
Nova staggered away from it, breathing heavily. His arms trembled, and blood dripped from his scraped knuckles onto the floor. He stared at the torn bag, watching its contents continue to pour out, hardly believing what had happened.
Around him, people had stopped exercising. Several were staring at him as though he had completely lost his mind.
Nova looked from the ruined bag to his bleeding hand.
Despite the pain, a small smile formed at the corners of his mouth.