Perfect! Let's polish this chapter into smooth, high-flow webnovel style while keeping your humor, chaotic urban-fantasy vibe, and Arnold's over-the-top expressions intact. I'll also improve grammar, sentence flow, and readability.
🍌 The Banana King
Chapter 4: River Work, Market Hustle, and Training (end of day 3)
Arnold stood by the river. Memories of his childhood came rushing back the time he had tried to swim here and gotten beaten for it.
I was really stupid. This river is so dirty, he thought, picking up a 20L bucket.
He filled it and carried it to the 500L container. At first, it was easy. By the tenth trip, his hands wanted to quit, but he forced them on.
I can't surrender, he muttered.
By the fiftieth trip, the container was full. His hands shook from exhaustion as he trudged back to class.
It was Day Three. Upon entering, every eye in the classroom seemed to fix on him. Arnold sat down and asked his neighbor,
"Which teacher is in class?"
The student pointed to the blackboard. Mathematics the topic: Inequalities.
Two math teachers rotated at the school. One's name wasn't important. The other, nicknamed Fantadialo by the students, entered promptly. Chocolate-skinned, impeccably dressed, with black glasses and a shiny tablet in hand, he projected an intimidating presence.
"Chapter 3.2.1, we want to define…" he began loudly.
The bell rang. 10:00 AM.
"Please, sir, it's break," Banky piped up, as if she were the only useful student in the world.
"No," Fantadialo said, shaking his head.
Immediately, the students' faces warped into the grotesque expressions of hundred-year-old grandmas and grandpas. Madness spread like a virus—teachers included. Fantadialo grinned diabolically, his face ten times more terrifying than any student's.
A pressure filled the room. Break ended after ten minutes, but Arnold knew the drill. Banky would soon report:
"Please, sir, Arnold was punished," she'd whine, swaying like a mannequin.
Arnold preemptively asked permission to leave, even as No Pity approached.
"I thought you forgot," No Pity said.
"No, sir," Arnold replied.
"You remember the 500L container you filled this morning?"
"Yes, sir," he answered.
"Then water the road and the yard with it," No Pity ordered.
Arnold got to work immediately, turn after turn, pouring water and sweating but never stopping. His goal was simple: finish quickly so he could train to become the Banana King. Every aching muscle was proof he was working, training, and surviving all at once.
No Pity watched him quietly, light reflecting off his bald head.
What are you trying to prove? That you can work harder than anyone else? Where is your school? he thought.
When the watering was done, No Pity approached him with a cutlass.
"Clear the grass in Campus 2. It's just a small patch," he ordered.
Arnold's face shifted into an expression so extreme it almost shocked No Pity.
Small patch? Arnold thought. But he took the cutlass and got to work. Eight meters long, one and a half meters wide—small, yes, but filled with stones and thick grass.
He carried rocks, cleared weeds, and filled holes. His hands shook and throbbed, but nothing could stop him. Even the pain became a symbol of his endurance.
No Pity approached again.
"You did well. If possible, clear the glasses…"
Before he could finish, Arnold's tolerance snapped. He glared at him with killer eyes that screamed, "Give me more work, and you'll regret it."
No Pity coughed nervously, stepping back. That day, Arnold didn't clean toilets. He needed time to recover, to rebuild his broken barrier.
At 1:00 PM, he went home and resumed reading The Banana King.
No food had been prepared at home yet—the parents were expected soon. He wasn't particularly hungry but grabbed some bananas.
Wearing farm clothes, Arnold pushed his truck to the market, Kaza. Black cap, oversized trousers, and a long shirt—he looked like any other hardworking teen.
The market was slow. No clients came.
A woman finally called, "Come, my son, are you working?"
"Yes," Arnold replied.
He wasn't the only one pushing a truck; many kids hustled here to survive.
The woman had ripe and unripe bananas and plantains. Arnold carefully loaded them onto his truck, one by one, and moved about twenty meters.
The woman searched for coins in her pocket.
"Boy, I forgot… I have no change."
Arnold smiled. "Give me ripe bananas only. I'll be satisfied."
She nodded. "What a good child. If only my own children were like him."
After an hour and a half, Arnold returned home. He did push-ups againone banana every twenty push-ups followed by a run.
He stopped several times but never gave up.
I don't even have visible abs… what a shame. How many days until I get Superpds? he thought.
At 3:30 PM, Mervill arrived at the gate.
"Who is it?" Arnold called.
"Me!" she replied.
Both their faces twisted into grotesque old-woman masks as Arnold let her in.
"How was school?" he asked.
"As usual," she replied.
Arnold nodded, then went to his room to study.
Meanwhile, Momo and Ange waited for him online, but he didn't respond immediately. Later that night, as Arnold trained, Ange sent a message. Momo went offline briefly, returning two minutes later.
Arnold just read the story, adding a pinch of his usual chaotic humor in his mind.