Time didn't stop.
It didn't slow down.
It didn't care.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before anyone realized it, two years had already passed, slipping by quietly, without any dramatic change, without any sudden breakthrough, only leaving behind the slow accumulation of effort, struggle, and endurance that no one else could see.
Han Chandu changed.
Not suddenly.
Not drastically.
But steadily.
His body was no longer as weak as before, his movements more stable, his punches more controlled, his breathing more refined, not because he had talent, not because he had guidance, but because he had repeated the same things again and again for two years without stopping.
Work.
Study.
Train.
Repeat.
That was his life.
Every day.
Without exception.
Mornings were spent outside, working small jobs wherever he could find them, lifting, carrying, doing whatever was needed without complaint, not because he wanted to, but because money was necessary, because survival didn't allow pride.
Afternoons were for college.
Classes.
Noise.
People who lived normal lives.
He didn't belong there anymore.
Not completely.
Even if he sat among them.
Even if he listened.
Even if he followed along.
Something about him had already changed.
And nights—
Nights belonged to training.
The same stance.
The same punches.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Two years.
No shortcuts.
No miracles.
Only repetition.
Only effort.
Only time.
Inside the house, things had also changed.
His mother had become quieter, stronger in a different way, no longer breaking under pressure, no longer hesitating, but carrying everything steadily, even if it came at the cost of her own rest.
His younger sister had grown, no longer as confused as before, understanding more, speaking less, helping where she could without being asked.
And Han Sen—
He had changed the most.
His part-time work had become consistent, his presence at home reduced, his words still few, his emotions still hidden, but his actions clear, supporting the family in his own way without ever asking for acknowledgment.
The relatives still came sometimes.
Still spoke.
Still pressured.
But less than before.
Not because they had changed.
But because the family hadn't broken.
And that was enough.
One night, after returning late, his body covered in sweat and exhaustion, Han Chandu stood in the same place he always trained, the ground familiar beneath his feet, his stance steady as he threw another punch.
Cleaner.
Sharper.
More controlled.
But still—
Not enough.
A faint panel appeared before his eyes.
[ Skill Panel ]
Taijutsu → 4 / 100
Super Body → Locked
Geno Lock → Not Opened Twelve.
After two years.
Twelve.
He looked at it quietly.
No anger.
No disappointment.
Only understanding.
Because he knew why.
No gene points.
No beast meat.
No real resources.
Only basic training.
And basic training alone—
Had limits.
"…so this is the wall," he murmured softly.
A slow breath left him as he lowered his arm, his body still steady despite the exhaustion.
But his eyes didn't waver.
Because even if it was slow—
Even if it was inefficient—
He had still moved forward.
From zero—
To twelve.
Step by step.
Day by day.
Without stopping.
His fingers tightened slightly.
"…then I'll break it."
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
But someday.
Inside the house, the lights were dim.
Everything quiet.
Everything steady.
And outside—
Under the same silent night that had watched him for two years—
Han Chandu took another step forward.
Because this time—
He wasn't just enduring.
He was preparing.