[Congratulation. You are now a Brawler.]

[You have learned Close Combat Mastery.]

[You have learned Corkscrew Blow.]

[Stat points distributed; +1 Strength, +1 Agility.]

Zane couldn’t stop smiling. He opened his stats and took a quick scan over it.

[Status]

[Zane][Lv.3]

[Class: Brawler(Lv.1)]

[HP: 22/22]

[MP: 6/6]

[Strength: 9(+1)]

[Vitality: 11]

[Agility: 10(+1)]

[Arcane Power: 3]

[Perception: 7]

[Available Points: 0]

[Trait]

[Enhanced Drop Rate]

[Multi-Class]

[Unique Skill]

[Warp][Lv.1]

[General Skill]

[Hi-Analysis][Lv.1]

[Brawler Skill]

[Close Combat Mastery][Lv.1]

[Corkscrew Blow][Lv.1]

It seems there was a separate level for class, like in one of those old games in Final Fantasy Tactic, Zane thought. He remembered well the game he loved to play, where it was the only game he knew that had separate levels in the class and the character.

Glancing at the sandbag, he smirked. Zane throw a powerful straight and the sandbag went swinging up high much to the surprise of those who were near him. He stopped the sandbag from rocking, hugging it with his arms. Deep down, he knew he just made another mess as he felt multiple eyes staring at him from the back. This is getting uncomfortable, he thought. Seeing he accomplished his alternate mission, Zane got ready to leave. Gloves out, and he hit the shower.

Fresh, and clean with a new set of clothes, he was about to leave. Yet a man waited near the entrance. It was Manny.

“Hey, have you ever thought of going—”

“Sorry, not interested,” Zane quickly shut him down. He had an idea of what Manny was about to say, but going big for the championship of the world and whatnot was not on his list of concerns. Not to mention, he was better off keeping his strength hidden as he had a lot of plans in mind. And being on the news wasn’t it.

He left before Manny could pitch any of those champions of the world bullshit. Walking by the side of the street, his mind pondered the most important part of why he was fully intent on going back to another world. Now how am I going to make money out of it? Zane thought. Becoming strong was a great plus, but being financially independent was his biggest dream of all. And yea, he did know that he had the option of becoming the second Mayweather or something, but being in the spotlight and trash-talking his opponents wasn’t his cup of tea. He preferred to be rich in the background, like Warren Buffet or Ingvar Kamprad. Thus he searched for a way to profit through his world-crossing ability.

The potion! Zane thought. Such a miraculous item that could bring back people from the brink of death would definitely be worth a hefty price. But the question was, would it work on normal people?

He bought some dinner while heading home. At the same time, he had another idea in mind. In a typical fantasy setting, I think I can expect to see gold coins later on, but can I sell them here? It won’t be suspicious, right? Zane thought it through. It would be a hassle later on if someone questioned him where did he get those coins.

Yet all of those ideas wouldn’t matter if he didn’t get strong enough. It was common sense in a gaming world that the higher your level was the higher the quality of items and materials, and the amount of gold you could get. So before he could dream of swimming in a pool of cash, he needed to level up first.

Three days went by, and he got a call from his cousin that his packages had arrived. It was good news. He packed some stuff and hit down the road. Taking the train was the least hassling way since he didn’t have a car to go by road. Staring outside the window, his face looked calm, yet his leg couldn’t stop shaking. That day was still clear in his mind; the crack on his bones, the claws in his flesh, and the pain that almost knocked him unconscious. It was a day where he almost met death way too many times. But this time was going to be different.

Over the last three days, he hit up the gym rather than the boxing gym. The brawler class was enough of a reward and he needed to find new ways in strengthening himself. Thus his crazy attempt doing a marathon on the treadmill. It was the easiest thing to experiment with and he didn’t come out empty-handed. After almost twelve hours of constant running at a pace of an Olympic Gold Medalist for long-distance running, he finally got what he wanted.

[Break the limit! You have gained +1 Vitality.]

At the end of the grueling twelve hours, he was soaked in his sweat and panting for his breath. Heaving as he could barely utter a word. And what he did was the definition of breaking one’s own limit. He was content. Yet the second day, he challenged himself once more. But this time he changed to another gym as he had no intention of hogging the spotlight. The hours went by as he did the same thing. Once it reached the fourteenth hour, he felt the sensation like yesterday. The burns in his calves and thigh and his starving lungs begged for more oxygen. At that point, Zane tried to break his limit. By the time he reached the sixteenth hour, he got what he wanted. The moment the tension loosened, he slipped on the treadmill and was thrown into the back. He drew a lot of eyes after messing that up, but he was glad.

[Break the limit! You have gained +1 Vitality.]

On the third day, he repeated the same routine. New gym, new treadmill, and same old running. He was expecting to earn a point by the time he reached the twentieth hour, but he didn’t. Even after passing twenty-one hours, Zane didn’t get anything. For the first time, he dropped out of the challenge as the onlookers especially the gym workers stared at him like he was a freak of nature. He had been running for the past twenty-two hours nonstop, and yet he could still stand, and walk naturally like it was a walk in the park. For whatever reason, the difficulty of raising vitality just raised by a notch. And he needed to find out how to overcome that little notch.

“Oh, that was fast,” Zane said. Getting up from his seat as he disembarked from the train. He took his time leaving the train station and spotted someone waiting at the front of the main entrance, casually leaning over the white Mercedes AMG A45, while playing with her phone.

“Same like always,” Zane grinned. “Hey, Tiz!” his voice rang and the lady with her branded sunglasses looked over to him. She flashed her middle finger at him and shouted, “you’re late.”

“Well, nice to meet you too, cousin,” Zane said. Accepting her crude behavior as it was.

“Get in,” Tiz said. Taking a seat on the driver’s seat. The moment Zane closed the door, the tires went rolling, screeching against the pavement, leaving a trail of smoke behind. Zane leaned back and buckled himself on the seat. Praying that she wouldn’t crash on anything along the way. But something felt odd, Tiz looked pissed off more than usual.

Scratching his head, Zane thought it might be one of those days for the ladies. So he just shrugged it off. Looking out through the window, taking in the scenery of another country which wasn’t that much of a difference since both were on the equator line.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tiz asked.

“Tell you what?” Zane was utterly clueless, still staring out the window. “Is it because I’m late? Because I don’t think I am. Didn’t I tell you what time I—”

“You were hospitalized, Zane!” she yelled. And Zane jumped on his seat, staring at Tiz stunned by the sudden outburst.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” she asked. Glaring with the corner of her eyes.

“Aw, how cute, you’re worried about— ugh.”

Tiz slammed her fist at Zane’s abdomen and the man felt it. jerking upwards as if he had been hit on the balls.

“Stop joking, Zane, and tell me,” Tiz said. Her way of showing she cared was quite on the rough side, and yet, she really was concerned about him.

“I reckon mom told you about this,” Zane said. “So what else to tell?”

“Don’t go playing games with me,” Tiz warned. “I’ve heard you almost got hit by a train because you’re saving someone who apparently wanted to die.”

The glare from Tiz was fierce for a brief second. Thank goodness she was driving as she needed to keep her eyes on the road.

“Yea, I know,” he nodded. His arms were crossed in front of his chest. “I’m kinda pretty cool, ain't I?”

The car swerved to the side and Tiz stepped on the brake. The momentum brought Zane close to hitting the dashboard, but he was saved by the seatbelt. He slammed back on his seat and groaned. “What was that for? Are you trying to get me killed or something?”

From Zane’s peripheral vision, something was coming for him. He caught her wrist before her fingers could reach his cheek. His eyes glanced at the owner of the hand and saw she was surprised.

“Let me go,” Tiz said.

“Promise me you won’t do anything to my cheeks,” Zane said.

Tiz frowned. And she wasn’t going to accept it. Then came the fight. She went mad, throwing her light-hearted fists at him as if they were a couple bickering over something trivial like who didn’t put the toilet seat down.

After a while, she stopped. Tiz was panting for her breath as her adequate chest heaved up and down.

“You're done?” Zane asked.

Tiz slapped him once on the shoulder as her face showed she was on the verge of crying. “You’re not a kid anymore, Zane. Can’t you at least realize that? She said. “Think about your parents for once. Do you think they would be happy if their son is comatose on a hospital bed after saving an idiot girl bent on dying?”

Zane smiled. “It’s just me being me,” he said.

“You idiot,” she said as tears spilled from the corner of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. She was worried sick of him after hearing the late news from Zane’s mom. At first, she thought auntie was asking her to look after him for the vacation from doing anything stupid, but she had one hell of a surprise.

“Huh,” Zane sighed. “Come over here.” She leaned at him, and both shared a hug. They stayed like that for a while and after Tiz recollected herself, she continued driving as they headed over to the hotel.