SSS-Rank Talent: Super Upgrade System-Chapter 153: The Tyranny of the Radish

The field was silent, save for the mournful whisper of the wind and the steady thump... thump... thump... as Old Man Hemlock calmly pulled another giant radish from the stubborn soil.

Daniel stood alone in a vast sea of green, the Strength-Sealing Manacles on his wrists feeling heavier than ever.

He stared at his wicker basket, holding only a single, pitiful radish, evidence of five minutes of painful, wasted effort.

"This is a joke," he muttered, his voice a low whisper.

His mind, once used to assessing S-grade threats and apocalyptic energy levels, was now entirely focused on the chaos of harvesting vegetables.

"I’ve faced down a god-ape and a dimension-swallowing fish.

My familiar, Nyx, is a two-headed pseudo-dragon who eats SS-grade monsters for breakfast. And I... I am being defeated by a root vegetable."

He took a deep, unsteady breath, but the cool air of the Eastern Medicine Garden did little to calm his nerves or soothe his wounded pride.

The memory of his power, his S-Grade [Twilight Phantom Step] that could outrun sound, his [Solar Flare Fist Art] that could vaporize adamantium, felt like a distant, almost mythical dream.

Here, his only tool was his own, un-enhanced, embarrassingly mortal body.

"Right," he grunted, steeling his resolve. "The rhythm of the radish. Whatever the hell that means."

He squared his shoulders, approached the next radish in his row, and grabbed its thick, leafy top with both hands.

His A-Grade gauntlets, now just heavy, powerless gloves, offered no assistance. He bent his knees, braced his feet in the soft, dark soil, and pulled.

He pulled with every ounce of strength his sealed body possessed.

His muscles, which had once shattered stone with casual ease, now screamed in protest.

Veins stood out on his neck, and a low growl escaped his gritted teeth.

The radish, as if anchored to the very core of the world, did not budge.

"BOOM!"

A sharp, explosive jolt shot through his back as a tendon protested in sudden, searing pain.

He let go with a yelp, stumbling back, his hand flying to his lower back.

"Okay, not that rhythm," he wheezed.

He tried again, this time remembering Hemlock’s twisting motion.

He gripped the radish, planted his feet, and began to twist and pull simultaneously, a frantic, uncoordinated struggle.

The ground around the radish began to groan.

He could feel the roots fighting him, a silent, stubborn battle of wills.

He let out a roar of frustration, throwing his full weight into one final, painful pull.

"KRA-KOW!"

With a sound like a small tree being ripped from the earth, the radish finally came free!

It was massive, nearly the length of his leg and shot out of the ground with such force that it knocked Daniel backward.

He landed in a heap, the giant radish landing squarely on his chest with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of him.

He lay there for a long moment, staring up at the artificial sky of the garden, the giant radish his only trophy.

He had done it. He had pulled one more.

His total for the morning was now two. At this rate, he’d be lucky to fill a single basket by nightfall, let alone meet any kind of quota.

"Having trouble there, city boy?"

Daniel looked up to see Old Man Hemlock standing over him, leaning on a freshly pulled radish the size of a small pig.

The old man’s own basket was already overflowing, and he looked disappointingly energetic for someone who had to be at least eighty.

"I’m getting the hang of it," Daniel grunted, pushing the radish off his chest and slowly, painfully, getting to his feet.

"The hang of what? Napping in the dirt?" Hemlock cackled, a dry, wheezing sound.

"I told you, boy, it’s not about strength! It’s about the spirit of the ginseng! You have to listen to its song!"

Daniel sighed. The insane old man was back on his native ginseng nonsense.

Still, he had to try. "Old Man Hemlock," Daniel began, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Could you please show me the exact technique you use? The precise wrist movement?"

Hemlock squinted, cupping a hand to his ear.

"What’s that? You want me to sing you a sea shanty? I don’t know any sea shanties!

But I do know a rather catchy tune about a turnip who fell in love with a wheelbarrow! It goes a little something like this..."

"No!" Daniel shouted, then immediately regretted it as a fresh wave of pain shot through his back.

"Not a shanty! The technique! For the radishes!"

"Oh, the radishes!" Hemlock’s face cleared.

"Why didn’t you say so? The secret," he leaned in with a knowing look, his breath smelling faintly of radish soup and old secrets, "is to become one with the radish."

You must think like a radish, feel like a radish, and most importantly, be as stubborn as a radish!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, these little ginsengs are calling my name!"

With that, Hemlock turned and resumed his work, plucking radishes from the earth with a grace and ease that was utterly infuriating.

Daniel was left alone again, his mind spinning from the overwhelming absurdity of it all.

He was the most powerful genius in a generation, and he was being given life advice that sounded like it came from a poorly translated fortune cookie.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of agonizing, humiliating labor.

Daniel strained, he sweated, he grunted, and by the time the midday bell rang, signaling their lunch break, he had managed to fill a single wicker basket with fourteen giant radishes.

His hands were raw, his back was a knot of fire, and his pride was in tatters.

He walked toward the communal mess hall, a plain wooden building where the other garden workers gathered.

As he walked, he could feel their stares.

They were a mix of weary old men, tired women, and a few sullen youths, all carrying baskets overflowing with radishes.

They looked at his single, half-filled basket with a mixture of pity and contempt.

The whispers followed him.

"Look at that one. The new kid. Pathetic."

"Can’t even pull a simple root. What use is he?"

"Heard he came through the main gate. Must have had connections. Probably won’t last the week."

Daniel ignored them, his jaw tight. He entered the mess hall, his stomach rumbling with a hunger so intense it was almost painful.

After a day of nothing but radish tonic and gruel, he was ready to eat anything.

The smell that hit him was... familiar. He walked to the serving line and stared.

Before him were massive pots of steaming food.

There was a thick, creamy white soup. A large platter of stir-fried white vegetables. A bowl of thinly sliced, pickled white slivers. And a large jug of cloudy, off-white liquid.

It was all radishes. Radish soup, stir-fried radish, pickled radish, and radish juice.

It was a full spread of the one vegetable he had grown to despise with every fiber of his being.

His first day of cultivation had brought him to a lunch that felt like both a culinary nightmare and a personal insult.

Visit freewe𝑏no(v)el.𝘤𝑜𝓂 for the best novel reading experi𝒆nce