SSS-Rank Talent: Super Upgrade System-Chapter 157: Rapid Improvement!

The next day began not with pain or aching muscles, but with a calm, unfamiliar sense of purpose.

The simple bowl of radish soup, once an object of pure disgust, now felt like a necessary fuel for the day’s labor.

Daniel ate it without complaint, his mind already focused on the endless green field that awaited him.

This acceptance marked the beginning of a new, disciplined routine that would define his life in the Eastern Medicine Garden.

Every morning, he would rise before the first artificial rays of dawn touched the valley.

He would perform a series of slow, deliberate stretches, feeling the new, hard-earned strength in his limbs.

He would then join Old Man Hemlock for their silent, shared breakfast of radish stew and radish buns.

The food was still plain, still earthy, but his body no longer rejected it.

It welcomed the simple sustenance, the fuel for the long day ahead.

After their meal, they would walk together to the fields, their wicker baskets hanging over their shoulders, the rising sun casting long shadows before them.

The work was monotonous, a constant cycle of bending, gripping, twisting, and pulling. But for Daniel, it became a form of moving meditation.

He pushed aside all thoughts of his sealed power, of his SSS-Rank talent, of the apocalyptic battles he had fought.

The vast, universal scale of the Verge faded away, replaced by the simple, profound reality of the earth beneath his feet and the stubborn vegetable in his hands.

He no longer fought the radishes, he worked with them. He learned to feel the subtle give of the soil, the precise angle at which the roots would release their grip.

He focused on the rhythm that Old Man Hemlock had spoken of, a rhythm he now understood was not in the radish itself, but within his own body.

It was the rhythm of coordinated strength, of using his legs to anchor, his core to generate power, and his arms to guide the force.

His mind, free from the constant need to analyze threats and calculate combat odds, began to turn inward.

He started to reflect on his journey, on the dizzying speed of his ascent.

He had become a god almost overnight, his power a flood that washed away the need for true effort.

His S-Grade skills were like a powerful car he had been given without ever learning how to drive properly.

He had just been pressing the ’go fast’ button, the ’explode’ button, without understanding the intricate mechanics beneath the surface.

He had relied on his talent, on the weapons and skills he assimilated from others, neglecting the most fundamental tool of all, his own body.

This simple, grueling labor, this constant struggle against the stubborn earth, was teaching him a lesson more valuable than any S-grade skill.

It was teaching him about his own physical limits, about the pure, unadorned potential of muscle and bone and will.

He was learning how to generate power from the ground up, how to focus his entire being into a single, efficient point of force.

He was, for the first time, getting truly familiar with his own strength, not the overwhelming power bestowed by his talent, but the quiet, resilient strength that had always been there, hidden beneath layers of assimilated glory.

Every evening, exhausted and covered in the sacred soil of the garden, he would return to the room.

The first thing he did was bathe, the forced hygiene routine now a welcome ritual.

The lumpy brown Cleansing Root soap had become his most prized possession in this powerless state.

He would grind it into a powder and scrub his body with a fierce diligence, feeling the strange, medicinal lather work its magic.

The fatigue of the day would melt away, the aches in his muscles soothed, replaced by a deep, thrumming vitality.

And every morning, he would wake up feeling inexplicably stronger, tougher, his body slowly but surely being reforged by the combination of intense labor and this mysterious, miraculous soap.

The days bled into weeks, and the weeks stretched into a full month.

The other workers in the garden, who had initially despised him as a weak and useless city boy, began to look at him with a new, grudging respect.

His baskets were no longer half-empty. They were full, then overflowing.

His movements in the field were no longer clumsy or strained, they were smooth, efficient, a rhythm of practiced strength.

He became a fixture in the field, the quiet, focused young man who worked from dawn until dusk without complaint, his performance steadily climbing the daily rankings.

He had found inner calm in the routine, a peace in the hard work and visible results of his effort.

One evening, as the sun set, casting a warm, golden glow over the valley, the section manager, Silas, arrived for the daily count.

He walked down the line, his cold eyes scanning each worker’s harvest, his datapad beeping with each tally.

"Hemlock," Silas called out, his voice as flat as ever. "Three hundred and one radishes. First place. As always."

Old Man Hemlock, looking no different than he had a month ago, gave a proud nod, leaning on his rake as if it were a king’s scepter.

Then, Silas’s gaze fell upon Daniel. He looked at Daniel’s overflowing baskets, then at his datapad, and for the first time since Daniel had arrived, a hint of genuine surprise crossed the manager’s cold features.

"Vance," Silas announced, his voice holding a hint of disbelief. "Two hundred and ninety-eight radishes. Second place."

A quiet gasp rippled through the other workers. Second place.

The new kid, the one everyone had written off, had not only avoided being fired but had climbed to the very top of the rankings, second only to the legendary Old Man Hemlock himself.

Daniel felt a surge of profound satisfaction, a pride deeper and more real than any he had felt after defeating a powerful beast.

This victory was his, earned not with a god-like talent, but with his own two hands, his own sweat, his own unyielding will.

Silas looked from Daniel to the other top-performing workers, who were now regarded as the garden’s elite.

"Well done," he said, the words almost sounding like a compliment.

"For your consistent excellence, you have earned the title of Gold Medal Fast Worker."

He tapped his datapad, and a small, golden radish-shaped icon appeared on Daniel’s worker token.

It was a simple, slightly silly honor, but it felt like a badge of immense pride.

"And for you Gold Medal workers," Silas continued, his voice taking on a new gravity, "the Garden Master has announced the final event of the season: the Grand Harvest Competition.

It will be a single-day contest. The winner, the one who harvests the most, will be crowned the Harvest Champion."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "And the champion," he said, a rare glint of excitement in his eyes, "will be granted a single, priceless reward: their choice of any one divine medicine from the Garden Master’s private collection."

Daniel’s heart leaped. A divine medicine. This was it. This was his chance!

The Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Ginseng, the key to his perfect foundation, was finally within his grasp.

A new fire ignited within him, burning away the last traces of his earlier despair.

Everything he had endured over the past month of grueling cultivation had led to this moment. He was ready.

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