The gym was busier in the early afternoon. Not packed, but no longer the private sanctuary it had been at dawn. A handful of students occupied the treadmills and weight benches, most of them regulars.

A few glanced up when Damon walked in, but no one stared. Most were too busy with their own gains for now.

It was perfect enough for Damon to start working out again.

He found an open bench near the back and started his warm-up. The routine was becoming familiar now. Stretches, light cardio, then into the weights. His body responded faster than it had even yesterday.

The lingering heat from the morning potion was gone, but its effects remained, etched into his muscle fibers. He loaded the bar with forty-five kilograms. Five more than yesterday.

At the third set, he barely finished, the bar threatening to stall halfway through the final rep before he forced it up with a grunt that earned him a glance from the guy on the next bench.

[TASK PROGRESS: 3.4%]

"One-tenth for that?" he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Tough crowd."

He moved through the rest of his routine. Each exercise pushed him a fraction further, the progress bar ticking upward in increments so small they barely registered.

But they registered.

By the time he finished, an hour later, the number had climbed to [3.9%]. Almost four percent. Almost four times what he’d had yesterday morning.

He sat on the bench, chest heaving, and let the satisfaction settle over him. It wasn’t pride. Pride implied he’d accomplished something worth celebrating. This was more like... relief. Proof that the direction he was heading was real.

He grabbed his bag and pulled out one of the new vials. The pale blue liquid was identical to the others.

Same glass. Same color. Same faintly minty taste when he downed it.

[RECOVERY DRAUGHT CONSUMED - F-RANK]

[SYSTEM OVERRIDE ACTIVE]

[MODIFIED EFFECT: ACCELERATED HYPERTROPHY - 4 HOURS]

[ESTIMATED PASSIVE GAIN DURING WINDOW: +0.3%]

The estimate had actually crept up this time. Three-tenths of a percent instead of two. His system is finally adapting to its previous estimate.

He packed up and headed for the showers. The café meeting was in three hours. Enough time to eat, study Lena’s notes from the past few days, and show up without looking like he’d just crawled off the gym floor.

***

The cafe outside the gate was a small, brick-fronted building wedged between a bookstore and a supply shop that sold discounted... well, everything.

A wooden sign hung above the door, the name painted in faded gold letters: THE GRINDSTONE.

Damon had walked past it dozens of times. He’d just never had a reason to go inside.

Until now.

He pushed through the door at exactly [5:58 PM], a small bell chiming overhead. The interior was warm and dimly lit, with mismatched wooden tables and shelves lined with old books that looked more decorative than functional. The smell of coffee and fresh bread hung in the air.

Lena had already claimed a booth near the back. She waved him over with both hands, as if he could possibly miss her.

"You’re early," she said.

"So are you."

"Because I knew you’d be early. Sit. I already ordered us food."

Damon slid into the booth across from her. The table was small, the wood scarred with years of use, and a single candle flickered in a glass jar between them.

"This place is... cozy."

"That’s a polite way of saying it’s a hole in the wall," Lena said. "But it’s my hole in the wall. Best coffee on campus, and the owner doesn’t care if you sit here for hours."

"Right. The celebration," Damon said.

"Exactly. And also because I wanted to talk to you about something without the whole support group listening in." She leaned forward, her expression shifting from casual to serious. "What’s going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You almost died. You were in bed for three days. And now you’re in the gym twice a day, buying recovery potions by the handful."

"This information is from Harris, I assume?"

"That’s not the point." She fixed him with those sharp eyes. "You’re different. Not bad, definitely not that. Just... different. And I want to know why."

Damon hesitated. The golden screen was still a secret, fragile and precious. But this was Lena. She’d stayed by his hospital bed. She’d cried when he woke up. She’d sold potions at below market rate and warned him about Mira’s rash-inducing batches.

She deserved something, Damon thought.

"I can’t tell you everything," he said slowly. "Not yet. It’s... I need to figure some things out first."

Lena studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay? That’s it?"

"I told you before. I don’t push." She leaned back, picking up her coffee. "But I do observe. And I’ve observed that you’re training like someone with something to prove. So whatever it is, I hope it works."

"It’s working," Damon said quietly. "It’s just slow."

"Good things usually are."

The food arrived before he could respond. Two plates of pasta, steaming and fragrant, along with a basket of bread and two cups of coffee.

"Eat," Lena commanded. "You’ve been burning calories like a furnace. I can tell just by looking at you."

Damon didn’t argue. The pasta was good. Better than dining hall food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating.

"So," Lena said between bites, "you found my ad."

"You weren’t exactly hiding it."

"No. But I also wasn’t going to use it to solicit you. That felt... weird."

"Weird how?"

"Weird like, ’Hey, I know you almost died saving me, want to buy my discount potions?’" She made a face. "There’s a line, and that crosses it."

"Lena, I don’t care about the line. I care about the eight credits per vial."

She laughed, a genuine sound that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Of course you do. You’ve got that look."

"What look?"

"The look of someone doing math in their head every time they spend money." She set down her fork. "So here’s the deal. I can supply you with F-Rank recovery draughts at eight credits each. I usually make about ten per batch, and I can do two batches a week. More if I skip sleep."

"Don’t skip sleep."

"Then twenty vials a week. You’d get first on all of them."

Damon did the math. Twenty vials at eight credits each was 160 credits per week. His savings could cover that for almost three months.

"Done," he said.

"Done? No negotiation?"

"Were you expecting me to haggle?"

"I was expecting you to at least pretend to think about it." She shook her head, but she was smiling. "Fine. I’ll have the first batch ready tomorrow. Same lab, B-3. Try not to trip any hazard protocols on your way down."

"I’ll do my best."

They finished the meal in comfortable silence. Damon’s communicator buzzed once, a campus notification about maintenance in Sector D, but he ignored it. The café felt insulated from the rest of the world. A pocket of warmth and quiet.

When the plates were cleared and the coffee cups were empty, Lena finally asked the question he’d been waiting for.

"Did it hurt?"

"Did what hurt?"

"The Banshee. The death wail." She wasn’t looking at him now. Her eyes were fixed on the candle, the flame dancing in her pupils. "I heard it. Even through the blast door. It was the worst sound I’ve ever heard."

Damon set down his cup.

"I don’t remember it," he said honestly. "I remember stabbing it. And then... nothing. Just the void. And then I woke up."

"You were dead for a while..."

"I know."

"If you hadn’t come for me—"

"But I did." He cut her off, his voice firmer than he intended. "And I’d do it again. Not because I’m noble or heroic or any of that garbage. But because I’m a human."

Lena was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and punched him in the arm.

"You’re an idiot."

"So you’ve told me."

"I’ll probably keep telling you."

"I know."

She pulled her hand back, but the ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. "Alright. Celebration over. Go home and sleep. You’ve got a lot of potions to drink tomorrow."

Damon stood, grabbing his bag. "Thanks, Lena. For the food. And the potions. And..."

He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"You’re welcome," she said simply. "Now get out. I’m going to sit here and finish my coffee in peace."

He left the café with a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with potions.

***

The walk back to his dorm was quiet. The sun had fully set, the campus lit by lamps that cast long shadows across the cobblestone paths. A few students hurried past, their breath misting in the cold air.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive at his dorm room, his footsteps echoing softly through the quiet hallway as he made his way back, already feeling the weight of the day settling on his shoulders.

He checked the system before bed.

[TASK PROGRESS: 3.9%]

[MODIFIED EFFECT ACTIVE: 2 HOURS 14 MINUTES REMAINING]

[ESTIMATED PASSIVE GAIN: +0.3%]

By morning, he’d be at [4.2%].

All that in just two days, with twenty vials a week incoming, and a month to one hundred.

It wouldn’t be long before he finally became a sovereign.

He just needed to stick to his routine every day. And considering how much fun he had simply watching the numbers go up, that wouldn’t be hard for him at all.

(A/N: Progress will be faster now)