Lord-Campione
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Chapter 07: Stronger
🕑 Added 2024-09-30 23:41:35 +0000 UTC“Thirty-one… Thirty-two… Thirty-three…”
Ethan’s arms trembled slightly, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the carpet below. His breath came out in sharp huffs, his chest rising and falling steadily as he pushed himself through the last few push-ups of his set. His muscles burned with a pleasant ache—one that had grown familiar and almost comforting over the years.
“Thirty-four… Thirty-five!”
With a groan of relief, he collapsed onto the floor, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving.
The sting of his muscles giving out brought a small smile to his face. There was something almost addictive about that sensation—like he was achieving something, pushing his limits, becoming better.
Not just better. Stronger. Always stronger.
He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and chuckled to himself.
‘I’ll get to fifty soon enough.’ He thought with a smile.
He wasn’t delusional. He knew he wasn’t some towering, hulking mass of muscle, and that training didn’t suddenly transform a ten-year-old into a mini-bodybuilder. No matter how much fiction loved to exaggerate, reality had its own limitations…even a reality based on something as absurd as Marvel Comics.
This wasn’t Baki.
Still, for his age, he was proud of what he had accomplished.
At five-foot-one, he was taller than most kids his age and definitely stronger. Not ridiculous, but enough to turn heads and raise a few brows. The lean muscle he'd developed over the past few years was proof that his consistency in physical conditioning was paying off. His body had started to grow into its potential, but more importantly, his mind and his powers had grown exponentially.
Ethan rolled over and sat up, stretching his arms and flexing his fingers. Very much aware of his telekinetic power, ever-present at the edge of his consciousness like a loyal hound waiting to be called upon.
He still remembered when it had felt foreign—something new, wild, and difficult to control. But now, it was a part of him, as natural as moving his own limbs if not more intimate.
If he somehow lost it, he was pretty sure he’d start feeling some phantom pain on a non-existent limb.
Still, he’d spent years focusing on control over raw strength. Lifting things wasn’t hard; making them move with precision was the real challenge. Ethan glanced over to the corner of his room, where a handful of small objects—pencils, marbles, paperclips, and a whole bunch of cereal toys lay scattered on the desk.
He exhaled slowly, raising his hand and mentally reaching out. The objects quivered, then gently floated into the air, each one moving in tandem as if tethered to invisible strings. He narrowed his eyes, focusing hard on the finer details. One by one, the marbles spun in tight, controlled circles, while the pencils aligned themselves perfectly parallel to each other.
Each trinket following their own path, a great feat in Ethan’s book.
Think otherwise? Try rotating your hands in the opposite direction, and you’ll stand corrected.
A smile crept onto his face. Progress.
It had taken years of practice, but Ethan now had the ability to manipulate multiple objects at once without losing focus or control. The sheer level of concentration it demanded had been exhausting in the beginning, but now, it felt almost effortless.
Key word being almost.
Suddenly, a voice from downstairs broke his focus. “Ethan! Breakfast is ready!”
His mother’s voice echoed through the house, and in that split second, his concentration slipped. The marbles and pencils clattered to the floor with a light thud, and Ethan groaned in frustration.
“Guess I still need more practice.” He sighed.
He wiped his face with a towel, threw on a clean shirt, and made his way downstairs. The smell of blueberry pancakes filled the air, and as he walked into the kitchen, his father was already at the table, sipping coffee and flipping through the newspaper.
“Morning, champ!” his dad greeted, not even looking up from the sports section.
Ethan slid into his seat, eyeing the stack of pancakes his mother had just set in front of him. “Morning.”
His dad glanced over at him, smirking. “How’s the training going? How many push-ups today?”
“Thirty-five,” Ethan replied casually, grabbing the syrup and drizzling it generously over the pancakes.
“Thirty-five?” His father raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You’re gonna outdo me soon if you keep that up.”
Ethan smirked, cutting into his breakfast. “I’d like to see that day.”
“Oh, it’s coming,” his dad chuckled. “But I’m telling you, you’ll need more than push-ups. You’ll have to tackle me on the field if you want to win.”
“Don’t give him ideas,” his mom teased from the stove, flipping the last pancake onto a plate. “I don’t need to see you two wrestling in the backyard again.”
“Yeah, well, he’s getting strong,” his father replied, ruffling Ethan’s hair. “Soon enough, he might be able to take on Captain America himself.”
‘Well, since he’s still cosplaying as an ice cream, the odds are in my favor. ’ Ethan chuckled but said nothing.
“Pancakes are the secret to your strength, you know,” his mother chimed in as she joined them at the table. “Can’t be a superhero on an empty stomach.”
Ethan grinned, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere. These were the moments he valued—moments when he could just be a kid, even if his mind was far from that of an ordinary ten-year-old.
It almost made the daily humiliations and lack of agency worth it…nah, that’s just not true.
He devoured his breakfast, the conversation flowing easily between them. His dad told a funny story about work, and his mom shared the latest neighborhood gossip.
It was mundane, but for Ethan, there was comfort in the normalcy.
As he finished up and placed his dishes in the sink, his mother glanced over. “Don’t forget, we’re going to the library later today. You can pick out some new books.”
“Sweet,” Ethan said, excitement flickering in his chest. He loved their trips to the library. It was one of the few places where he didn’t have to hide his intelligence as much. High school-level books had become his norm, and while his parents had raised an eyebrow at first, they eventually chalked it up to him being ahead of the curve.
‘They have no idea how far ahead I actually am.’
By late morning, Ethan found himself at the public library, browsing through the shelves with his mom. She was in the fiction section, probably looking for another mystery novel, while Ethan was firmly planted in the non-fiction area, scanning the titles for anything that piqued his interest.
He had long since moved past the usual children’s books. Instead, he found himself drawn to more advanced topics—science, history, languages. Anything that could give him an edge in his quest for knowledge and control. Today, his focus was on physics. He had been trying to integrate some real-world science into his telekinesis training, and the more he understood about how the world worked, the better he could manipulate it.
He pulled a thick book titled "The Fundamentals of Physics" off the shelf and tucked it under his arm. His fingers skimmed across the spines of several other titles until he stopped at another—"Theories of Energy and Motion." He grabbed that one too.
Just as he was about to turn away, his mom called out to him. “Ethan! Look what I found!”
He turned to see her holding up a comic book, grinning widely.
“You used to love these when you were little,” she said with a nostalgic smile.
Ethan blinked. ‘When I was little? Lady, I’m ten.’
Still, he forced a smile and walked over. “Yeah, those were fun.”
She handed it to him, and he glanced at the cover—bright, bold artwork featuring a superhero in a ridiculous costume. A part of him wanted to roll his eyes, but another part of him found it… well, kind of charming.
“Maybe Captain Flapjack could teach you a thing or two,” she teased.
“Ha ha,” Ethan said dryly, shoving the comic into his growing pile of books. “I’ll make sure to study it thoroughly.”
“Good,” she said, patting him on the head. “Now let’s check out and get home. I think your dad’s planning something in the backyard again.”
“Great,” Ethan muttered under his breath
. . .
That night, as Ethan lay in bed, the distant sound of his parents chatting downstairs filled the room. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind buzzing with thoughts of the day.
His training was going well—better than well, actually. His control over his powers was getting stronger every day, and his physical training had made him faster, stronger, and more agile than ever before.
But it wasn’t just the physical and mental progress. It was the little things too—the jokes, the laughter, the moments with his family that reminded him he wasn’t just a transmigrator trying to survive in a new world.
He was Ethan Cain, a kid with a life, with people who cared about him.
And as much as he sometimes hated to admit it, those moments were just as important as any training session.
With a contented sigh, Ethan closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, ready to face whatever challenges tomorrow might bring.
