Back to Business with Peter

Seven minutes after Noah's spree, the New York police finally reached East Harlem, albeit too late to do anything. Their flashlights sliced through the broken gate as they entered, cautiously maneuvering around the wreckage.

The leading officer froze, eyes widening as he surveyed the carnage. Scattered in the courtyard were five or six bodies, each felled by a single, merciless blow. Near the house's entrance, a headless man lay sprawled out. The inside of the house was no better—walls streaked with a grotesque mix of red and white, splattered remnants painting the scene.

In the very center of the room, an "S" drawn in blood seemed to announce Noah's presence. Uncle James's body lay nearby, mostly intact except for the gruesome state of the back of his head, now half-erased.

As investigators processed the room, the picture became clear: Noah had torn through the gang's ranks, leaving no one alive. Each kill had taken only a fraction of a second, so swift that the massacre had been over in two minutes flat. To him, it seemed, killing men was as easy as breathing.

The chief of the local precinct, Morgan, spoke into his radio with a grave tone, "Report back to headquarters. The leader of the Red Bell Society is dead. Footage shows that the killer is the same man responsible for the recent gang slaughters across New York."

Morgan's voice dropped. "This isn't random. He's hunting them down, systematically. Our killer's a force to be reckoned with, and this… this is personal."

Meanwhile, in a quiet corner of his private gym, Noah gingerly patted his face, testing the healing. After his confrontation with Uncle James, the burnt scars had mostly smoothed out. His skin had a rough, weathered look—perfect for blending into the background.

But Noah wasn't done. He had a mission. "Three down, four to go," he mused to himself. He couldn't stop after Uncle James; New York's criminal web was deeper than just one man. Each day would bring a new target, and he wouldn't stop until he'd purged them all.

He'd initially planned to wait before targeting Uncle James, aiming to strike only once his network of gangs was weakened. But Uncle James's reach made waiting impossible—he'd risk losing his chance if the crime boss went underground.

Back in his gym, Noah gripped a one-ton weight, resuming his relentless workout. His strength had increased sharply since he'd started, with his body's internal Qi amplifying his recovery and stamina. As he worked, Noah thought ahead: he needed to get stronger, faster, and deadlier. Each upgrade made a tangible difference, and he wouldn't stop until he was unstoppable.

Hours passed as he trained, his eyes flicking occasionally to the stats on his attribute panel. His strength and endurance had ticked up, each point making him feel like he could move mountains. He figured he could easily lift three tons now, maybe more, though he suspected his increases were starting to plateau.

Around 3:00 PM, his coach Smith arrived, launching straight into their usual training. Smith wielded a steel rod, landing controlled strikes on Noah's back, honing his resistance to pain and refining his body's resilience.

By 5:00 PM, Noah had gained an impressive 0.1 boost to his strength, a direct result of the extra attribute points he'd accumulated. Still, he couldn't afford to rest on his laurels.

Turning to Smith, Noah dismissed him, "That's enough for today. I need to take care of something, so we'll pick up tomorrow."

Smith's eyebrows rose. "You? Taking a break early? Must be important."

"Just some business with a friend," Noah said vaguely, grabbing his phone. "Come in early tomorrow, though. I'll teach you more about self-defense."

Smith left, clearly eager. His enthusiasm bordered on naïveté; he seemed to think he could reach Noah's level with just a few weeks of training. Noah smirked—Smith was in for a wake-up call. Mastering martial arts took years, not days.

Contemplating how to further Smith's training, Noah considered transferring some of his internal energy to him. An energy infusion would jumpstart Smith's progress, turning him into a powerful ally in a fraction of the time. A quick infusion would let Noah use him as a walking demonstration of what his skills could achieve. A live example would make marketing his technique—Zixia Divine Art (or Zixia Magical Skill)—a breeze.

As he mused, Noah dialed a familiar number, Peter's. It rang a few times before a groggy voice answered.

"Peter here," the voice said, sounding sore.

"Hey, you free right now?" Noah asked.

There was a groan, followed by Peter muttering, "Man, I'm recovering from a bad fall. Might need a minute."

Noah grinned, undeterred. "I've got a job that pays twenty grand a month, part-time. You interested?"

"Twenty grand?" Peter's voice perked up instantly. "Where are you? I'm on my way!"

"Maines Fitness Club, not far from my place. Catch a cab, I'll cover it."

"Don't need a cab, I'll be there in no time." Peter hung up, already on the move.

Typical Peter. Even with a financial lifeline dangled in front of him, he couldn't shake his frugality. Noah chuckled, knowing Peter would sprint across town before he'd ever accept help paying for a cab.

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Noah pocketed his phone, a small grin forming as he imagined Peter hustling over. Peter might be tight with money, but he was always reliable. If anyone could help him with what was next on his agenda, it was Peter.

As he waited, Noah glanced at his attribute panel one more time, feeling the familiar thrill of watching his stats inch upward. Training had become as essential as breathing—it wasn't just about power anymore; it was about achieving something bigger. Noah felt he was just beginning to scratch the surface of what he could become.

Roughly thirty minutes later, Peter came jogging up to the gym entrance, sweat beading on his forehead but eyes gleaming with determination. Noah could tell he was excited and curious; the thought of twenty grand a month was no joke.

"You're actually serious about this job, right?" Peter said, trying to catch his breath.

"Dead serious," Noah replied, smirking. "There's a lot happening in New York's underworld, and I need someone who's got my back. Someone who's tough and quick—someone who can keep up."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "You're not asking me to, like, fight people, are you?"

"Not unless absolutely necessary," Noah said, laughing. "I just need help keeping things in check and maybe dealing with a few... difficult characters. And don't worry, I'll handle the heavy lifting."

Peter rolled his eyes but grinned. "Well, if you're paying twenty grand, I think I can handle it."

With a pat on Peter's shoulder, Noah led him inside the gym. He had a feeling that teaming up with Peter would not only be fun but might even add a little balance to the madness that had become his daily life. Besides, Peter had powers, too—Noah could feel they were stronger than even Peter fully realized yet. Together, they'd make a formidable team.

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Alright, so my potato PC just imploded. And I don't have mobile or anything like that. This is a scheduled chapter, and this is my message to you via my friend's phone. Don't worry, I'll figure something out. Being poor sucks.

So, this is my first time doing this. I hope you guys can help me improve by providing your feedback. Some stones would be nice. (づ ◕_◕ )づ