Phei read it with widening eyes again, something cold and viciously satisfied unfurling in his chest like smoke from a fresh kill.

The system had noticed. Had approved.

It was fucking right, wasn't it? He knew the fight hadn't been fair—he'd used Brett's secrets, his leverage, the simple fact that Brett had been caught with his pants down (metaphorically, and probably literally at some point). He'd fought dirty because clean fighting got you killed in Paradise.

Life isn't fair.

Harold's words. Delivered countless times over the years with that cold, superior smile—the same one he wore while reminding Phei how lucky he was to even breathe Maxton air. Always as justification for whatever new cruelty he was inflicting.

Phei had absorbed them like poison, let them settle into his bones alongside all the other lessons in powerlessness.

But the system's arrival had changed everything. Had given him the tools to finally implement that lesson instead of just suffering under it. To use the leverages, he had instead of being the one getting leveraged.

And apparently, the system viewed this as excellent performance. Good enough that his reward had jumped from Elite to Legendary, skipping World-Class entirely.

That is insane.

"Can I receive the skills now?" Phei asked, voice low.

[DING!]

[TRANSFER OPTIONS: Would Host prefer: FULL TRANSFER: Receive all 60% at once. GRADUAL TRANSFER: Receive skills in portions

[Please select.]

Phei blinked.

There's options?

That was new. He hadn't expected that.

"How does gradual transfer work?"

[GRADUAL TRANSFER allows Host to select the percentage of skill knowledge received at any given time. Host can choose specific percentages and save remaining for later transfer when body/mind synchronisation improves.]

Interesting. Made sense, actually. You couldn't just dump world-class athletic knowledge into a body that had spent seventeen years rotting in neglect.

"What's the maximum I can safely receive right now?"

[ANALYZING HOST COMPATIBILITY...]

[RESULTS:

BODY CAPACITY: 10%

Host's physical conditioning can currently support 10% of Legendary which is approximately to Semi-Pro level skills (comes after Amateur and Advanced). Higher percentages will cause muscle memory conflicts, physical deterioration, coordination failure, and potential injury.

[MIND CAPACITY: 20%

Host's mental processing can handle 20% of Legendary which is approximately to Professional level knowledge. Higher percentages will cause cognitive overload, migraines, confusion, and potential neural damage.

[MAXIMUM SAFE TRANSFER: 10%] (Limited by body capacity)

"What happens if I take all, 60%."

[WARNING: Attempting full 60% transfer with current Host specifications will result in vegetative state.]

Phei shivered.

Vegetative state.

The system wasn't joking. Wasn't being dramatic. It was telling him, in cold clinical terms, that trying to absorb Legendary-grade skills with his current body would turn his brain to mush.

And he'd almost just said "give me everything."

Arrogant. Fucking arrogant.

Of course he couldn't handle it. Of course, his body—neglected, abused, underfed for a decade—couldn't keep up with knowledge that belonged to the best players in the world.

People who'd trained since childhood.

Who'd optimised every aspect of their physical existence for this one sport.

Honestly, World-Class was already insanely high. Probably the level the current best players in the world operated at. He didn't even know how much of that he'd actually need.

But the system had given him Legendary. Above World-Class. Skills that didn't exist yet in most players maybe.

And his shit body could only handle 10% of it.

His body was holding him back.

Again.

Always capping him from his true potential.

Another reason to push harder.

The thought of more training after today's agony made him flinch internally. But he had to. And now there was yet another thing to add to his list—practice his form as a player with the knowledge he'd get, while simultaneously pushing his body to higher levels so he could absorb more.

If he pushed harder, in a week or two he'd be able to take the 20%. His mind could handle 30% by then. And he'd have better form as a player, more muscle memory to work with.

Professional level was the same tier as Brett and his crew, if Phei wasn't wrong. That's all his mind could take right now.

To be as good as them on paper.

But those guys had grown up doing this. Had years of practice, coaches, training camps, natural development. Even with Professional-level knowledge downloaded into his head, they'd still be better because his body was a mess and his form as a player was worse.

Once again, my body is the bottleneck.

He stared at the warning a moment longer.

Vegetative state.

The system really did have a sense of humor—dark, merciless, and perfectly timed.

Almost killed myself with greed. Classic.

He exhaled slowly.

"Gradual transfer," he said. "Ten percent now."

The Dragon learned patience the hard way.

But he learned.

But here was the thing—here was why Dominance Aura mattered more than Charm Speech right now: If he reached 20% of the skills with both mind and body synchronised, and also had a levelled-up Dominance Aura pressing down on his opponents...

He'd play better than Brett. Better than all of them.

Not because he was more skilled. But because they'd be too intimidated to perform at their best while he performed at his.

Psychological warfare plus adequate skill equals victory.

The plan crystallised in his mind like ice forming on glass—cold, clear, unbreakable.

Train body → unlock more skill percentage → practice form → level Dominance Aura → repeat until Legendary.

Until no one on any court could touch him.

Until Brett and everyone like him were just obstacles in his rearview mirror, shrinking, pathetic, forgotten.

"System," Phei said, voice low and steady. "Transfer the 10%. The amount my body can handle."

[TRANSFER INITIATED

BASKETBALL SKILLS: 10% OF LEGENDARY GRADE

Approximate Level: SEMI-PRO]

[TRANSFERRING...]

The sensation was indescribable.

It started at the base of his skull—a warm, insistent pressure, like a hand pressing knowledge directly into his brain. Then it spread, flooding downward through his neck, shoulders, arms, fingers, chest, spine, hips, legs, feet.

Knowledge poured into him like molten gold filling an empty mould.

Dribbling patterns he'd never practiced but now knew intimately—the bounce height, the wrist flick, the way to chain crossovers into hesitation moves that left defenders grasping air. The perfect plant for a jump shot, weight distribution, elbow alignment, follow-through arc.

How to read a defender's hips, shoulders, eyes—predict movement before it happened.

The rhythm of a fast break, the angles for a finger-roll layup, the subtle shoulder drop that sold a drive.

It wasn't like reading a textbook.

It was like remembering something he'd always known but had forgotten. The information slotted into place naturally, comfortably, like puzzle pieces snapping home with satisfying clicks.

His muscles twitched involuntarily—arms itching to execute a behind-the-back dribble, legs shifting into triple-threat stance, hands flexing as if already palming an invisible ball.

[TRANSFER COMPLETE

BASKETBALL SKILLS: 10% LEGENDARY GRADE RECEIVED

Remaining: 50% (Locked until body/mind synchronisation improves

NEW SKILL LEVEL: SEMI-PRO

NOTE: Skills are knowledge-based. Physical execution requires practice to synchronise downloaded information with Host's actual muscle development.]

Phei opened his eyes—when had I closed them?—and flexed his hands.

He knew things now. Knew them the way you know how to breathe.

His fingers curled around an imaginary ball. His feet shifted into a stance he'd never practiced but now felt instinctive. The crossover, the plant, the pivot—all of it sitting in his nervous system like muscle memory that had been there all along.

Semi-Pro.

Not enough to beat Brett straight up. Not with his shit body and nonexistent form. But combined with Dominance Aura pressing down on opponents, making their hands shake and their shots brick...

That's a winning formula.

His stomach growled. Loud. Demanding.

Right. Food. He hadn't eaten since... when?

The smell of something cooking drifted up from downstairs—Melissa moving around in the kitchen, the soft clink of plates, the hum of the refrigerator. She was making him food at 3 AM because neither of them had eaten.

Her too worried.

Him too unconscious.

Something warm curled in his chest.

First Harem Member.

She'd driven across Paradise in the middle of the night because he didn't answer his phone. Had held him while he slept. Had undressed him and warmed him up without being asked.

That was... something. Something he wasn't used to. Something that felt dangerous in its softness.

Phei stood, his body protesting the movement but obeying nonetheless. The soreness was still there—would be there for days probably—but it felt different now. Productive. Like proof that he was changing.

He grabbed a fresh robe from the closet, pulled it on loosely, and caught his reflection in the window glass.

Those glowing purple eyes stared back at him. That sharp jaw. That face that didn't belong to the boy he'd been a week ago.

Who are you becoming?

He didn't know yet. But he was hungry enough to find out.

The spiral staircase waited, winding down through the penthouse like a spine of black steel. Below, he could hear Melissa humming softly—some song he didn't recognise, her voice warm in the silence.

She'd come running when he needed her.

Time to go see what his first harem member had made him for dinner.

The city glittered ninety-eight floors below.

And somewhere out there, Brett Castellano was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that the boy he'd tormented for years had just downloaded the skills to destroy him.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, you smug piece of shit."

Your throne's got an expiration date now.

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