Chapter 5
The alarm buzzed quietly at 5:30 AM.
Eli was already sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing the window. Morning light seeped through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the room. Peter shifted in the top bunk above him, murmuring something in his sleep.
Eli inhaled slowly. He let his mind settle, thoughts drifting to his training. The soreness from yesterday lingered, but it was the good kind, the kind that came with progress.
He rolled his shoulders, then stood. Slowly, he let One For All hum to life.
One percent.
Golden flickers danced along his arms. Controlled. Steady.
Two percent.
The energy deepened. Red pulses lit briefly at his joints, like veins glowing from within. He raised a hand and tightened his fist. Still no strain. He stretched out his legs and flowed into a stance. Then came three percent.
The now-familiar warmth wrapped around him. Sparks trailed faintly behind his movement. He launched a light jab, then another. Each hit carried a compressed gust of air.
Not even a creak from the floorboards.
He shadowboxed in silence, threading footwork between pieces of furniture. Each movement was smoother than the last.
When he finally stopped, his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Sweat clung to his brow. He didn't push past his limits. He worked within them. He was learning.
---
Breakfast was a modest affair. Toast, eggs, and coffee.
Uncle Ben stood at the stove flipping the eggs while Aunt May poured juice. Peter sat at the table in his pajamas, still half-asleep and poking at toast.
"You're up early again," Uncle Ben said without turning.
"Trying to make it a habit," Eli replied, sliding into his chair.
Ben grunted in approval. "That's good. Mornings are where the day's won. Isn't that right, Pete?"
Peter yawned. "Can't I win it in the afternoon?"
May chuckled and ruffled his hair.
They ate together, chatting about the day ahead. Peter had a reading assignment. Uncle Ben mentioned some repair work on the neighborhood church. Eli listened, smiled where appropriate, and finished his plate.
"I'll head out," he said, rinsing his dish.
"Be home before dark," May called after him.
"Always," Eli said.
---
The rooftop welcomed him with open sky and the buzz of distant traffic. He laid out his usual training gear, bricks, weights, water jugs, and stretched slowly.
He didn't increase his output today. Three percent was still his limit. He needed more conditioning.
Push-ups, pull-ups, core work. A hundred reps across multiple sets. Each movement was slow and exact. He kept the power off for most of it, letting his natural strength carry him. Only when he started running the perimeter did he activate One For All.
Three percent.
He sprinted the edge of the rooftop, ankle weights fastened tight. The world blurred slightly at the edges. His feet struck the concrete with minimal impact. Controlled bursts. No wasted motion.
Then came jumps. Short hops first. Then full vaults across utility gaps. Every landing was tested, measured.
No damage to the roof. No hard landings. Just precision.
By the time the sun neared its peak, he was drenched in sweat and breathing deeply.
He pulled off the ankle weights, stretched again, and stared out over the city.
He wasn't fast enough yet. Not durable enough. But he was getting there.
---
Back in the apartment, Peter was gone, likely at school. Uncle Ben's tools were missing from the corner, too.
Eli showered, changed into clean clothes, and sat at his desk.
He opened a worn notebook and began writing:
> "Day 7. Morning routine consistent. No overexertion.
> Control across legs, arms, torso: 3%, 2%, 1%. Stable.
> Leaps clean. Landing stability: 92%.
> No injuries."
He tapped the pen against his chin.
> "Goal for next seven days: Improve ligament conditioning. Reinforce ankle support. Begin shoulder rotation drills."
He flipped the page.
> "Mental focus: steady. No headaches. No dizziness. Coordination between visualization and body control improving."
He underlined the last sentence twice.
---
That night, he stood on the same rooftop again.
The city was quieter today. No sirens. No shouting. Just the hum of life beneath him.
He stood near the edge, crouched low, and leapt to the neighboring rooftop.
No sparks. No lightning.
Just smooth motion.
He landed in a crouch, straightened, and turned to look at the skyline.
A boy. In a hoodie. With a power no one knew existed yet.
The world hadn't changed around him.
But he was changing for it.
And soon, it would notice.
He stepped back into the shadows, heart steady, the storm within him still growing… but not ready to break.