A time traveler arrives in the Multiverse with an ability that turns confident assumptions into reality. If he believes an ordinary object should perform an impossible task, the rules of the world may simply adjust to make it happen. A bicycle can rise into the sky, common equipment can behave far beyond its normal limits, and even the human body can ignore expectations that should be absolute. The power sounds convenient, but every new idea raises a larger question: if reality keeps obeying what he thinks is “scientific,” how long will it be before no one—including him—can tell where logic ends and imagination begins?
Chapter 7: 007: KongFu!
If it were just Kraft by himself, he’d definitely have stuffed his face and then gotten the hell out of there, not bothering to waste time with this bunch of boring jerks. But he was traveling with Francisco and Amy. Just because Kraft didn’t need to play along with these people didn’t mean the other two didn’t need this opportunity to expand their network. Life in the U. S. is already tough for people of other ethnicities, and not everyone is as extreme as Kraft. It was only after going through a lot that Kraft came to understand that people deal with problems differently, so he’s now learned to avoid letting his own likes and dislikes interfere with others’ choices as much as possible. Unfortunately, even if Kraft wanted to quietly get through this period, others wouldn’t give him that chance. Martin Lee is indeed a financial tycoon now, but his skin color means he’s destined to remain on the periphery of white social circles. Moreover, Martin’s influence is largely confined to Chinatown, so in the eyes of those long-established tycoons, his standing is even lower than that of Slade Hammer, who had just suffered a major scandal. So, after Slade Hammer—the vanguard—suffered a setback, someone else quickly stepped forward to provoke Kraft, who was strolling aimlessly after a hearty meal to help digest it. “Hey! Can that ‘weight-loss fridge’ of yours build muscles like mine?” A burly white man blocked Kraft’s path, proudly flexing his biceps with a very rude attitude. “Why don’t you buy one yourself and give it a try? You don’t look like you can’t afford it—or have you spent all your pocket money on protein powder?” Faced with such rudeness, Kraft naturally wasn’t going to be friendly. He looked at the muscle-bound guy in front of him and curled his lip in disdain. Don’t let his muscular build fool you—if it came down to a fight, Kraft wasn’t afraid of him. Back when he was wandering the streets with Martin Lee, he’d gotten into plenty of fights with street thugs. He’d taught plenty of these “greenhouse-raised muscleheads” a lesson before; they’d chicken out at the first sign of blood. He just had to be careful at the start not to get knocked out in one blow. Not to mention, he now had the tech gadgets from his dreams to protect himself. Kraft ran his fingers over the wrist guards on his hands. These were arm-strengthening wrist guards he’d modified from his foot-strengthening shoes. He’d tested them—once activated, lifting Fat Liao with one hand was a piece of cake. “I’m not wasting my money on your scammy toys!” The muscle-bound man deliberately raised his voice, feigning outrage, then blurted out a line—presumably one he’d prepared long ago—in a stiff, forced tone. “We don’t welcome con artists here! Don’t think you’re some big shot just because you’re a little famous!” “What a phony act… If you want to pick a fight, just say so. This kind of roundabout provocation isn’t suited for a big oaf like you—your intellect isn’t up to handling something this complex.” The eye-watering performance of the idiot standing before him had completely worn out Kraft’s patience, so he turned decisively to the crowd of onlookers. “If you want to cause trouble, couldn’t you have found two smarter guys? Or is this the best you’ve got around here? That’s really disappointing…” Kraft raised his thumb and pointed at the muscle-bound thug behind him, sneering. “Who are you calling an idiot! You yellow-skinned monkey!” The enraged muscle-bound thug reached out to grab Kraft’s shoulder. Kraft, who had been prepared all along, ducked and spun around, dodging the thug’s hand, then kicked him squarely in the stomach. However, the thug’s muscles weren’t built for nothing—Kraft’s kick felt as though he’d struck a car tire. The muscle-bound thug merely took two small steps back, nonchalantly brushed the dust off his stomach, and sneered, “That didn’t even sting. Aren’t all you Chinese-Americans supposed to know that kung fu stuff? You know, the kind where you jump around like monkeys.” “It’s always the same old crap. I’m sick and tired of hearing it,” Kraft said, digging in his ear with a look of disgust. “Don’t you white idiots have any fresh vocabulary? Ah… I guess not. After all, you’ve only been around for about two hundred years, and even your language is inherited from Great Britain. I guess I was expecting too much.” While firing back with sharp retorts, Kraft secretly flipped the switch hidden beneath his wrist guards. Although he wasn’t afraid of this muscle-bound brute based on his own strength, the gap in physical conditioning was obvious—even if the guy managed to beat him, he’d still end up injured. Kraft didn’t think some idiot like that was qualified to trade blows with him on equal terms. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, you yellow-skinned monkey!” The muscle-bound thug swung his fist at Kraft, still cursing under his breath. The moment Kraft saw the way the muscle-bound thug swung his fist, he chuckled. Not only did this guy lack real combat experience, but he’d also never learned any boxing or similar fighting techniques. His charging speed wasn’t slow, though—he probably played some contact sports like football or hockey in his spare time. No wonder he’d been pushed forward by that bunch of spoiled brats to serve as their pawn. This kind of straight-on attack was the easiest to handle—a slight dip of the body would have been enough to dodge it. But Kraft, whose arms were enhanced by scientific power, chose not to evade; instead, he decided to take the musclehead head-on. With lightning-fast reflexes, Kraft grabbed the fist swinging toward his head, bringing the musclehead’s momentum to a sudden halt. Keeping his lower body completely still, he simply flicked the hand holding the musclehead’s fist casually to the side,The muscular brute—who towered two heads above Kraft and was several sizes larger—was hurled several meters away by Kraft, crashing onto the nearby lawn and unable to get back up for quite some time. “Kung fu—do you see it now?” Kraft clapped his hands twice with ease, then, mimicking the grandmasters in martial arts movies, clasped his hands behind his back and feigned nonchalance with a calm expression. The group of students who had been whispering among themselves, waiting to see the show, were all stunned. Kraft’s counterattack had clearly caught them off guard. After an awkward silence, the security guards—who had been nowhere to be seen—and the supervisor who had initially led Kraft and his group there finally emerged from who knows where. “What’s going on here? Who’s causing trouble?!” The supervisor shouted in a theatrical tone, then fixed a piercing gaze on Kraft, who was surrounded in the center of the crowd, trying to put some pressure on him. However, Kraft had no intention of playing along. While adjusting his already neatly pressed cuffs, he glanced back at the supervisor with a half-smile. After locking eyes with Kraft for a moment, the supervisor realized that the intimidating stare he’d learned from his elders wasn’t having the slightest effect. He sheepishly averted his gaze and turned to growl at the two security guards following behind him, “What are you standing there for? Hurry up and get Lewis to medical care!” The security guards here were long accustomed to the occasional shenanigans pulled by these rich kids; they’d handled similar situations more than once or twice, but what could they do? The school paid them well. After a casual reply, the two security guards walked over to Lewis, who was lying on the ground pretending to be unconscious out of embarrassment. Working in perfect sync, they each took one of his arms and helped him to his feet, leading him toward the exit. At the same time, a senior student stepped out from behind the student in charge of reception. Every gesture he made exuded an air of elegance, a stark contrast to Hammer’s nouveau riche demeanor. The student in charge, who had been acting so haughty in front of Kraft and the others, immediately broke into a sycophantic smile the moment he appeared and quickly stepped aside to make way for him. “I’m terribly sorry—Lewis is just a brainless musclehead. I apologize to you on his behalf.” The man walked up to Kraft and bowed slightly. “Felim Jones, an eleventh-grade student at Darlston Elite Private High School and president of the student council, has the honor of organizing this year’s dance.” Dulston Elite Private High School—the campus where Kraft and his friends were currently gathered for the party belonged to this school. Simply put, they were the hosts of this dance. “It’s fine. I’m not the one who lost out, after all.” Kraft shrugged and replied with a forced smile. “It’s just that your methods are a bit childish—which disappoints me a little.” Felim’s smile remained unchanged as he retorted in a tone that was neither soft nor harsh: “After all, there are so many participating schools, aren’t there? I’m just the student president of Dalston; I can’t control what students from other schools think. Although I don’t exactly welcome ‘transfer students’ like you, we at Dalston still observe basic etiquette.” “Clap, clap, clap.” Kraft clapped lightly in admiration. “Let others do the dirty work while you sit back and watch the show—you’re far more shameless than that upstart from before.” Kraft was certain Felim had no intention of picking a fight with him—but did he even need to? Among this so-called elite crowd, there were plenty eager to cause trouble for his group. He didn’t need to get involved himself. As the host of this year’s dance, the fact that he hadn’t stopped others’ actions already made his stance clear. And here he was, still harping on about “basic courtesy”… Kraft let out a cold laugh, ignored the shameless fellow in front of him, and walked around him to continue strolling. “Senior Felim, this kid is way out of line. Should we find someone to teach him a lesson?” The student in charge of hosting Kraft and his group leaned in close to Felim, indignantly pledging his loyalty—and hoping to vent his frustration through Felim. In his eyes, losing that earlier stare-down with Kraft had been a humiliating defeat; given the chance, he naturally wanted to get even. Felim, of course, saw right through the student’s ulterior motives, but he didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he simply waved his hand dismissively. “We won’t have any further dealings with him. There’s no need to make another enemy for ourselves.” Most of the students watching the spectacle shared Felim’s sentiment. The show was over, and Kraft had demonstrated his toughness and strength; continuing the commotion would likely drag them into it, so they, too, chose to let the matter drop, just as Felim had. With this core group settling down, those who depended on them for a living naturally saw no point in making fools of themselves—after all, the sight of Kraft flinging Lewis aside with a single hand was quite intimidating. As a result, the three who had been the center of attention were suddenly isolated. Seeing this, Francisco and Amy abandoned any thoughts of trying to worm their way into that group. Instead, they followed Kraft to get a taste of life at the aristocratic school, and without waiting for the formal ball to begin, they took their leave early. During my break earlier, I hadn’t unlocked all the game’s achievements, so I spent the whole day grinding for them today… Of course, during breaks when I got tired of gaming, I still made sure to put in some writing. Just watching a video or reading a novel or something. I just played with Zhongyuan for a while, and he slapped me twice again… When did it pick up this habit of slapping me?!
