Charlie's eyes fluttered open, but something was wrong. He wasn't in his bed. The soft glow of his nightlight was gone, replaced by blinding overhead lights. Beneath his feet was a hard, springy surface. He looked down.
Ropes. A ring.
"What the..." Charlie muttered, spinning in place.
The System's familiar voice chimed in his head:
"Welcome, Charlie, to Sleep Fighting!"
Charlie blinked, his mouth falling open.
"Sleep Fighting ? What the hell are you talking about, System ?!"
"This is an advanced simulation designed to improve your combat instincts and gain fighting experience while you rest. Now fight this opponent."
A figure stepped forward, and Charlie's stomach dropped. The man—if he could even be called that—was tall, broad, and built like a tank. His muscles rippled unnaturally, his skin pale and featureless, and where his face should have been was... nothing. Just smooth, blank skin.
Charlie's face twisted into a mix of horror and disbelief. "What the fuck, System?! Can't I sleep like a normal person for once?!"
"You need fighting experience, Charlie. Sleep is an efficient time to train."
Charlie pointed at the faceless behemoth. "You call that training? He's gonna kill me!"
"Don't be dramatic. Begin."
The bell rang before Charlie could protest further.
Before Charlie could even lift his arms, the faceless man moved. A punch shot toward him like a missile, slamming into his gut. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he stumbled backward, clutching his stomach.
Ugh… God," he wheezed, barely catching his breath before another blow came, this time to his shoulder. He spun around, crashing to the ground in a heap.
He scrambled to his feet, his legs shaking. "System, stop! I can't—"
The faceless man didn't wait. A kick landed squarely in Charlie's side, sending him sprawling into the ropes. His vision blurred, and he tried to put his arms up, but they felt like jelly.
Every punch, every kick, was like being hit by a truck. His body bounced around the ring like a ragdoll. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the phantom pain of the blows.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the round. Charlie slumped to the ground, gasping for air.
"I'm done," he muttered. "Just... let me sleep."
"Round 2 begins."
The faceless man didn't give him a chance to rest. The bell rang again, and the cycle repeated. Charlie tried to swing, but his punches were slow and clumsy. His opponent dodged them effortlessly, countering with brutal precision.
By the eighth round, Charlie was barely conscious, his entire body aching.
Charlie woke up with a jolt, his heart racing and his body drenched in sweat. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. The soft glow of his nightlight came into focus, and the familiar sight of his basement room grounded him.
He sat up slowly, wincing as phantom pain radiated through his ribs and shoulders. "Was that... real?" he whispered, clutching his blanket.
The System chimed cheerfully:
"Training complete. Combat instinct improvement: 0.03%."
Charlie stared at the screen that appeared in his vision, his expression unreadable.
"Zero-point-zero-three percent?" he repeated, his voice rising. "I got my ass handed to me eight times for that?"
The System responded calmly:
"Progress requires consistency and well, this is your actual talent. Rest well for your next session."
Charlie threw himself back onto the bed, groaning loudly. "So I have no talent, huh. You're a sadist, System. A total sadist."
Charlie groaned as he rolled onto his side, his body aching in all the worst ways. His arms felt like lead, his legs were jelly, and his back screamed with every small movement.
"Ugh... I feel like I got hit by a truck," he muttered. Then he paused, remembering the faceless opponent from the ring. "Wait... why don't I feel that pain?"
The System chimed in, its tone as calm as ever:
"That's because it was a dream, Charlie."
Charlie sat up, clutching his head. "Stop reading my mind all the time!" he snapped.
"Monitoring your thoughts ensures optimal guidance."
Charlie scowled, pulling himself to his feet. Every muscle protested, and he winced. "Yeah, well, it feels real enough. Stupid System..."
"Now stop being lazy and eat breakfast."
"What?!" Charlie exclaimed, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. "It's morning already?! But I didn't rest!"
"Yes, you rested. Sleep fighting does not interfere with physical recovery."
"But... but—" Charlie stammered, pointing at his aching body like it was evidence in a trial.
"Your soreness is from yesterday's workout, not the dream. Now proceed with your day."
Charlie groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "This is torture. Literal torture."
Charlie shuffled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His parents weren't home—no surprise there. They were already off working, like always. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards under his weight.
After throwing together a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, Charlie sat at the table, his mind wandering as he chewed.
This sweating problem... he thought, staring down at his plate. It's the hair. All this stupid body hair.
His fork clattered onto the plate as he pulled out his old phone, its cracked screen flickering faintly. He typed a quick search: How to get rid of body hair permanently?
Dozens of results popped up, but one answer caught his eye: laser hair removal.
"Laser... thingy," he muttered, clicking on the link. He read the description with growing interest.
The System chimed in:
"Charlie, it's called laser hair removal."
Charlie grunted. "Yeah, I know that now." He sat back, crossing his arms. "Alright, I've got it. So here's the plan: I'll do my workouts in the mornings. Less people, less women, and definitely no her."
His face darkened at the memory of the girl from the gym who'd accused him of staring. "One day a week, though, I'll go in the afternoon and get this laser thing done. If I can get rid of all this hair, I'll stop sweating and smelling so much."
The System responded with its usual bluntness:
"A logical approach. Schedule your sessions accordingly."
Charlie smirked faintly, feeling oddly proud of himself. "Yeah, logical," he muttered. He stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "Alright, breakfast done. Time to work out."
Grabbing his gym bag, he headed for the door.
Here's the refined version of your scene:
Charlie arrived at the gym, greeted by the faint hum of machines and the distant clanging of weights. At the counter, a different girl was stationed today—a blonde with earbuds in, scrolling on her phone.
"Good morning," Charlie said, his voice awkward but polite.
She glanced up briefly, her expression unreadable, then returned to her phone without a word.
Charlie shrugged, unfazed. At least she didn't say anything rude, he thought, heading toward the workout area.
"Alright, System," he muttered under his breath. "What's the plan for today?"
A familiar window popped up in his vision, filling with glowing text:
Workout Plan - Day 2
Warm-up:
Elliptical or stationary bike for 10 minutes at a moderate pace.
Strength (Upper Body Focus):
Dumbbell Bench Press (or Resistance Band Chest Press): 3 sets of 10 reps.Seated Dumbbell Shoulder Press (or Resistance Band Overhead Press): 3 sets of 10 reps.Bent-Over Dumbbell Rows (or Resistance Band Rows): 3 sets of 12 reps.
Core:
Side planks (each side): 2 x 15 seconds.Dead bugs: 2 x 12 reps (focus on controlled movements).
Cooldown:
Stretching routine:Chest opener stretch (30 seconds).Cat-cow pose for back relief (30 seconds).Shoulder stretches (30 seconds per side).
Charlie stared at the list, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Great. I don't even know half of these exercises."
The System chimed in cheerfully:
"Simulation guidance initiated. Begin with the elliptical."
He found an empty machine and started pedaling. The screen displayed his pace, but it was the simulated guide floating in front of him that kept him on track, correcting his form when he leaned too far forward or slowed down.
As Charlie moved on to the strength exercises, the simulation continued to guide him. Each movement was slow and clumsy at first. His dumbbell bench press wobbled, and his shoulder presses made him grunt loudly, but he didn't stop.
Whenever a machine was occupied, he waited off to the side, making sure to keep his distance to avoid disturbing anyone.
When it was a woman using the machine, he didn't even wait. "System, give me something else," he whispered, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"Substitute exercise selected: Resistance Band Chest Press."
Charlie nodded, quickly setting up in the corner, away from prying eyes.
---
The side planks were a disaster. His arms shook, his stomach grazed the mat, and by the time he switched sides, he was drenched in sweat.
"Dead bugs?" he muttered when the simulation demonstrated the next core exercise. "Who names these things?"
Still, he did his best, even if his limbs flailed more than they should. By the time he hit the cooldown stretches, his towel was soaked, and his muscles felt like noodles.
---
Despite his exhaustion, the System wasn't done with him.
"Do we really have to do this?" Charlie whined as he entered the park. His breath puffed out in frustration, but he knew the answer. The boxing simulation flickered to life before him.
The glowing figure demonstrated punches, weaving and dodging with perfect form. Charlie mimicked the movements awkwardly, his punches sloppy and his footwork worse.
An old man sat nearby, tossing crumbs to a group of ducks. His eyes flicked to Charlie, squinting in disbelief. What in God's name is he doing? the man thought, watching Charlie punch at the air with all the grace of a drunken toddler.
"Stop staring," Charlie muttered under his breath, though he didn't dare look at the old man directly.
---
By the time Charlie made it home, he was a sweaty mess again. He dropped his gym bag near the door and shuffled toward the shower. The hot water felt heavenly, washing away the grime of the day.
As he dried off and pulled on fresh clothes, his stomach rumbled. "Time to make food," he said to himself, heading for the kitchen.
He considered making something indulgent—a towering sandwich with chips on the side—but the System chimed in, almost reading his thoughts:
"Warning: Preparing an unhealthy meal will result in disciplinary action."
Charlie froze, his hand hovering over a block of cheese. "You're kidding me," he muttered, glancing at the glowing warning screen.
The System didn't respond, its silence heavy with judgment.
With a resigned sigh, Charlie opted for a simple meal: a turkey sandwich with whole-grain bread, a side of carrot sticks, and a glass of water. He ate quickly, grumbling between bites. "Fine, simple lunch it is. Happy now, System?"
"Nutritional balance achieved."
Charlie rolled his eyes but couldn't argue with the light, satisfied feeling in his stomach as he finished.
Then his focus was already shifting to dinner. "I'll make something nice for dinner again," he thought, grinning. "And get those juicy $100. Hehehehe…"