Fatty Harry

When Mu Fan noticed that people had already started filing in, he stopped and walked away. The testing device's backend recorded that number before falling silent again. He didn't know what that set of digits meant, nor did he realize how much shock a strength level of 17 would bring to the people here. He only felt he could have pushed a little harder.

Yeah, I'll come back and try again when no one's around, Mu Fan thought.

"Alright, gather up. Everyone's here now, so let's assign today's venues. Jerff, same as usual—third floor, Room 2. Kemo, third floor, Room 7..." Man Kun appeared right on schedule, rattling off a string of names before continuing, "This afternoon, second floor, Room 3 has a booked sparring partner—Polly, you take it. Second floor, Room 6, booked sparring partner—Ji Mingdi, you go... Mm, second floor, Room 9, booked—Mu Fan, you're up. The remaining four stay on standby for any last-minute notices."

After arranging the afternoon training tasks, Man Kun swept his gaze over everyone. "Get to work!"

The group dispersed according to their assignments. Mu Fan remembered that VIP Training Room No. 9 on the second floor was in the northwest corner, accessible via the staircase at the far end of the lobby.

The corridor walls were decorated in an antique style, a refreshing sight after being used to all the mechanical and electronic city fixtures.

Reaching the room marked as VIP Room No. 9, Mu Fan looked at the metal door before him, which shimmered with a dark blue luster, and inserted his work card into the identity scanner beside it.

"Beep. Identity verified. Sparring partner—Mu Fan. Please enter." An electronic female voice came from the lock mechanism as the alloy door retracted from the center to both sides, closing again after Mu Fan stepped inside.

This is really different! Mu Fan took in the clean, orderly training room—the gleaming metal equipment along the walls, the functional zones divided into different sections, the lounge area with rows of neatly hung training suits and towels, and even a few clearly labeled food packages stacked tidily on an organic glass table.

This enclosed training room was actually the same size as Training Field 5 on the first floor! Mu Fan was a little surprised.

Spotting a room with a strength training sign down the right-hand corridor, Mu Fan walked in.

"Dad! I get it, okay? Stop nagging! Your son's just not cut out for it, and you keep pushing me to study. Do you really think I could get into a military academy? How about I just do business with you? Look, we've even got the same build! I'd be perfect to take over your company someday!"

"What? No discussion? If I don't go, you'll cut my allowance for a month? Oh, my dear old dad, can you really bear to see your son lose a whole ring of fat in a month? I've been really well-behaved lately, haven't I? You told me not to race, so I don't race. You said the casino would turn me bad, so I don't go. I just eat three extra meals a day and play on the PO Battle Network. Isn't that good enough? Do you have to force your unfulfilled dreams on me... Hey! Dad!? Father!? Your Majesty!? Damn it..." A chubby young man in a gray suit jacket, white shirt, and bow tie, with a slightly childish face, sat in the back seat of a Hover Car, frowning at the Sky Communicator in his hand that had been hung up on.

"Uncle Wu, can we not go to the martial arts hall? Just let me off when we pass HL Square. I promised my friends I'd meet them there today for an event. It'd be so dishonest of me to bail."

"Sorry, Young Master. The master ordered me to deliver you to the hall and pick you up in four hours," replied the man in the front, dressed in a red attendant's uniform, his hair white but impeccably styled. He kept his eyes on the road, clearly addressing the chubby young man behind him.

The young man's suit jacket was stretched so tight it could only hang open, its wrinkled edges pitifully crushed beneath him as he sat.

"Uncle Wu~" His voice had taken on a whining, almost tearful tone.

"Sorry, Young Master. You know the master's temper. Please don't make this difficult for me." Uncle Wu remained unmoved, focused on driving.

"Oh, fine. Call me when we get there." The tearful tone vanished in an instant. The chubby young man pulled a long face, then picked up his Sky Communicator and started browsing battle videos on the PO Battle Network forum.

"Mm, illusion-type or reality-type? Definitely illusion-type. Big Brother Fatty here isn't watching anything that bloody. My 'Lemon Balloon' is the flashiest. Let's see what new skills they've cooked up lately. Hmph, if I don't stay sharp, I can't keep my top spot in the class." The chubby young man jabbed at the 3D images playing on his Sky Communicator with great interest, muttering under his breath.

Harry, the young master of the Luoqie Star Fuwen Conglomerate. Even in the most rundown places, there are rich folks. When power forms a stranglehold, the gap between rich and poor only widens, even if the Fuwen Conglomerate hadn't yet cracked the planet's top-tier wealthy circles. He'd always called himself a pacifist since childhood, and had naturally grown into a peaceful fat guy. His cheerful, easygoing grin was just like his old man's, and it suited the Fuwen Conglomerate's everyday goods style—friendly! Affordable! From cosmetics and skincare to stationery, their brand wasn't the highest tier, but massive sales had let Harry's family wealth skyrocket.

"Ooh, that move's cool. Let me see what it's called. 'Falling Petals'? Too plain. Not imposing at all. At least call it something like 'Great Dark Heaven Five Petal Lotus Fall'—a totally badass, flashy name! But the technique itself is really good." The chubby young man was flipping through a video of a platinum 5-star illusion-type expert and got hooked by the scene. A red-and-white mech flashed from the ground into the air in an instant, then suddenly split into four afterimages. The five units merged into one, grabbing another mech and slamming it down from the sky. Fire and light burst across the ground, leaving a radial crater. The chubby young man was practically drooling at the sight. He had zero resistance to flashy skills like this. A big feature of illusion-type was all those inhuman moves.

"Let me check the specs. Illusion-type modified RG-II injectors x5. The cockpit needs to lower the human simulation rate by at least 30%. Pilot load is 9 Gs. Mm, 9 Gs—that's gotta hurt. I'll lower the simulation rate to 40%. Can't use it for PvP, but at least it looks cool!! Then swap the engine for a ninth-gen one. That's doable. The 7888 Star Coin gift pack has a chance to drop ninth-gen engine fragments. I'll buy a few more later... Two-thirds chance. 7888 times at least 15... Ah! My allowance for this month is gone again! Aaaargh!" The chubby young man counted on his fingers, realized he was about to be screwed, and started freaking out!!

"Young Master, we've arrived at the martial arts hall. Please prepare to get out."

From a dead stop at extreme speed, the Hover Car came to a steady halt in front of the Starfall Martial Arts Hall. The car was all black with red accents, its wide retro U-shaped grille delivering a powerful visual impact. Seeing this luxury car, the hall knew a VIP had arrived. By the time the chubby young man reluctantly put away his Sky Communicator and got out, four burly men in black suits at the entrance had already split into two rows to greet him.

"Young Master, the hall has arranged everything for you. Someone will notify you when it's time. I'll wait here for you to come out." Uncle Wu stood to the side, bowing.

"Unnnh..." The chubby young man, looking listless, answered with a drawn-out nasal tone, seeing Uncle Wu standing there without leaving. He'd already given up on the sneaky idea of slipping away.

"Hello, Young Master Harry. Your reservation is for VIP Training Room No. 9 on the second floor. Please follow me." A female attendant in a short skirt that hugged her curves approached from the side, her voice soft as she reminded him.

"Mm, lead the way." After a casual reply, the chubby young man took an interest in the rhythmic sway of the rear in front of him as he stepped into the hall.

Meanwhile, in the strength training room of VIP Room No. 9, Mu Fan's hands were bulging with veins as he gripped a single-direction long-handled training hammer, swinging it up and down. Sweat poured off him like rain. On the opposite end of the alloy handle hung a string of weight blocks over a meter thick...

PS: Thanks to fellow book lover Xiao Yue for the tip!

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