What's Your Online Gaming ID?

"Beep, identification valid — Elementary VIP, Sir Harry, please enter." The familiar electronic voice sounded. With his keen hearing, Mu Fan paused mid-motion, the strength hammer he was swinging stopping steadily five centimeters above the load-bearing platform. Its heavy mass sent a wave of oppressive air rippling outward.

"What? Fatty here is only an Elementary VIP? No way, I'm sending Uncle Wu a Sky Communicator!" The chubby guy, who already had one foot raised, erupted in baseless fury at the electronic tone. Come on, Fatty was a man of status, okay? As a Silver 1 Star big shot in the Fantasy Domain of the PO Battle Network, and a self-proclaimed trendsetter in the noble academy class, how could his first visit to a martial arts gym land him this kind of treatment?

"I'm sorry, sir. Since your reservation didn't mention your identity or present a membership card for this gym, the highest we could book was an Elementary VIP training room. We deeply apologize for the inconvenience, and thank you for your understanding." The waitress, who had just swiped the identity card on the Alloy Door, quickly bowed in apology.

Seeing the pleasant-looking waitress's friendly attitude, Peace-Loving Fatty's kind heart kicked in. He felt he shouldn't be yelling at a beauty. "Forget it, I'll upgrade to an Advanced VIP later. Whatever you need, my butler will contact you."

I'm just too kind, the fatty thought as he stepped through the training room door.

In VIP Training Room No. 9 on the second floor, two people were now staring each other down.

Mu Fan had just come out of the Strength Training Room. Sweat plastered the stray hairs on his forehead to his skin. Though he stood still, his eyes locked onto the fatty like a leopard.

The fatty's face was blank, his eyelids motionless, one hand frozen mid-motion as he set his Sky Communicator on a nearby wooden rack. No joke, I walk in, look up, and this kid's standing there like a ghost staring at me. Scaring people to death is a thing, you know.

"Who are you?" The fatty finally broke the tension, unable to take it anymore. As he spoke, the charged atmosphere in the room instantly eased.

"Mu Fan, sparring partner." Mu Fan looked at the fatty, sparing no words.

"Phew, you scared Fatty to death. I thought someone sent a thug to mess with me. Wait till I change, I'll get my gear on." The fatty's little heart finally settled. He let out a long breath, hung up his coat, grabbed a set of high-end blue training clothes, and headed for the changing room.

"So how does this sparring work? Look at you, you're way off my build. Don't fold under pressure." The fatty now stood before Mu Fan. Though shorter, his raised chin and three-times-wider frame carried plenty of presence.

"You attack, I defend." Mu Fan was still brief, his cautious eyes showing deep wariness of the fatty. That big guy at lunch said big eaters are always tough. This guy's build says he eats a lot. Can't take him lightly.

The fatty's eyes lit up instantly! This kid gets me! That deep wariness in his eyes is exactly how I look at the class bullies in combat class! He can tell Fatty's a hidden expert too!

"Ahem, ahem." The fatty cleared his throat deliberately, pulling his chin in to look dignified. "You can tell I'm a master hiding my skills, right? Come on, let's trade a few moves." Originally planning to warm up, he now walked hands behind his back toward the Combat Stage inside, feeling more and more like a true expert. That scrawny kid over there—I'll go easy on him.

"Do you know that at my young age, I'm already an 8-rank standard expert? Don't worry, I'll take it easy on you." For Harry's dad, who'd always fretted over his son being too thin, using high-tech gene cultivation and expensive nutrient pods to boost the fatty from rank 5 to rank 8 Physical Standard made perfect sense.

Mu Fan nodded, stepped into the ring in one swift move, picked up a Punching Target, strapped it to his arm, and crouched into a ready stance.

The fatty nodded approvingly. This serious, on-guard attitude is worthy of my entrance! For this attitude alone, he deserves a reward! I'll tip him 500 later! That's just one night's repair cost for my "Lemon Balloon."

The fatty stepped into the ring too. His two-hundred-plus pounds hitting the floor sent a different air current than Mu Fan's lean frame.

"Hey! Ha!" The fatty swung his arms and legs. Sitting in a Hover Car too long is tiring. Time to teach this kid a lesson he won't forget. Don't worry, I won't hit hard!

"Yah!" The fatty swung his arm, spun his body half a turn, and threw a punch. His fat quivered, then stretched in the opposite direction.

A short "thump" sounded, followed by a pig-slaughtering scream: "It hurts!" Mu Fan looked speechlessly at the fatty, who'd forgotten to wear gloves. The punch had carried no impact at all.

"Did you not eat?" Mu Fan thought the fatty might be weak from hunger, so he asked kindly.

The fatty, hopping around clutching his fist, turned beet red. He felt deeply insulted—mocked by a sparring partner! Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a pair of gloves, put them on, and threw another punch.

"Ah hey!" Unsurprisingly, Mu Fan—who hadn't fallen to Jerff or Man Kun—wasn't about to be knocked down by the fatty. Thinking he'd given it his all, the fatty looked up to see the Punching Target standing rock-still before him. Mu Fan's eyes now held no wariness, only curiosity.

The fatty's face flushed crimson again. A flurry of punches followed, then he leaned on his knees, panting. He looked up. Mu Fan still stood there, unmoving, his eyes now shifting from curiosity to certainty.

He definitely didn't eat enough, Mu Fan thought firmly.

"Kid, why are you a sparring partner!?" The fatty had no strength left to fight. He felt the kid had set him up on purpose.

"I need money to buy a brain computer." Mu Fan answered without hesitation.

"What?" At this age, with strength even he couldn't overcome, the kid shouldn't just be a sparring partner.

"I'll give you a 500 tip. Want it?" The fatty suddenly straightened up, asking seriously.

"Yes!" Mu Fan replied without hesitation or embarrassment.

"Stand still. Let me knock you down with one punch." Seeing Mu Fan's eyes glaze over, the fatty threw a punch.

Mu Fan, thinking this fatty's a good guy, cooperated perfectly, falling on cue. He even pushed off with his feet mid-air to mimic being sent flying, then hit the ground hard.

"Pro...fessional!" The fatty was stunned. "I'll settle with you when we leave."

"Thanks!" Mu Fan stood up and thanked him immediately, his sincere expression utterly genuine.

The fatty rubbed his still-bare chin and suddenly asked, "What's your PO Battle Network ID?"