Determined to Make His Name, Setting Out Again

The wind on the container roof was less intense than at night, and the sky was tinged with gray, like someone had mixed milk into ink. Scott's fingers were still on the controller, his fingertips slightly numb; he had almost jammed his knuckles again just now. He glanced down at the chalk circle at his feet, a spot about the size of a bottle cap, where he had already landed steadily three times.

The moment Ye Mo opened his eyes, he instinctively stopped moving.

The man didn't speak, but slowly shook his head, as if looking at a student rushing to hand in their paper but forgetting to write their name. Scott gritted his teeth, slowly withdrew his hand, straightened up, and took a deep breath. The air smelled of rust and damp cement, and the muffled thud of the early morning subway rumbling over the tracks came from afar.

"I didn't train to find out who you are." He spoke, his voice not loud, but each word seemed to be forced from his chest. "I don't want to be treated like trash anymore, and I don't want to live by stealing anymore."

He looked down at the controller in his palm; the black casing was worn shiny, and the fingerprints around the edge were impossible to remove no matter how he wiped them.

"I want to start over," he said, "As Ant-Man."

He was stunned for a moment after he finished speaking. He hadn't really thought about it much before he said it; it was more like his body made the choice before his mind—just like the first time he climbed over the wall and through the window, he pushed off with his foot and was up there, and before he knew it, he was already in the neighbor's yard.

Ye Mo then moved.

He took off his headphones, slowly stood up, a patch of dirt smeared on the knee of his work pants. He walked to the edge of the training area, bent down to pick up a water bottle, and gently placed it in the center of the circle.

"Try running around the cones," he said. "Shrink to the size of an ant, circle the bottle three times without touching the ground."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"The system's suggested advanced template." Ye Mo shrugged, casually adjusting his glasses. "I'm only responsible for conveying the message."

"The system again?" Scott rolled his eyes. "That excuse is practically a mantra of yours."

"Do you have a better explanation?" Ye Mo countered. "Like, why can you shrink to the size of a sesame seed without breaking a bone? Or why was it you who was chosen by Pym? You can't just say it's luck that's off the charts."

Scott opened his mouth but didn't reply. He knew the other person was right, but every time he heard the word "system," a strange feeling would rise in his heart—as if all his efforts were nothing more than a piece of code being executed by some unseen program.

But he didn't ask any further questions.

This time, he pressed the controller on his own, and his movements were slower than before. The process of compressing his body was no longer like a pump contracting violently, but rather following some kind of internal rhythm, sinking down layer by layer. When he landed, the sensations from the soles of his feet were frighteningly clear: dust particles were like pebbles, the plastic texture of the bottle was like ravines, and even a tiny crack in the ground became a canyon that needed to be crossed.

He looked up at the mouth of the bottle, which was about three stories high.

"Go on," he muttered to himself, and strode off.

The first lap went relatively smoothly; he ran close to the outside of the bottle and maintained good balance. Midway through the second lap, an ant crossed the path, and he suddenly changed direction, almost falling headfirst into a crack. Just as he started the third lap, his foot slipped, and his entire left leg got stuck in the gap of the bottle label, leaving him hanging there swaying.

"Damn it!" he cursed, struggling to pull it out.

After restoring the area to its original state, he sat on the ground, panting heavily. His forehead was wet, and there was a sweat stain on the back of his T-shirt. But the corners of his mouth were turned up.

"Better than yesterday." Ye Mo sat in the corner, an old laptop that had appeared in his hand at some point. The screen was lit up, displaying a simplified diagram of the battle suit's structure, with a spreadsheet next to it recording some data. "Time reduced by 18%, landing deviation reduced by half, and mistakes concentrated in the dynamic equilibrium phase."

"You still remember the data?" Scott wiped his face. "I'm not a lab rat."

"The system requires regular progress reports." Ye Mo said without looking up, "If you don't meet the standards, the training intensity will double next week."

"Bullshit," Scott laughed. "You just want to see me make a fool of myself."

"Think what you want." Ye Mo typed a few keys, saved the file, and named it [Lang_S01_T05]. "Anyway, you can now complete the basic closed-loop training. The next step is to add some more advanced techniques."

"For example?"

"For example, shrinking down to the extreme, finding the balance point at the microscopic level." Ye Mo paused, "But that's for later. Right now, you need to master 'not falling'."

Scott didn't refute. He knew the other person was right. He was far from having "control" the situation. Every success he achieved was tinged with luck, just like someone who had just learned to ride a bike. Being able to pedal a couple of steps didn't mean he could ride on the road.

He stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and walked back to the training area.

This time, he didn't press the controller immediately. Instead, he squatted down and carefully observed the mineral water bottle. The curvature of the bottle, the thickness of the label, the depth of the indentation at the bottom... He memorized all these details, as if he were conducting an on-site survey.

Then he pressed the button.

His body compressed again, his field of vision rose, and the world became vast and unfamiliar. He stared at the bottle, approaching it step by step, feeling a slight elastic deformation the moment his foot touched the plastic surface.

He took a deep breath and began to walk around it.

First lap, steady.

On the second lap, I accelerated.

On the third lap, he deliberately increased his stride and suddenly turned as he approached the edge of the label, successfully avoiding the pre-set obstacle.

When I landed, my feet were together and I didn't wobble.

After restoring it to its original state, he grinned. "It's done!"

Ye Mo nodded, offering no further praise, but simply updated a line of data in the spreadsheet: [Stability Rating: B+].

"What's next?" Scott asked, rubbing his hands together. "How about something a little more daring? Like threading a needle through a needle's eye? Or drilling a keyhole?"

"Do you want to be a locksmith or a sewing machine?" Ye Mo glanced at him. "The goal right now isn't to show off your skills, but to build muscle memory and Spatial Perception. You're like a new driver who just got their license; don't try to drift around corners as soon as you hit the road."

"So I have to keep practicing this?" Scott pointed to the chalk circle, "Like a robot repeating the same movements?"

"Otherwise what?" Ye Mo closed his laptop, looked up at him, and said, "You think heroes are made by a single flash of inspiration? Tony burned out the circuit boards seven times while building his first suit of armor, Thor was punished by Odin to chop wood for three years before he even swung his hammer. Your current training isn't even enough for a basic warm-up."

Scott was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed, "You're right. I used to think I was pretty capable, a graduate of electrical engineering with solid technical skills, but when something went wrong, I struggled to even protect myself. Now that I have this ability, wouldn't it be a waste if I didn't use it properly?"

"So?" Ye Mo asked.

"So I'm not running anymore," Scott gripped the controller tightly. "And I'm not hiding anymore. I'm going to make it mine, not a tool given to me by someone else, but something I can do myself."

Ye Mo looked at him, her gaze behind her glasses unusually serious for a moment.

He didn't say anything encouraging, nor did he nod in agreement. He simply stood up, took a new training sheet from his backpack, and handed it over.

"Starting tomorrow, do five sets of cone drills every day, three laps per set, with an error margin of no more than two millimeters," he said. "If you can't do that, then practice weighted Wall Phasing."

Scott took the paper, glanced at it, and his lips twitched. "You really are a devilish drill instructor."

"The system's difficulty curve." Ye Mo put his headphones back on and leaned back against the wall. "I'm just an executor."

"Alright then." Scott folded the training sheet and stuffed it into his pocket. "Anyway, I'm starting to believe you a little now—regardless of whether there's a system or not, at least you didn't intend to harm me."

"Be smart," Ye Mo said, closing his eyes. "Don't wait until the end to realize that what truly limits you is never your ability, but your fear of taking that first step."

As dawn broke, the abandoned factory area was gradually bathed in sunlight, and the metal shells of the shipping containers began to heat up. In the distance, the announcement of the first bus stop could be heard; the city was awakening.

Scott stood in the center of the training area, making one last check of the controller's battery level. He knew the days ahead wouldn't be easy, and might even be harder. But he stopped asking "Why me?" and stopped dwelling on "What is the truth?"

He only wanted to achieve that.

He was able to stand up with his head held high, no longer a criminal hiding in the shadows, but— Ant-Man.

He pressed the button, his body slowly shrank, and he walked steadily toward the starting point of the bottle.

Ye Mo sat in the corner, his half-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light of the screen. His fingers lightly tapped the keyboard, organizing the last line of data. His expression was calm, devoid of any extra emotion, but the rhythm of his tapping was half a beat faster than usual.

Scott completed his third bottle-running drill, landing with his knees slightly bent, quickly adjusting his center of gravity, and landing steadily.

He raised his head and looked in Ye Mo's direction.

Ye Mo didn't look at him, but simply raised one hand and waved it gently, signaling him to continue.

Scott smiled and turned to walk towards the next cycle.

Sunlight streamed through the broken window of the shipping container, falling on the old laptop. The spreadsheet on the screen was still updating, and the latest record was clearly visible.

[Subject: Scott Lang | Training Program: Micro-movement Stability Test | Status: Continuously Improving]