Chapter 4: I...

Chapter 4: I...

Captain Jonas Hansen looked at Zhou Zhihan.

Sakamoto Ryunosuke’s request was quite normal—like during a school sports day race, when students who aren't competing run alongside their classmates to pace them on the inner track.

This helped build team spirit, strengthen friendships, and indirectly improve each student's abilities.

However, Lieutenant Jonas Hansen needed Zhou Zhihan’s consent.

“Then let’s have Sakamoto Ryunosuke take the lead!” Zhou Zhihan nodded.

Sakamoto Ryunosuke smiled, “Zhou, I hope you stay in the race. But if you lose, that bed of yours is mine starting today.”

The words were straightforward—on the surface, offering help, but in reality, ready to kick you hard while you’re drowning.

Zhou Zhihan smiled, “Your wish, Japanese, will surely go unfulfilled.”

No need for any inspiring speeches—Chinese never needed motivation to face those little devils.

Both strapped on their 5-kilogram rucksacks and stood at the starting line.

Completing 2 kilometers in 10 minutes with a 5-kilogram load might be easy for modern soldiers, but for first-year cadets in 1936, it was considered a good result.

Lieutenant Jonas Hansen pulled the starting pistol’s trigger.

They took off almost simultaneously.

Just as Zhou Zhihan took his first step, a mechanical voice sounded in his ear: “Activating Air Combat King system.”

“Holy hell, holy hell, holy hell!”

Zhou Zhihan jumped up, spitting out three mouthfuls of colorful language.

“Fuck…”

Everyone around stretched their necks, dumbfounded. Had this salted fish lost his mind?

After the three expletives, Zhou Zhihan, with his experience of time travel, couldn’t suppress the wild pounding of his heart. He spun on the spot, venting the tsunami of joy inside him: “Holy hell, so this is it! The so-called ‘golden finger’ isn’t just a steady boost in ability after time travel, it’s been hiding behind the scenes all along and only now reveals itself! Holy hell!”

After a few seconds of stunned silence, the cadets burst into laughter, even a few instructors sneaked grins. Watching Zhou Zhihan scratch his head, circling and muttering to himself with a goofy smile, as if searching for something, was quite a sight.

“Air Combat King system activated. Host, please complete 60 standard burpees immediately to earn slightly superior combat skills. Time limit: two minutes. Countdown begins now: 120...”

Zhou Zhihan stopped spinning; his face instantly stiffened. This golden finger was ruthless.

If he exhausted himself doing 60 burpees in two minutes, how could he possibly complete a 2-kilometer weighted run in the remaining eight minutes?

Failing the first test meant no further tests—straight home.

Having time-travel experience, Zhou Zhihan knew only he could hear the system’s voice. He mentally negotiated, “Can I finish the first test first? Also, what exactly does ‘slightly superior combat skills’ mean?”

System: “Failure to complete the assigned task will result in the system automatically leaving the host, and the host’s life will end. 119, 118...”

“Holy hell!” Without hesitation, Zhou Zhihan dropped his gear and hit the ground, starting burpees.

Staying alive and breathing was the top priority; everything else was nonsense.

Fuck.

Everyone was stunned again. This salted fish was seriously sick. First, he lost his mind, now his muscles were twitching as he started hopping like a toad.

At first, all the cadets laughed at Zhou Zhihan. His jumps looked like a pitiful frog’s, bouncing up and down in a comical way. Lieutenant Jonas Hansen had ordered him to run 2 kilometers with weight, yet he was hopping like a frog. Was this a joke or mockery toward the instructor?

Lieutenant Jonas Hansen’s face darkened, silent.

The officers on the platform looked displeased. This was West Point Military Academy, not a clown’s stage.

But after Zhou Zhihan completed a dozen burpees, the mocking gradually faded.

Though burpees hadn’t been invented yet, every cadet in Class 17 was an athletic expert and appreciated skill. After the initial teasing, all eyes widened in recognition—the frog-like jumps combined so perfectly with push-ups.

Everyone agreed that Zhou Zhihan’s movements were far more difficult than any push-up variations they had done before.

What was this move?

Was this still the same salted fish?

After 40 burpees, Zhou Zhihan’s throat felt like it was on fire, muscles ached all over, especially his abdomen with a tearing pain. His breathing was rapid, wishing he had two mouths and four nostrils. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes until he dared not open them. His limbs trembled and went numb.

His pace slowed, but he gritted his teeth, eyes closed, pushing himself with all his might. To keep the golden finger from leaving, he was willing to train until he urinated blood or suffered rhabdomyolysis.

As long as he survived, he could not let the golden finger go.

With this power, he could easily show off and defeat his enemies—but first, he had to win this golden finger.

His heart felt like it would leap from his chest to find freedom. His lungs might explode at any moment. Sixty burpees in two minutes was no problem for someone in good shape, but doing them non-stop in that time frame could be fatal.

Everyone could see Zhou Zhihan had reached his physical limit. The ground beneath him was soaked with sweat, as if it had rained lightly.

“Ding! Congratulations, host. Air Combat King system binding complete. Award: 100 Air Combat Coins.”

Riding the momentum, Zhou Zhihan did two extra burpees to ensure success, then collapsed to the ground. His throat felt stuffed with a huge steamed bun, breath was difficult, his body drenched as though washed in water, palms burning. Forget running 2 kilometers with weight—just standing up to jog slowly to avoid sudden death was tough.

Given his current condition, doing 60 burpees straight was extremely hard. Maintaining a pace of one burpee every two seconds for two minutes at this intensity could be deadly.

“Host, please complete the 2-kilometer weighted run within the next 8 minutes.”

Zhou Zhihan: “Motherfucker…”

System: “Counting down, 480, 479...”

(End of chapter)