Ben Carter—correction, Ben Dover—was many things: a reincarnated university student, a reluctant salted fish, a masochist (only on paper), and now, a full-fledged water-carrying, part-time fisherman of Nuoding Academy.
Three months had passed since he'd awakened his Martial Soul, and things were... exhausting.
He had made some impressive progress: his soul power increased from level 3 to 4, and he could now maintain his Martial Soul for a whopping 12 hours a day without frying his brain into scrambled eggs. He had even started to experiment with activating it while sleeping.
…That last one didn't go so well.
The first time he tried, he woke up with a nosebleed, bloodshot eyes, and the memory of a dream where he was being chased by flying potatoes powered by soul power. He decided to scale it back a little. Maybe ease into the whole "sleep cultivation" thing.
Soul power growth aside, Ben had discovered a tragic reality that transcended both worlds.
He was broke.
"Isn't this supposed to be a fantasy world?" he muttered one afternoon, staring blankly at his empty coin pouch. "Where's my rich mysterious sponsor, or a sudden treasure inheritance? Even a cheat system would be nice…"
Unfortunately, there was no golden finger. Just his aching back and a stomach that sounded like a thunder beast.
Work-study students weren't exactly treated like princes. Most days, the academy provided simple meals and a bed. Luxuries like snacks, clean clothes, or soap? Out of pocket.
He had to do something.
After a night of brainstorming with his three remaining brain cells, Ben came up with a genius plan:
"If I have to carry water for the academy anyway, why not carry more water and charge the rich kids for it?"
Thus began Ben's side hustle: water-fetching from the nearby river. A job that offered exercise and income.
The townspeople didn't bat an eye. Some even thought he was just very passionate about hydration. Soon, he was seen running through the village four times a day, two buckets sloshing from a bamboo yoke over his shoulder.
"Oi, kid! You running again?" an old farmer called out.
"Yup! Water waits for no one!" Ben called back, wheezing but smiling like a man possessed.
"You gonna wear your legs out before you hit puberty!"
"That's the dream, Grandpa Li!"
Every day was the same.
Wake up. Activate Martial Soul. Feel slightly headachy. Go for a run. Carry water. Fish a little. Maybe even find a big one if luck was on his side.
Ben had created his own little economy. Some of the other work-study students even paid him a bit of their allowance for extra water so they didn't have to do it themselves.
His muscles had noticeably grown. His arms, once noodle-like, now had definition. His legs were toned. His back was sore.
...But that last one was a given.
Classes were... okay.
The academy teachers mostly focused on basic cultivation theory, martial soul classifications, and guidance on acquiring a spirit ring—none of which was applicable to a level 4 work-study student just yet.
That left them with long stretches of "independent training time."
For most students, this was an excuse toplay and have fun.
For Ben? Well…
He was already doing a full-body training montage twice a day fetching water and practicing mental endurance by keeping his Martial Soul active. During class, he mostly stared out the window, pondering the physics of soul power flow and wondering if Newton would cry if he saw this world.
Through all this, the mini Evoltruster still hung from his neck like a stubborn reminder of his previous world. Its faint silver-blue sheen never dimmed, and sometimes—just sometimes—he'd catch it pulsing when he activated his Martial Soul.
His Martial Soul—an energy core embedded in his chest—passively absorbed spirit energy whenever it was active. It was the only reason his cultivation was progressing so quickly despite his mediocre innate talent.
Still, it wasn't perfect.
It took mental stamina to keep it going.
So he trained that too—by keeping it on for as long as possible, even when he was just laying in a field, chewing on grass like a cow, or counting clouds shaped like spirit beasts.
In the end, Ben's life could be summed up as:
Muscle pain. Headaches. Minimal money. No girls. And buckets. So many buckets.
But weirdly enough… he didn't mind.
"I just wanna be a salted fish," he muttered one evening, lying on his favorite patch of grass outside Dorm 7, shirtless, arms outstretched like he was trying to become one with the sky. "But if I'm gonna be a salted fish, I wanna be a shredded one…"
"Ben! You forgot your buckets!"
"DAMMIT!"
He shot up, grabbed the buckets, and ran back toward the river—grumbling the whole way.