Leonardo woke up dazzed
The first thing he noticed was the smell.
Rust. Oil. And something burnt—like metal left too long beneath a dead sun.
When Leonardo opened his eyes, he wasn't in his room anymore. No cracked phone screen. No rattling ceiling fan. No familiar noise from outside his window. Just a gray sky hanging low over broken concrete and twisted steel.
He was lying in an alley.
Fourteen years old.
He realized that the moment he tried to stand and nearly collapsed. His body was smaller, lighter—weak in a way that didn't belong to him. This wasn't the body he remembered.
Memories surfaced slowly, like water seeping through cracks in stone.
This world was Earth… but not his Earth.
Base cities. Monster hordes beyond the walls. Martial warriors. Genetic energy.
The Great Nirvana Era.
Swallowed Star.
The realization hit harder than fear.
"I'm… transmigrated," he muttered hoarsely. "And into this world of all places."
He had no parents here. No identity records. No money. Nothing. Just another orphan taken in by a welfare center inside a base city. They gave him food, a bunk bed, and a name written on a thin file—but in his head, he kept calling himself Leonardo. If he let go of that name, he felt like he'd vanish completely.
At first, he waited.
Every transmigrator had something, right?
A system.
A sealed soul.
A bloodline that awakened after getting beaten half to death.
Nothing happened.
Days passed. Then weeks.
He trained anyway.
He gathered information about the base city and found out—almost unbelievably—that this was Jiangnan Base City, the same city where Luo Feng rose. He had watched the story before, though not all of it. He stopped around the time Luo Feng left Primal Chaos City in the donghua. His knowledge of the future was incomplete at best.
That made things worse.
With half-knowledge and no cheat, Leonardo knew one thing clearly: this world didn't forgive weakness. People like him died quietly, forgotten.
So he chose to train like there was no tomorrow.
Not because he believed he was special—but because survival demanded it.
With no money to hire instructors and no one to guide him, Leonardo relied on the only thing he had left from his previous life: stubborn discipline. He used a ridiculous method he once laughed at online—the so-called Saitama training—as a way to build his foundation.
100 push-ups
100 sit-ups
100 squats
A 10 km run every day beofre starting to double the entire training amount to push himself to the limits.
The welfare center had basic facilities. Old equipment. Rusted weights. Breathing techniques copied from public manuals and pinned to the walls. Leonardo followed everything obsessively, even when his muscles screamed and his vision blurred.
Other kids complained.
He didn't.
He pushed until his hands split and bled. Until his lungs burned like fire was poured into them. At night, while others slept, he sat cross-legged on his bunk, practicing meditation—believing that when the time came, it would help him sense genetic energy faster.
I don't have cheats, he told himself.
So I'll train like hell.
A month passed.
Leonardo—now known as Kai in the welfare records—stood before the testing machines. He could feel the change in his body. Power coiled beneath his skin, restrained but undeniable.
How much stronger had he become?
He didn't know.
Taking a deep breath, slowly exhaling, Leonardo let out a low shout and swung his right fist forward.
Bang!
The punching machine shook.
Strength: 5000 KG
For a split second, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest—but he forcibly suppressed the joy rising inside him.
The testing isn't over yet, he told himself.
The supervisors nearby were already frozen in place.
They knew Leonardo's background. No family. No private tutors. No special resources. They kept a close eye on every child in the center, and aside from his bizarre training routine, there was nothing unusual about him.
Which made this terrifying.
The only explanation they could come up with was one word:
Genius.
They watched him like statues as he moved on to the speed test.
A blur.
The result flashed.
Speed: 72 m/s
Before Leonardo could even process it, the room exploded into noise. Orphans rushed toward him—some with wide eyes full of admiration, others with clenched fists and dark expressions.
The supervisors didn't waste a second.
One of them slammed the communicator button.
"Director! Director Zhang, please come immediately!"
Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The director burst in—Zhang Weimin a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a constantly stressed expression. Behind him were two senior supervisors from the center: Li Qiang and Wang Hao .
The moment Zhang Weimin saw the results on the screen, he froze.
Then his face flushed red not from anger, but from excitement.
"Fourteen years old…" he whispered. "Advanced Warrior stage?"
He looked at Leonardo like he was staring at a treasure chest.
"If this is accurate," Zhang Weimin said, voice shaking slightly, "then our welfare center has produced a monster."
Benefits.
Connections.
Funding.
Protection.
All of it would come flooding in if the news spread.
Leonardo stood quietly amid the chaos, his face steady, almost detached—but inside, something twisted.
This wasn't normal.
He knew the standards better than anyone in that room. An ordinary orphan with no background, no family resources, no elite bloodline—reaching Advanced Warrior in one month was beyond ridiculous. It was unheard of.
No genetic energy injections.
No combat manuals.
No instructor correcting his stance or breathing.
And yet… here he was.
I definitely have something, he thought, eyes lowering slightly. Some kind of cheat.
But no system panel popped up. No voice explained anything. Whatever it was, it stayed buried deep, silent, as if waiting for the right moment.
Director Wang didn't bother arguing with the staff anymore.
He trusted numbers more than opinions.
After personally rechecking the testing machines—calibration perfect, readings stable—he stepped aside, pulled out his communicator, and dialed a number he hadn't used in years.
The call connected after two rings.
"Still alive, Old Wang?" a rough, familiar voice came through.
Director Wang exhaled. "Wu Tong. Still as annoying as ever."
"Hah. You don't call me unless something's wrong—or something's priceless. Which is it?"
Wang glanced at Leonardo, who stood alone near the wall, quiet, patient, almost invisible.
"Both," Wang said seriously. "I'm at the orphanage district testing center. There's a kid here… fourteen years old."
Wu Tong snorted. "If this is about talent scouts fighting over scraps again—"
"He reached Advanced Warrior," Wang cut in. "One month. No formal training."
The line went silent.
A few seconds passed.
"…You sure you didn't drink before work?" Wu Tong finally said.
"I checked the machines myself."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Send me the data," Wu Tong said, his tone changing. "Right now."
Wang did.
On the other end, Wu Tong stared at the numbers, his brows slowly drawing together. The more he looked, the colder his expression became—not disbelief, but something closer to hunger.
"…Stay there," he said quietly. "Don't let anyone touch him. I'm coming."
The call ended.
Leonardo felt it then.
That subtle pressure—like eyes locking onto him from far away. Not hostile. Not kind. Just sharp. Measuring.
Director Wang walked back over and stood beside him.
"You did well," he said, voice low. "But from this moment on, things won't be simple anymore."
Leonardo nodded slightly. "I figured."
Less than an hour later, the sound of a hover vehicle cutting through the air echoed outside the building.
The doors slid open.
A tall man stepped inside, broad-shouldered, dressed in a simple black combat coat. His hair was graying, his presence heavy, like a mountain standing still—but every step carried suppressed power.
Wu Tong.
Director of the Dojo of Limits.
His eyes swept across the room, ignoring everyone else, until they landed on Leonardo.
The air seemed to tighten.
Wu Tong walked closer, stopping an arm's length away. He didn't speak at first—just looked. From posture to breathing rhythm to the faint tension in Leonardo's muscles.
Finally, he smiled.
Not warmly. Not cruelly.
Like a veteran hunter spotting a cub that hadn't realized its claws yet.
"Kid," Wu Tong said, "do you know what you just did?"
Leonardo met his gaze, calm as still water.
"I passed a test."
Wu Tong laughed softly. "No. You shattered a rule."
He straightened, hands behind his back.
"I'll be direct. Come to the Dojo of Limits. Full training. Full protection. Resources you can't imagine."
Director Wang raised a brow. "You're moving fast."
Wu Tong didn't look away from Leonardo.
"Talent like this doesn't wait."
He leaned down slightly, voice firm as he gave Leonardo a contract and a pen.
"This isn't charity. It's a contract. Your potentiolas are monstrous so I will double the genius contract to the limit of my authority and by the money only that mean you will get 60 billion yuan, along with the villa and other benifits."
Silence filled the room.
Leonardo closed his eyes for a brief second.
So this is it, he thought. The first turning point.
When he opened them again, there was no hesitation left.
"I'll go," he said signing the contract.
Wu Tong's smile widened.
"Good," he said. "Then welcome… to the dojo of limits I look forward to your future achievement's kid."
Leonardo just miles he knew things are about to get more exiting and with this contract his journey have began .