Chapter 17: Real Combat and Instant Defeat

By the time Wu Yuan and Dong Qingjie returned to the dorm, they were surprised to find Chen Xu already lying in bed, fast asleep. It was just past 9 p.m.—normally, Chen Xu wouldn't hit the sack before midnight. He was usually the most enthusiastic participant in their post-lights-out dorm chats. What had gotten into him today?

Qin Xiao'an, however, raised a finger to his lips with a "shh" gesture. "Third Bro's wiped out today. He got wrecked by some girl!"

The phrasing was dripping with innuendo, instantly piquing the curiosity of the lecherous Wu Yuan and Dong Qingjie. They bombarded Qin with questions, oblivious to the oversized headphones covering Chen Xu's ears.

Not that they'd have thought much of it anyway. Those big headphones were standard issue from the school, used for English classes or listening comprehension during exams. Of course, in downtime, they doubled as radios. Qin Xiao'an, for instance, tuned into 91.6 FM every night before bed, perversely lulled to sleep by ghost stories or late-night adult talk shows.

But Chen Xu's headphones were no ordinary pair—they were a disguise for his supercomputer, functioning like a legendary virtual reality helmet. By stimulating his brain with electrical waves, they enabled direct human-machine interaction.

The first time Chen Xu logged into the BC platform, he'd been blown away.

It was truly immersive!

Well, sort of. The immersion was limited to sight and sound—smell and touch hadn't been activated yet. That threw him off a bit. He'd tried pinching himself a few times, but felt nothing, as if his body wasn't even his own.

"Welcome to the BC system platform," came Xiaomin's voice as her virtual avatar materialized before him. Chen Xu couldn't help but gawk and mutter praises under his breath.

On the PC platform, Xiaomin's desktop interface was flat—adjustable to 3D, sure, but nowhere near as lifelike. Here on BC, she appeared as a fully realized figure, so stunningly beautiful it was almost over-the-top. If not for that exaggerated perfection, you'd struggle to tell her apart from a real person.

"I wonder if I could touch her…" Chen Xu's mind wandered into sleazy territory. Even facing a virtual character, he didn't dare reach for her chest. Instead, he let out an "oops" and pretended to stumble toward her. But as his hand made contact, it passed right through her body—she was just a projection, after all.

"Should've known," he grumbled, chastising himself for being a creep. "This is a Chinese system. No way it'd have that kind of feature. Now, if it were Japanese…"

His imagination ran wild, picturing virtual romps with digital beauties. "Pervert, pervert!" he scolded himself again, cheeks flushing. Still, he couldn't resist asking Xiaomin about it.

"There are games like that," she replied matter-of-factly, unfazed as only a robot could be. "But they haven't passed review in China, and they're not installed on this device. Companies like Japan's Illusion have developed a series of H-games for virtual systems, which are highly praised in the adult gaming community. However, a side effect is that over ninety percent of Japanese couples report diminished or nonexistent marital intimacy due to these games. As a result, they're banned in many countries."

Chen Xu broke into a nervous sweat. That tracked, didn't it? Look at Xiaomin—those looks, that figure! Add a personality and appearance customizable to your every whim, plus emotional bonding, and who'd bother with a real-life nagging spouse? Cough… He wondered what the, uh, intimate experience would feel like…

Whoa, blushing again.

Chen Xu didn't dive into FIFA first, despite his casual interest in soccer. Instead, he opted for Real Combat Training. Every boy dreams of being a martial arts hero, right? Action movies rake in box office gold for a reason, and what kid hasn't swung a bamboo stick, imagining themselves as their favorite warrior?

So, combat it was—though he bailed after just five minutes.

Here's the play-by-play of those five minutes: He spawned in, jaw dropped, gawking at the vast, dazzling arena for a solid two minutes. The next two and a half minutes? Xiaomin explaining the rules. Why Xiaomin again?

Simple reason: future computers had storage so vast it was practically infinite, packed with more programs than anyone could sift through. Finding anything was a nightmare without help. Xiaomin was like the "Thunder Game Hub" of today—a platform that cataloged all your games in one place for easy access. She didn't need separate assistants for each game; she just tapped into their libraries and took over.

The rules briefing lasted two and a half minutes because Chen Xu was too impatient to hear it all. Once he figured out how to start and pick an opponent, he chose… a Muay Thai master. Name? Sorry, he didn't catch it.

Talk about disrespecting a pro!

Karma hit fast. Scanning his physical stats took twenty seconds, earning him an F-grade—second-to-last in the fitness rankings, just above "disabled."

The final ten seconds? He stepped into the ring, took a few paces, and both fighters struck poses and bowed—five seconds of pure adrenaline. It felt so real; he could even see the glint of menace in his opponent's eyes!

Chen Xu circled cautiously, mimicking moves he'd seen on TV, while his opponent prowled for an opening. Three seconds of tension. Then—bam!—the guy pounced like a leopard, landing a lightning-fast straight punch. Before Chen Xu could react, it smashed square into his nose, sending him flying backward. KO! Game over!

Good thing he'd turned off the pain settings beforehand. In full military training mode—with pain and injury toggled on—he'd probably be sprawled out, unable to get up.

"That guy's inhuman!" Chen Xu muttered, still reeling from the punch. Xiaomin chimed in with the stats: a modest 120-pound strike—enough to cave his nose into his face in real life, but not fatal. His opponent? A red-headbanded, tenth-dan Muay Thai champ named Chadem, a middleweight world titleholder.

A total rookie challenging a world champ on his first go? As he exited, Chen Xu kept muttering, "Am I tired of living? Am I tired of living?!"

This wasn't like his beloved Samurai Shodown or King of Fighters. No flashy super moves here—and worse, no balance. In most fighting games, every character has a fair shot, quirks and all. No one's doomed to be trash-tier.

But Chen Xu? He was the punching bag.

Xiaomin offered her critique: "Your physical condition is poor, yet you challenged the highest-difficulty opponent. Failure was inevitable. We suggest starting with the weakest foes and training your real-world fitness to improve."

"Can I at least steamroll the weakest guy?" he asked hopefully.

"Not likely. This is a combat simulator, not a stress-relief toy. Even the lowest-tier opponent matches a D-grade instructor's skill."

He gulped. "Uh, what's a D-grade instructor like?"

"Roughly equivalent to a top-performing martial arts student at a paramilitary academy."

"…Never mind." Chen Xu finally knew his limits. He could maybe ambush someone weaker with a brick, but against anyone trained—or even just burly—he'd be toast. "Am I tired of living?" he mumbled again. "Challenging a champ?!"

"For beginners, we recommend skipping live combat and starting with basic training under an instructor," Xiaomin suggested. "Which style would you like to learn? We recommend the military combat system—a blend of Chinese martial arts and the best global techniques. It's practical, effective, and excels in real fights. Would you like to try?"

"Maybe later," Chen Xu waved her off. That jaw-dropping punch still haunted him, his heart pounding like crazy. His fragile psyche had taken a beating—another round was the last thing he needed.

But it clicked why this game was restricted to military or elite circles. Its potential was insane. Train like this for real, and the streets would be crawling with Bruce Lees. When martial prowess defies law—imagine a world like the finale of Shaolin Soccer. Terrifying.

"Think I'll check out the soccer game instead."