Chapter 3: Bully’s First Fall (Mia’s Handjob Debut)

Ethan Harlan stood in the cramped basement bathroom the next morning, steam still curling from the sink where he’d splashed water on his face. The mirror showed more than yesterday’s subtle shifts. Biceps rounded fuller beneath the skin, veins tracing faint ridges along his forearms. His jaw had sharpened into a clean, angular line that caught the light differently, making his reflection stare back with a quiet intensity he barely recognized as his own.

She wanted it, the thought looped through him, Lily’s desperate little sounds from the coding club still echoing low in his blood. But was it really her, or just the app twisting everything inside her head? And why does it feel so fucking good to know I made her lose control like that? The guilt scraped sharp against the rising thrill, a jagged edge he couldn’t quite dull. Power tasted like copper and heat on his tongue, addictive already.

He pulled on a fresh hoodie that now hugged his chest tighter, the fabric straining just enough to remind him the changes were still unfolding. School waited.

The locker hallway after gym class reeked of damp towels and chlorine from the showers down the corridor. Brock was waiting, seething from yesterday’s cafeteria slight, two sidekicks flanking him like loyal attack dogs. The shove came hard—palm slamming into Ethan’s sternum, driving him back against the painted cinderblock wall with enough force to bruise a normal kid.

“Think you’re tough now, Harlan?” Brock’s breath was hot and sour with protein shake residue, sweat beading along his hairline. Dane and Tyler laughed low, shoulders bumping like they were sharing a private joke.

Ethan’s upgraded muscles tensed on instinct. The app’s Confidence Boost flared warm behind his eyes. He straightened, voice dropping into a register that felt carved from stone—low, steady, impossible to ignore. “Back off. Now.”

Brock’s fist hovered mid-air, knuckles white. For a split second his expression fractured—confusion, then a flicker of something closer to doubt—before the big jock stepped back, muttering curses under his breath. The sidekicks shifted uneasily, feet scuffing the tile. The Aura rolled outward like invisible heat, and two cheer squad girls walking past slowed, necks flushing crimson, quick breaths parting their lips as their steps faltered.