Everyone Gets to Draw Cards, but My N-Rank Cards Are a Little Strange

On my eighteenth birthday, I drew an N-rank card.

When the light faded, four bold characters appeared on its face: [Hard Work Makes Up for Lack of Talent].

The entire room fell silent, then erupted in laughter.

The campus beauty from the class next door, my childhood friend, calmly revealed her SSR card, [Frost Queen]. The contempt in her eyes could freeze a person solid.

My father went gray overnight. My mother hugged me and wept. “Son, from now on… maybe you should just get a job at a factory.”

I refused to believe it.

That night, I threw my first punch at a sandbag.

[Physique +0.0000001]

A barely perceptible, yet undeniably real, notification appeared before my eyes.

I froze, then was overcome with joy.

Years later, at the Global Rookie Championship,

the campus beauty who had once mocked me was cornered by a UR-rank prodigy known as [One-Punch Man].

He sneered at me. “A useless N-card loser thinks he belongs on this stage?”

I said nothing. I simply opened the status panel only I could see and looked at the number on it: [Punches Thrown: 108,659,427]. Then I gently blew toward him.

In the wake of my punch, the arena barrier, said to be absolutely impenetrable, vanished along with half the city behind him.