SSS-Rank Talent: Super Upgrade System-Chapter 156: Rhythm Of The Radish!

Please read the updated Chapter 155. Apologies for the inconvenience. (Basic Hygiene!)

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Daniel could hardly believe it, but it was real.

"What in the...?" he breathed, his eyes wide. He looked at his hands, then at the small, remaining piece of the lumpy brown soap resting by the wash bucket.

The Cleansing Root soap was more than it appeared, a potent alchemical creation, a recovery aid so powerful it defied belief.

It had not only healed his strained body but had actively strengthened it.

A new perspective on Old Man Hemlock slammed into him with the force of a revelation.

The eccentric ramblings about native ginseng, the seemingly insane advice to feel the rhythm of the radish, the forced, humiliating bath... it wasn’t madness.

It had all been a test, a lesson. The old man wasn’t merely a deaf, irritable farmer, he was a master in disguise, teaching through the most cryptic, exasperating, yet effective methods imaginable.

The Principal hadn’t just sent him here to be humbled, he had sent him here to learn from this hidden expert.

"That clever old bastard," Daniel murmured, a slow grin spreading across his face, a mixture of frustration and genuine admiration. "He was teaching me all along."

That morning, after a breakfast of radish stew that Daniel now ate with a new, grudging respect, he approached the vast radish field with a completely different mindset.

He no longer saw it as a place of humiliation, but as a training ground. He put aside his pride, his frustration, and his desire for a shortcut. He was going to learn.

He didn’t try to compete with Hemlock. He simply watched him. He observed every detail, every subtle movement.

He saw it then, the rhythm the old man had been talking about. It wasn’t about brute force.

Hemlock didn’t just pull with his arms. He used his entire body in a single, fluid, coordinated motion.

He would plant his feet, sinking his weight into the earth. He would twist his hips, generating torque from his core.

His arms would then follow through, not pulling forcefully, but guiding the radish from the soil with a final, decisive twist of his wrists.

It was a perfect synergy of leverage, timing, and momentum. It was a martial art, disguised as farming.

Daniel began to imitate him. His first few attempts were still clumsy. He was used to relying on overwhelming power, not on technique and balance.

But he persisted. He focused on his footing, on the coil of his waist, on the snap of his wrists.

He ignored the burning in his muscles and the mocking whispers of the other workers. He just focused on the rhythm.

Thump. He pulled one out. It was still difficult, but easier than the day before.

Thump. Another. This one came a little smoother.

He fell into a state of deep concentration, the world narrowing to just him, the soil, and the radish.

He forgot about his sealed power, his S-Grade skills, his legendary reputation. He was just a farmer, learning his craft.

The wind, which had once shrieked with his futile his futile efforts, now moved in sync with him, a steady rhythm.

The ground, which had once fought him, now seemed to yield more easily, as if acknowledging his newfound respect.

He worked through the lunch break, his hunger forgotten, his focus absolute.

By the time the evening bell rang, he was moving with a new, practiced efficiency, his body aching but his spirit soaring with the satisfaction of genuine progress.

He walked to the collection point, his two wicker baskets now overflowing.

He had lost count of how many radishes he had pulled, but he knew it was significantly more than the day before.

The manager, Silas, was there, his face as cold and indifferent as ever.

He looked at Daniel’s overflowing baskets, then at his datapad, a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes.

"Hemlock," Silas called out, his voice flat.

"Two hundred and one radishes. First place. As expected." Hemlock gave his usual proud, toothless grin. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

"Vance," Silas said, his gaze lingering on Daniel for a moment.

"Sixty-two radishes. Thirteenth place. A significant improvement. You have officially passed the probationary period.

Welcome to the Eastern Medicine Garden, Farmer Vance. Don’t get lazy."

He made a note on his datapad and moved on, but Daniel felt a profound sense of victory.

He had done it. He had survived!

Relieved but still burning with curiosity, he found Hemlock packing up his tools.

"Old Man Hemlock," Daniel said, trying to project his voice clearly, "that soap you gave me.

The Cleansing Root soap. What is in it? It’s incredible. It healed me and made me stronger."

Hemlock turned, cupping a hand to his ear and squinting in exaggerated concentration.

Daniel saw a flicker of understanding in the old man’s eyes for a split second before it was gone, replaced by a mask of deliberate confusion.

"What’s that, boy?" Hemlock rasped, his voice thin and crackling. "You hope... you hope to do the dishes tonight?"

He let out a short, sharp cackle.

"Ha! Well, it’s about time! A young lad like you, letting an old man with a bad back handle all the domestic chores!

No wonder you can’t pull a radish properly, your hands are too soft!"

He poked Daniel’s chest with a dirt-caked finger for emphasis.

"Good, good! That’s the spirit! You wash, I’ll supervise. Make sure you get all the radish-stew residue off the bowls. I can’t abide a dirty bowl!"

Before Daniel could even formulate a reply, completely disarmed by the old man’s blatant and infuriating deflection, Hemlock patted him firmly on the back.

"That’s a good lad." He shuffled off toward their room, humming his usual off-key tune about a turnip and a wheelbarrow.

Daniel stood alone in the field, speechless, frustration clashing with a reluctant, almost painful respect.

He looked at his hands, feeling the new, hard-earned strength in them.

He was still powerless, still a glorified farmhand, and apparently, he was also on dish duty.

But for the first time, he felt like he was truly on the right path, one step at a time, one radish at a time.

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