Keep punching. When your knuckles split and bones crack, punch harder. Success isn't about breaking the wall—it's about breaking yourself and reforming stronger.

Before you stands an impossible barrier: six feet of pure tungsten, cold and unyielding. Your first strike draws blood. The metallic taste fills your mouth as you split your lip biting back screams. The wall doesn't move. It never will. But you evolve.

Most retreat. They pat the wall timidly, try shouldering it, press their palms against it—anything to avoid the pain. They rationalize: "There must be an easier way." They're right. There is. It's called giving up.

But a rare few—the ones they call crazy—keep striking. Their knuckles calcify into steel. Their arms become sledgehammers. Blood and sweat mix into war paint. The wall remains unmarked, yet their fists leave ghostly impressions, testament to thousands of impacts.

Society calls these warriors cold, mechanical, detached. Of course they are. Pain has stripped away everything but purpose. They've died a thousand times at the wall, each resurrection harder than the last.

Logic screams to stop. Every medical textbook explains why this is suicide. But success doesn't bow to reason—it kneels before the insane, those willing to break themselves against impossibility until they become impossible themselves.

You want to make it? Become the punch. Forget technique. Forget limits. Forget sanity. Just hit. Again. Again. The wall won't move.

But you will.