The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor dragged John out of unconsciousness, his senses sluggishly reorienting. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nose, a clear indicator of exactly where he was before he even opened his eyes.
Hospital. Again.
With a slow inhale, he blinked against the bright overhead lights. His body felt like lead, every limb heavier than it should be, the dull ache of countless injuries humming beneath the surface. His shoulder throbbed in protest at even the slightest movement, and his left hand—he flexed it instinctively—felt... wrong.
But then, he noticed it.
Something new.
It wasn't sight. It wasn't sound. It wasn't even touch.
Yet, he felt it.
A presence, an impression beyond physical senses. Something deeper, woven into the fabric of existence.
And it wasn't just him.
There was another.
His sluggish gaze turned, and there she was.
Standing beside his bed, arms folded over her chest, was Mary.
John had met Mary a couple of times now, long enough to recognize the exasperation in her sigh, the way her purple eyes softened despite the irritation in her voice. But now, he sensed something else entirely.
Her soul.
Not a thing he could see, not something tangible, but a weight, an impression. It was warm, steady, an anchor of unwavering resolve wrapped in a presence that was both sharp and nurturing at the same time.
It wasn't a vague feeling, either. He could almost understand it.
John's brows furrowed slightly. He hadn't possessed the ability to perceive souls. He knew experienced sorcerers like Takumi had the ability to reinforce their own soul and even target the soul with enough training and experience, but how had he gained that knowledge himself? Was it some sort of natural development from constantly pushing his limits?
Or had that brief moment inside Marian's soul changed him?
His thoughts must have lingered too long because Mary's sharp voice pulled him back.
"I swear, John, you are the most exhausting patient I've ever had."
The weight of her presence shifted, her frustration flaring just slightly before settling back into something calmer.
John let out a slow breath, still adjusting to the new awareness gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.
"Mary." His voice was rough, weaker than he liked.
She quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. Her soul rippled, faintly, but noticeably.
"Oh, so you do remember my name. That's a relief," she said, clicking her tongue. "I was starting to think I'd have to run some neurological tests."
John tried to smirk. "Missed you too, doc."
She raised an eyebrow. "Funny. Maybe if you actually listened to me once in a while, we wouldn't be having these little reunions."
His body protested as he tried to shift, pain flaring up his ribs and through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth. "How bad is it?"
Mary didn't answer immediately. Instead, she simply gestured to the side table next to his bed.
His gaze followed hers.
Flowers. A lot of them. Some fresh, others slightly wilted. A neatly folded letter sat among them, his name written in careful, familiar handwriting. The bottom was lined with multiple signatures. Rapi, Neon, Anis, Marian, Vesti, Emma…
Beside it sat a small plate of sweets, golden-brown and neatly arranged, their scent unmistakable.
Apple pie-flavored candies.
Something tightened in his chest.
Mary sighed. "Do you ever stop to consider the people you leave behind when you throw yourself into death's waiting arms?"
John said nothing.
She flipped through her tablet, scrolling his vitals. "You came in with severe muscle atrophy, malnourishment, broken ribs, torn ligaments, internal bleeding, nerve damage, and you're missing two fingers…" She glanced up sharply, eyes narrowing. "John. Do you even remember how close you were to dying?"
The words hung heavy in the air.
John did remember.
The weight of Modernia's hand crushing him. The agonizing pull of his own technique draining every last bit of energy from his body. The creeping cold of death crawling up his spine.
He had felt it, the moment his body had given up.
And for the first time… he had been afraid.
His fingers curled weakly against the blanket.
Mary, watching him closely, softened just a fraction. She nodded toward the letter. "They've been waiting for you. Every day."
John swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
She shook her head. "You don't just hurt yourself when you do this. You hurt them too."
He exhaled slowly. "I know."
Mary narrowed her eyes slightly, as if gauging the sincerity of his words. "Do you?"
John looked at the letter again. At the sweets. At the carefully arranged flowers.
His chest ached, but not from his injuries.
"I hear you," he muttered.
Mary didn't look entirely convinced, but she sighed and jotted something on her clipboard.
"For now, no training, no fights, no stress. You need time to recover properly. Pepper and I aren't letting you out of here until you can actually stand without nearly dying in the process."
John smirked. "You know me, doc. No rest for the wicked."
She gave him a deadpan stare.
"John."
"…Fine, fine."
She still didn't seem convinced, but she let it slide. "I'll believe it when I see it." Then, with a softer tone, she added, "Get some rest, Commander."
As she turned to leave, he called out, "Mary."
She glanced back.
"…Thanks."
She gave him a small smile. "Don't mention it."
And with that, she was gone.
John had always accepted death.
As a jujutsu sorcerer, you were taught to die with as few regrets as possible. If you clung to life too desperately, if you carried too much hatred, you risked turning into a vengeful spirit.
He had believed that when his time came, he would simply go.
No regrets. No attachments. Just gone.
But in that moment,when he had felt his body break, when the last of his strength had bled away, he had feared something he never had before.
Not just dying.
But leaving them behind.
His hand hovered over the letter on the bedside table.
His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up, unfolding the paper, tracing over the familiar strokes of their signatures.
His vision blurred.
For the first time… he wasn't sure if he was ready to die.
From the rooftop, a lone figure crouched in the shadows, unseen and unnoticed, his form blending seamlessly with the darkness. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting long, wavering beams that never quite reached him. Below, the hospital stood in silence, the artificial lights from within the room making the window all the more visible.
Behind that glass, John sat motionless.
The observer remained still, only the slow rise and fall of his breath betraying his presence. He wasn't here to interfere. Not yet. He was only here to watch. To report.
John's condition had been in question ever since the extraction. His survival was expected, sorcerers like him did not die easily, but the extent of his injuries had been severe. Even now, there was a fragility to him that hadn't been present before. His posture was slightly slouched, his normally sharp presence dulled, his movements lethargic. The damage he had sustained had taken its toll.
Still, there were signs of recovery. His breathing was steady, his fingers occasionally flexing as if testing their strength. He was healing. Slowly, but surely.
The report would be simple:
Codename Hashashin—alive. Severely weakened. Recovery progressing, but diminished from prior engagements. Mental state: unknown.
That last part was a concern. A soldier's wounds could heal. Strength could be rebuilt. But the mind? That was more fragile. There was no way to know what was going through John's head. But the way he stared off into the distance now, something was weighing on him.
The observer's gaze lingered a moment longer before he shifted, muscles tensing beneath his cloak. His job was done. A final glance, a confirmation that nothing had changed in the last few minutes, and then he slipped away, his form dissolving into the night like mist carried by the wind.
His report would reach Jun soon.
And Jun would decide what came next.
The door to John's hospital room slammed open, the force behind it enough to make the hanging IV beside him tremble.
"John!"
The next thing he knew, Neon had practically thrown herself at his bedside, stopping just short of actually tackling him. Her hands hovered awkwardly in the air, as if she wasn't sure whether to shake him, hug him, or scold him.
Behind her, Anis, Rapi, and Marian filed in, followed by a clearly exasperated Pepper, who let out a loud sigh as she rubbed her temples.
"I specifically told you all to be calm about this," Pepper grumbled before stepping in properly. "So, of course, the first thing you do is try to give the poor man a heart attack."
John, still sluggish from both his injuries and the sheer exhaustion weighing him down, barely managed to process the sheer energy that had just invaded his hospital room.
"Master!" Neon beamed at him, rocking back and forth on her heels. "You're finally awake! Do you know how long we've been waiting?!"
Anis crossed her arms, giving him a lopsided smirk, though her eyes looked like they were holding back tears. "I was this close to betting that you'd be out for another week. But hey, good to see you've still got that stubbornness keeping you going."
Rapi, standing near the foot of the bed, gave him a quiet, measured look before nodding and flashing a slight smile. "It's good to see you awake."
But John's gaze drifted to Marian.
She stood a little apart from the others, watching him carefully, her red eyes flickering with something uncertain. From the first moment that she had stepped in, she looked as if she was holding her breath.
John met her eyes directly.
"You good?" His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse, but steady.
Marian blinked.
The tension visibly melted from her shoulders, her breath coming out in a quiet, relieved sigh. The weight she had been carrying—not just since they got back, but since she had become Modernia finally seemed to lift, even if just a little.
"I'm okay," she said softly.
John gave her a small nod. "Good."
"Okay," Pepper clapped her hands together, redirecting the room's attention. "Before you all get too sentimental, I need to go over some things."
John braced himself.
"You're severely malnourished," Pepper started, already listing off all the ways his body was failing him. "Whatever insane thing you did put your body through so much stress that you've lost a significant amount of muscle mass. Even if your wounds are healing, your body is far from okay."
John sighed. "I get it—"
"Oh, I'm not done." Pepper cut him off sharply, pointing a finger at him. "You'll need to stay in the hospital for at least another week. No exceptions."
John exhaled through his nose. "Figured as much."
"You're also going to be on a special diet," she continued, her tone leaving zero room for argument. "Nutrient-rich supplements and a strict drug regimen to rebuild your body. You don't have much of a choice unless you want to stay looking like a half-starved skeleton."
John, already resigned to his fate, just nodded.
"And once you're out, you'll need physical therapy."
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small black card, placing it onto his bedside table with practiced ease.
"Call Rumani when you're discharged," she instructed. "She's a trainer. One of the best. You're going to need her if you ever want to function properly again."
John picked up the card, glancing at the name before tucking it into the pocket of his hospital gown.
Pepper sighed, finally letting some of her own tension ease. "Just... don't be stupid for once. Follow the damn treatment plan."
John tilted his head slightly. "You really don't trust me, huh?"
Pepper gave him a deadpan look. "Would you?"
John blinked.
Anis snorted. "Oof. She's got you there, boss."
Rapi, arms crossed, simply nodded in agreement.
John, with no comeback to that, just sighed and sank a little further into his hospital bed.
"...Fine. I'll behave."
Pepper narrowed her eyes.
"As best as I can," he amended.
She rolled her eyes but let it go. For now.
As Pepper busied herself checking his vitals, John let his gaze drift toward the others.
Anis was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her usual easy grin in place but lacking its usual sharpness. She had the look of someone who had far too much to say but was holding most of it back.
Neon, on the other hand, was practically vibrating, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her hands fidgeting. She kept glancing at him, as if making sure he was real and not about to disappear again.
Marian stood at his bedside, staring at him with an intensity that could drill through steel. Her hands were clasped tightly, knuckles pale, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Rapi, ever composed, simply watched, arms folded across her chest. She didn't need to say anything. The relief in her stance was subtle, but unmistakable.
John exhaled through his nose. "Alright," he said, his voice still hoarse, "I'm alive. You can stop looking at me like I'm going to keel over any second."
Neon suddenly threw herself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders.
"Never do that again!" she half-wailed, half-growled.
John grunted as pain flared up his back, but he let her cling to him, hesitating for only a second before patting her awkwardly on the back.
"I'll... try?" he offered.
"Not good enough!" Neon sniffled.
Anis snickered before reaching out and lightly flicking his forehead. "Seriously, boss. You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?" She sighed, before her voice dropped into a lower, more somber tone. "I worry about you a lot, you know?"
John huffed out a weak laugh. "Yeah, I know."
She sighed but let her annoyance drop, her expression softening as she plopped down in the chair next to his bed. "Glad you're not dead, though."
John tilted his head, something in his expression unreadable.
"...Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
Rapi's sharp gaze flickered to him at that, as if she caught something in his tone.
Before she could say anything, Pepper cut in.
"Alright," she huffed, jotting something down on her tablet. "Vitals are stable, but you're still a mess. Try not to make my job harder than it already is, got it?"
John gave a lazy salute. "Wouldn't dream of it."
A week later.
The wheels of the hospital-issued wheelchair rattled against the pavement as Rapi steadily pushed John toward the exit. The afternoon sun bathed the Ark in an amber glow, casting long shadows along the pathway leading out of the medical facility.
John rested his arms on the wheelchair's armrests, his body still too weak for long walks but at least in one piece. His gaunt frame had barely started to fill out again.
Rapi kept a steady pace, eyes forward as she maneuvered him through the quiet streets.
"How's the Outpost?" John asked, his voice casual, but there was an underlying weight to the question.
Rapi didn't hesitate. "No intrusions. The plan worked. With Material H in the hands of Elysion and the MMR research teams, the attention was diverted away from Marian."
John nodded slowly. That was good. That was the whole point. Keep Marian out of the spotlight. Make sure she wasn't seen as a threat or a target.
Still… something was nagging at him.
His fingers drummed lightly against the wheelchair's frame as he shifted slightly, glancing toward Rapi. "On the letter… I noticed something."
Rapi remained silent.
John exhaled, his voice deliberately neutral. "Eunhwa didn't sign it."
He felt, rather than saw, Rapi's grip tighten on the wheelchair's handles.
He waited, giving her a moment, but when she didn't answer, he pressed on. "I also haven't heard a thing about Matis."
Rapi's pace slowed.
John's brow furrowed. "Rapi?"
She was quiet for a second longer, then finally, her voice came—soft, measured. "Matis and Eunhwa… have been placed in stasis."
John's fingers curled against his thigh. "What?"
Rapi kept walking, her tone unchanged. "They were too far gone. Their corruption was irreversible. This is… the only way to stall it."
John was stunned. His memory of the mission was hazy at best. He remembered Modernia. He remembered fighting. But he didn't remember—
"Wait," he shook his head, his voice lower. "They were corrupted?"
Rapi's shoulders tensed, but she nodded.
"Why wasn't I told?" John's voice wasn't accusing, but there was something raw in it.
John sat back in the wheelchair, processing the information in silence. His mind felt like it was still catching up, piecing together the gaps in his memory from that mission. Matis and Eunhwa… corrupted. And now, they were frozen in time, locked away until someone found a cure. If that was even possible.
It was a fate worse than death in some ways.
His fingers lightly tapped against the armrest of the chair, his voice quiet but firm. "So that's why I haven't seen them."
Rapi kept her gaze forward, her expression unreadable. "Yes."
John let out a long breath. He still felt off-balance, like he was missing something. He'd expected something to be wrong—nothing about that mission felt like it could have ended cleanly—but this was…
"How bad was it?"
Rapi was silent for a beat. Then, evenly, she answered, "It was bad."
John exhaled. "And there's no way to reverse it?"
"Not yet."
He could hear the finality in her tone. It wasn't pessimism. It was fact.
John let his head lean back slightly, his eyes drifting toward the sky.
Eunhwa in stasis. Matis in stasis. He hadn't been there when it happened—hadn't been awake to help.
It wasn't just guilt that settled in his chest. It was frustration. Powerlessness.
"You should have told me sooner," he muttered.
"You weren't in any condition to help," Rapi countered, her voice still level.
He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "And what? I am now?"
Rapi didn't reply.
John sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Still. I get it."
She nodded. "I know."
And that was that.
For John, at least.
Rapi kept walking, her pace steady. To him, it would have looked like she was unshaken. Like she was the same as always—rigid, precise, steady as a rock.
But beneath that, there was something heavier pressing down on her.
She had spent the past two weeks running through it all in her head. The way Eunhwa looked at her before everything had gone black. The way her voice cut through her like a blade. The way she screamed that word.
"Traitor."
Rapi had known it wasn't truly Eunhwa speaking. The corruption had taken her mind, twisted it, made her something she wasn't.
But deep down, that word still stuck.
Because, in some way, it had always been there. Even before the corruption. Before the mission. Before everything.
She hadn't explained herself back then. Had just walked away.
And now?
Now, she might never get the chance to say anything at all.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the handles of the wheelchair.
She kept walking.
They arrived back at the command center.
John's eyes lit up the moment he saw the apple pie sitting neatly on the table in front of him. A real handmade apple pie, not some store-bought flavoured spledamin block, not some half-burnt mess from a rations pack. It was an actual, handmade pie.
Anis, Neon, and Marian stood nearby, looking way too pleased with themselves.
"Welcome back, Master!" Neon cheered, practically bouncing in place.
Anis smirked, arms crossed. "We slaved away for hours to make this happen. So, y'know, you better appreciate it."
Marian, a bit more reserved, gave him a soft smile. "It's not much, but… we thought you'd like it."
John grinned, reaching for the knife to cut himself a slice. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."
Then, just as he was about to dig in, a firm grip latched onto his wrist.
"No."
Rapi's flat voice stopped him cold.
John blinked, looking up at her. "...No?"
Rapi pulled out a bag from her side pouch. A small, sealed container. A faint squelch came from within.
John stared at the green, gelatinous goop inside.
"…What the hell is that?"
Rapi's expression remained neutral as she set the bag down beside the pie. "Your prescribed Splendamin and Neutrim mix. Specially tailored for nutrient absorption and muscle recovery."
John's face fell.
"No."
"Yes."
He shook his head. "Absolutely not."
Rapi crossed her arms. "Mary and Pepper's orders. You're on this for the next month."
John looked around for help.
Anis clearly wanted to laugh but had the decency to cover her mouth.
Neon, however, had zero self-control and was already cackling. "Pffft—Master, no apple pie for you~!"
Marian looked genuinely torn, like she wanted to step in but also didn't want to risk Pepper and Mary's wrath.
John turned back to Rapi, pleading. "I just got out of the hospital. Doesn't that mean I deserve something good to eat?"
Rapi didn't budge. "It means you need to fully recover."
John's shoulders slumped. He looked back at the pie, then at the abomination in the bag.
A long, deep sigh.
"…This is actually worse than the Raptures."
The Next Morning
John tightened the straps on his boots, rolling his shoulders as much as his still-recovering body would allow. His hand tightened around the small card Pepper had given him a week ago. Body X body Gym, neatly printed in bold font.
"Man, I get why you wanna get back in shape, but don't you think you're pushing it?"
Anis sat perched on the armrest of the couch, one leg swinging lazily, arms folded. She tilted her head, watching him with clear skepticism. "You literally just got out of the hospital. You could, y'know, rest a little. Maybe do some of your weird magic stuff instead of torturing yourself?"
John sighed, tucking the card into his pocket. "That's not how it works."
Anis raised an eyebrow. "What, you can't just wave your hands around and fix it?"
John huffed a short laugh, grabbing his jacket. "Sorcery doesn't exist in a vacuum, Anis. Your physical condition affects your output. If your body is weak, your technique suffers. Especially if your fighting style is as close-range as mine." He ran a hand through his still-messy hair, mildly irritated. "I need to rebuild my muscle mass, get my endurance back. Right now, I can barely move properly."
Anis shrugged. "Yeah, makes sense." She then smirked. "Still, I bet it really pisses you off how long it's gonna take."
John exhaled sharply. "You have no idea."
"Ahhh," Anis grinned, watching as he wheeled himself toward the door. "Commander's mad that he's not an untouchable badass anymore."
"Commander is mad that he's stuck eating green goop for a month and can barely walk," John deadpanned.
Anis laughed, but before she could tease him further, both their eyes were drawn to movement by the front entrance.
Marian was standing near the door, adjusting a wide-brimmed hat atop her head. Her outfit was different from her usual gear, a simple white sundress, light and airy, catching the morning breeze. The sight was so unexpected that John actually stopped wheeling himself for a second.
She noticed them looking and fidgeted slightly, adjusting the strap of her small handbag. "…I'm heading out."
John nodded toward her outfit. "You going somewhere fancy?"
Marian shook her head quickly. "No! It's just…" she hesitated, then finally admitted, "My favorite book series is getting a new release today. There's a signing event at the new Tallentum Mall in the outpost."
Anis grinned. "Ooooh. Bookworm Marian. Didn't peg you as the type."
Marian looked away, her cheeks slightly pink.
John smirked, watching her reaction. "So, what's the book?"
Marian froze.
Anis leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Yeah, what's it about?"
Marian immediately turned toward the door. "Doesn't matter. I should go."
John and Anis exchanged a look before John shrugged. "Well, my gym's near the mall. Might as well head there together."
Marian nodded, still very pointedly avoiding eye contact. "That's fine."
Anis crossed her arms, pouting. "C'mon, you gotta tell us what the book is."
Marian opened the door, stepping outside, John following after her. "No."
The streets of the outpost were lively, the usual bustle of the morning routine in full swing. Squads moved between their posts, supply convoys rolled by, and Nikkes in civilian clothes wandered between shops, making the place feel… almost normal. Almost like a real city.
John wheeled himself alongside Marian, matching her steady pace. The quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable, if anything, it felt surprisingly easy.
He glanced up at her, noting how her posture had changed. Her usual stiffness was gone. Her shoulders weren't as rigid, her steps weren't weighed down like they usually were. There was even a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her lips. It wasn't much, but it was there.
John found himself smiling too, just a little.
For the first time since waking up in the hospital, things felt… peaceful.
But the feeling didn't last.
His mind, ever restless, wandered back to that moment. Back to the void between life and death, when he was choking on his own blood, barely holding on. For years, he had accepted death as a given, something that could come at any moment..
He always thought he was ready.
But when it happened—when he really thought he was dying—it was different.
It wasn't peaceful.
It was terrifying.
And it wasn't because he didn't want to die. It was because, for the first time… he had something to lose.
He exhaled quietly, tightening his grip on the wheels of his chair.
He wasn't just responsible for himself anymore. People relied on him. He relied on them. They cared about him.
That scared him.
John pushed the thought away, shoving it into the back of his mind to deal with later. He wasn't in the mood to confront something that heavy right now.
For now, he focused on the moment—the warmth of the morning sun, the chatter of the outpost, and the faint, contented smile on Marian's face as she walked beside him.
As they made their way through the outpost streets, the flow of pedestrians gradually led them to a crossroads, where the bustling main thoroughfare branched off into different directions.
To the left, the entrance to Rumani's Gym loomed, with a few Nikkes and humans filtering in and out, dressed in training gear. To the right, the recently opened Tallentum Mall stood proudly, a new addition to the outpost's growing infrastructure. Even from here, John could see the line forming outside one of the bookstores. No doubt the signing event for Marian's favorite author was in full swing.
They slowed to a stop.
"Well, this is me," John said, nodding toward the gym. "Time to start the long, painful process of getting my ass back into shape."
Marian adjusted her hat slightly, the brim tilting just enough to hide the slight amusement on her face. "Good luck with that," she said, a small but genuine tease in her tone.
John let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his chest. "Wow. No words of encouragement? No 'You can do it, Commander!' or 'I believe in you'?"
Marian chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I already know you'll push through it. You don't need me to tell you."
John grinned at that. She wasn't wrong.
He then gestured toward the mall. "And you? Excited for your book?"
The amusement on her face faltered for just a second. "It's… just something I enjoy," she said, somewhat evasively.
John raised an eyebrow. "Still not gonna tell me what it's about?"
Marian turned her head away slightly. "…No."
John smirked. "Suspicious."
She gave a small huff, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
There was a brief moment of comfortable silence before John shifted in his wheelchair. "Tell you what, once we're done, let's meet up at Café Sweety for a coffee before heading back."
Marian blinked, tilting her head slightly as if considering it. Then, she nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Cool. Try not to spend all your money on books," John said with a grin as he started wheeling toward the gym.
"And you try not to pass out," Marian shot back over her shoulder as she turned toward the mall.
John chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed forward. She really was coming into her own again.
Now all he had to do was survive whatever hell Rumani had in store for him.
The doors to Body X Body Gym slid open, ushering in the sharp scent of rubber mats, sweat, and protein powder. The rhythmic clang of weights, the steady hum of treadmills, and the occasional encouragement—or pained groan—of gym-goers created a constant undercurrent of motion.
His fingers tightened on the wheels as he pushed forward. He needed to rebuild.
His gaze scanned the space before settling on a tall, well-built woman near the training area. She was focused on a tablet, scrolling through what looked like training logs, her piercing blue eyes flicking between data points.
John cleared his throat, rolling up beside her. "Rumani? I'm John Smith, Pepper recommended you."
Rumani's gaze snapped toward him. One glance. One quick sweep.
Evaluating. Not pitying. Not skeptical. Just assessing.
A pause.
Then—"Gym Rat."
John blinked. "...Excuse me?"
She set the tablet down, crossing her arms. "That's what I call people serious about training."
John scoffed, shifting in his chair. "Yeah, well. I am always serious about my strength."
Rumani took another look at him, not his injuries, not his wheelchair, but him. Then, after a beat, she nodded slightly.
"…You've lost a lot of muscle."
John let out a dry laugh. "Almost dying tends to do that."
Rumani didn't smile, but something in her gaze softened. "It'll take time. But you can get it back."
John exhaled. That was the plan.
"I need to be combat-ready again. My squad needs me at full capacity."
Her gaze sharpened. "Good answer."
Without another word, she turned on her heel, motioning for him to follow. She led him toward a private training area—separate from the main gym floor, quieter, more controlled.
When they reached the mats, she turned back.
"Before we start, I need to know, what exactly is your goal?"
John exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "To get back to my old self. My strength used to be my biggest asset. I need it back."
Rumani tilted her head slightly, watching him. "That means we're not just doing rehab. You want full reconstruction."
John nodded. "Exactly."
She flipped through her tablet, pulling up a customized program.
"We'll start simple. Mobility work, core activation, controlled bodyweight exercises. No weights until your stabilizers recover. Your body isn't ready for impact training yet."
John scoffed. "And here I thought you'd throw me straight into the deep end."
Rumani raised an eyebrow. "I don't waste time. But I also don't rush recovery. Injuries don't care about willpower."
John leaned back. "Fair point."
She tapped the tablet again before glancing at him.
"…You trained before." It wasn't a question.
John smirked slightly. "That obvious?"
She crossed her arms. "Your posture. The way you carry yourself—even in a wheelchair, you're balanced. You're used to weight shifts, quick pivots. You know how to move."
John exhaled. "Yeah. Had to be in peak condition for my job before all this."
Rumani nodded. "That means we have a foundation to rebuild. Good."
She stepped back, gesturing toward a low-impact training mat.
"Alright, Gym Rat. Let's see where you're at. Try standing."
John exhaled sharply, gripping the arms of the wheelchair. His arms shook slightly, his core struggling to engage, his legs trembling as they took on weight they hadn't held in weeks.
But after a few slow, deliberate movements, he stood.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't smooth.
But he did it.
Rumani's expression didn't change, but there was approval in her eyes.
"Weak. But not bad."
John let out a breath. "Gee, thanks."
She cracked her knuckles. "Alright, Gym Rat. Let's get to work."
The midday sun cast a warm glow over the Outpost, the streets bustling with activity as Nikkes and humans alike went about their day. Outside Café Sweety, Marian stood near the entrance, a small paper bag held carefully against her chest. Her posture was relaxed, but every so often, she'd glance toward the main road leading from Body X Body Gym, her fingers absentmindedly tightening around the bag.
She had arrived early. Not intentionally—she had just finished at the Tallentum Mall faster than she expected. The book she'd been waiting months for, now nestled safely in her hands, should have been enough to occupy her thoughts. But instead, she found herself scanning the streets for him.
And sure enough, there he was.
John rolled into view, pushing his wheelchair forward with sluggish effort. His usual casual, controlled movements were gone. His shoulders sagged, his arms strained, and he looked like a man who had been put through hell.
His shirt, originally a simple gray, was completely soaked through with sweat. His hair was damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, and even from a distance, Marian could see the way his muscles twitched in protest with every push of his wheels. He looked utterly, completely exhausted.
Marian blinked, tilting her head slightly.
John wheeled up to her, breathing hard, and let out a long, suffering groan.
"I forgot… to bring a change of clothes," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Marian's lips quirked, amusement flickering in her crimson eyes.
"I can tell."
John shot her a tired glare. "Don't."
Marian let out a small laugh, unable to help herself. She had expected him to be tired, Pepper had told her that Rumani was a relentless trainer, but this was something else.
She raised an eyebrow. "Rough first session?"
John leaned back in his wheelchair, exhaling. "I think I saw my ancestors."
Marian snorted.
John groaned again, rolling his shoulders stiffly before glancing at her. "Please tell me you at least had a good time at the mall."
Marian hesitated for a fraction of a second before giving a small nod. "I did."
John's gaze flicked down to the bag she held, and a tired smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "So? What's the book?"
Marian's fingers tightened ever so slightly around the bag.
"…Nothing important."
John narrowed his eyes. "Oh, so it's embarrassing."
"It's not."
"It totally is."
Marian huffed, her expression briefly turning into a pout. "It's just… a book I like."
John gave her an unconvinced look but decided to let it slide for now.
"Alright, alright," he muttered, adjusting his position in his wheelchair. "Let's get inside before I pass out on the pavement."
The cozy warmth of Café Sweety washed over them as they stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filling the air. The soft hum of conversation blended with the occasional clink of ceramic cups against saucers, giving the café its usual welcoming atmosphere.
John wheeled himself toward a small table near the window, rolling his shoulders as he let out a tired sigh. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a heap was the promise of caffeine.
Marian, meanwhile, made her way toward the counter. "I'll order for both of us," she said over her shoulder, her voice light.
John raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "Alright, I'll take a—"
"I know what you drink."
That actually made John pause. He blinked, watching as Marian reached into her pocket to pull out her wallet.
"…Do you?"
Marian didn't answer, only flashing him a knowing smile before stepping forward to place their order.
John smirked slightly. So she had been paying attention.
Leaning back in his wheelchair, he let himself relax, taking in the café's atmosphere. It had been a while since he had gone anywhere just to unwind. His life had been a constant loop of training, fighting, strategizing, and, more recently, trying not to die.
But today… it was just a normal day.
That thought barely had time to settle before a loud thud broke through the café's quiet ambiance.
John snapped his head toward the sound, just in time to see Marian stumble, catching herself against the counter. Her bag had slipped from her grasp, and a book had fallen to the ground, sliding across the smooth wooden floor.
A thick, glossy-covered book, with a full-color cover depicting a long-haired, shirtless man with rippling muscles, the kind so exaggerated that they bordered on anatomical impossibility, holding a half-dressed, flushed-faced woman in his arms. The title, written in large, curling golden letters, read:
"TAMED BY THE TYRANT'S TOUCH."
John blinked.
Then blinked again.
Marian let out a strangled noise, moving faster than he had ever seen her move, lunging for the book like it contained nuclear codes. But in her panic, her fingers fumbled, and the book slipped through her grasp, skidding even farther across the floor… directly into John's reach.
He could not believe his luck.
John leaned forward, grasping the book before Marian could snatch it back. He slowly turned it over, just to make sure.
The back cover was even worse.
A summary in dramatic, sweeping prose declared the story of a strong-willed, innocent heroine who had been captured by a cruel warlord with a cold heart, a dark past, and, apparently, an unquenchable thirst for passion. It promised a slow-burn romance, intense emotions, and "scorching and vivacious scenes of undeniable longing."
John stared at the book.
Then he stared at Marian.
Marian, who was now standing completely rigid, her face so red it put a sunset to shame.
"John," she whispered, her voice trembling, "It's not what it looks like."
John, for a moment, considered mercy.
Only for a moment.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he flipped the book back to the front cover. "Tamed by the Tyrant's Touch, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's… quite the title."
Marian let out a soft, mortified whimper, her fingers twitching at her sides. "John."
"So this is the book you were so excited about?" He tapped the cover. "I thought you said you didn't want to say what it was?"
Marian covered her face with both hands. "Because of this exact situation!"
John flipped through the pages with the casual confidence of a man who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. "Wow. Some of these sentences are... graphic."
Marian made a desperate grab, but John leaned back just out of reach, grinning like an absolute menace.
"Give. It. Back." she demanded, voice high-pitched and almost girlish in her panic.
John tapped his chin, pretending to consider. "I dunno… I think I need to read at least one passage aloud."
Marian lunged.
John, laughing now, quickly handed over the book before she tackled him and risked ending his physical therapy before it even started.
She snatched it back with both hands, hugging it to her chest as if shielding it from further humiliation. Then she spun away from him, shoulders hunched, glaring at nothing.
"I hate you," she muttered under her breath.
John, still chuckling, wiped a tear from his eye. "No, you don't."
She whirled back toward him, her entire face still beet red. "Yes, I do!"
John raised an eyebrow, smug. "So, uh… is the Tyrant the main love interest, or—"
"STOP TALKING!"
Marian shoved the book back into her bag before stomping up to the counter, pointedly ignoring the amused stares of a few other patrons who had witnessed the spectacle.
John leaned back in his chair, grinning.