—First thing in the morning, the middle of the yard reeked of metal and rubber, stacked to the sky.
Cars. Ten of them. All different colors and model years. Fixed in a vertical stack, looming like a tower.
Sekou Kagetsu stared up with his mouth half open and forgot to close it.
"We are going to—lift this," Shibukanu declared, flat as ever. Her long purple hair moved in the wind; the black gauntlets on her hands threw back the morning light in a dull glint.
"Ten cars...? That's—how many tons is that?"
"Counting is a waste of time."
She jerked her chin toward the base of the stack—somehow a bench press station had appeared there.
"Bench it up and down. I'll watch your form. Thirty reps, three sets."
"Whatever happened to ergonomics..."
Sekou rolled the excuses around in his mouth, swallowed them, and lay back on the bench. Sweat in his palms. He steadied his breath and gripped the lowest frame with both hands.
—It lifted.
Muscle fibers screamed, but the bones still carried power. The column of cars rose slowly toward the sky; he stopped just short of locking out his elbows, then lowered it again.
"One... two... three..."
He counted with his breathing. At the edge of his vision, Shibukanu gave the tiniest nod.
"Back. Arch more."
"L—like this?"
"Good. Elbow path—two fingers further inside."
At ten his palms trembled; at fifteen his shoulders burned; at twenty the world started to crumble like sand.
—Thirty.
He racked it and his lungs sucked air on their own. His arms tingled; his fingers didn't feel like his.
"Whew... I'm dead... okay, not dead."
"Next. Set two."
"Right... I'm on it."
He grit his teeth, forced out another thirty. Sweat fell off his chin and bounced on his chest. Third set—his upper arms were on fire. The world blurred. On the last push his vision flashed white.
The moment he re-racked it, the tower wobbled—and grew.
Expressionless, Shibukanu stacked on ten more cars.
"Finisher."
"W—wait—"
"We don't wait."
Gentle voice, zero mercy. Sekou could only laugh, and set his hands again.
—It didn't move.
His gums shook; stars scattered in his eyes. Still, bit by bit, inch by inch—
He managed a few grudging reps, and then his arms stopped being "his."
Before it crashed, Shibukanu's fingers floated up to support the stack and noiselessly set it back.
"Done. ...Now, once more."
"Wait, that counted as zero?"
"That was prep. Now we start."
Sekou rolled off the bench and starfished in the grass. Arms, jelly; heart, half-crying, half-laughing.
"Where'd you even get these?"
"Stole them."
"That is such a casual crime confession!"
Right then, shouts rose from beyond the grounds.
"Give 'em back!" "Those are our cars!"
Banging on the gate and windows. Shibukanu didn't spare a glance; she checked a box in a little notebook without changing her face.
"Don't worry. I'll return them by evening (probably)."
"It's the part in parentheses that's terrifying!"
◇
Before noon, they moved to the earthen-floor hall.
Aki stood with a wooden sword. White hair down her back; eyes their usual quiet.
"What're you teaching me?"
"Speed. Hands and feet move before your thoughts."
Aki rested the wooden blade on her shoulder and froze like a figure in a painting.
"I swing. You dodge. If you miss, I tap you lightly."
"Lightly, huh... not sure I trust that."
"Begin."
First strike—only the air scraped his cheek. The sound arrived after.
Second—his vision split in two; only the shadow of wood remained.
Third—he thought he dodged; wind hummed right over his crown.
"Still slow."
Aki's feet barely moved, yet the bokken appeared from every angle.
Fifth strike, a light touch to his shoulder.
"Ow— that was 'gentle'?"
"Gentle."
Tenth, elbow. Fifteenth, ribs. Twentieth, shin. The rhythm twined into his heartbeat; the wooden blade arrived ahead of any attempt to evade.
Soon Aki's movement betrayed the sound—impact came before he heard it.
"Hey, there's no way that's 'light'!"
"It is. Still completely light."
He finished planted on his butt. The tatami was not kind to his back. Wordlessly Aki produced two ice packs and set them to his cheeks.
"You'll do better next time."
"That's a very comforting... statement of fact."
◇
Afternoon, the lab.
Ikue ran cool fingers over the treadmill panel. Bone motifs on her lab coat; behind the glasses, the light of someone starting an experiment.
"Endurance. Maintain maximum output for five hours."
"F—five hours...?"
"Relax. I'll add assist weights to make it more effective."
Four "assist" belts of lead went around his waist, both ankles, and chest.
"I'm watching heart rate, breathing, muscle activity—everything. If you're going to collapse—collapse before you collapse."
"Is that advice?"
"Truth."
The belts deepened gravity. The machine growled.
At ten minutes, the soles of his feet burned. Thirty, his calves turned to stone. Forty-five, his lungs were on fire.
At one hour, sweat became salt. Ninety minutes, the edges of his sight went black. Two hours—and he dropped.
He crumpled at the knees; the belts barely kept him from face-planting.
"...Can't."
"Mm. Good job. You broke before you broke. Proud of you."
"Is that... praise?"
"Statistical fact."
Ikue swiftly unbuckled the belts and handed him a sports drink.
"Next time, aim for two and a half hours. Come back alive."
◇
Evening, as the corridor lights stretched long.
Yukika was perched atop a pillar, waiting. She spun her scissors on a fingertip; her smile was pure mischief.
"Today, let's play hide-and-seek. If I find you—I'll show my 'real face' and give you a fright."
"The scope of 'fright' is what worries me."
"Gentle, gentle. Just don't leave your heart behind, okay?"
At the cue, Sekou sprinted indoors. Corridors, blind corners, behind screens, the beams in the crawlspace above the ceiling. He held his breath, became a shadow—and—
"Found you," breathed right in his ear.
"Wah!"
The next instant, a split smile under a white mask. Doubled lips. A red light peering in.
"Beginner clear: failed. Again."
On top of the kitchen cupboard.
"Found you."
Inside a storage barrel.
"Found you."
Up in the pine branches in the yard.
"Found you."
Between the futons in the closet.
"Found you."
Each time she found him, Yukika flashed her true face for just two seconds. His vision split; a cold draft sprinted the inside of his spine; electricity climbed from the soles to clamp his guts.
"My heart rate—ugh...!"
"Proof you're getting trained. Again."
"This is torture..."
Ten minutes, thirty, sixty.
No matter where he hid, Yukika's presence was already there. No sound, no scent, no footprints—only the sensation of a hand left on his back.
He ended on the roof with his arms up in surrender. Yukika nodded, satisfied, resting the scissors on her shoulder.
"Okay, today's 'fear-resistance test' is done. Great job, great job."
"Where was it great..."
◇
Night.
The four of them sat along the veranda over the inner court; Sekou lay facedown on the low table. Arms: noodles. Legs: stone. Heart: grated daikon.
"How's it feel?" Aki asked.
"Honestly? Doesn't feel like much. Zero-ish on feeling stronger."
It wasn't a lie. Effort turned to sweat; sweat vanished on the wind; only muscle soreness insisted it was "results."
Still looking up at the sky, Shibukanu spoke.
"That sense is fine. Growth always happens quietly inside the body, and then one day it shows outside all at once."
"When?"
"...Maybe in a thousand years."
"That's so far!"
Yukika toppled over laughing; Ikue shrugged; Aki set the ice pack to his forehead again.
"But tomorrow will be better than today," Aki added.
"Statistically correct," said Ikue.
Sekou looked up at the sky and gave a crooked smile.
"A thousand years, huh... then tomorrow I'll shave off nine hundred ninety-nine years and three hundred sixty-four days of that."
"Not expecting, but expecting," Yukika tossed in a nonsense cheer.
"Sleep. Hell starts first thing tomorrow," Ikue preached the gospel of rest.
Aki offered only a short, "Good night."
Last, Shibukanu stood and wrapped it up in her usual way.
"Tomorrow's assignment—basics of the basics. Don't run. If you fall, stand again."
Her back was quiet and vast, like a far mountain range.
Dark fell. Insects thickened their song.
Sekou's body screamed, yet his heart felt strangely light.
A thousand years? A joke.
—As long as it feels like that, he could keep running.
—-