When my alarm went off at 6:00 AM, I seriously considered the consequences of just letting the system cut my dick in half.

How bad could it be? People lived with less. Maybe it would grow back. The system hadn’t specified which fifty percent would go — length? Girth? Some creative diagonal slice?

I dragged myself out of bed. Put on basketball shorts and a t-shirt the original Lukas had worn for gym class. Got my ass downstairs by 6:15.

And there I was, standing at the doorway of a home gym that could have passed for a small commercial facility, watching Sloane Fitzgerald bent over in a sports bra and leggings, stretching her hamstrings with her ass pointed directly at me.

The universe was testing me.

〘Target position optimal for quest completion. Proceeding now yields 94% success probability.〙

"Shut up," I muttered under my breath.

The quest timer read 15:32:40 in bright red. That was it — the perfect chance. She was distracted. Her back was turned. I could have crossed the room in five quick steps, delivered the required contact, and been done with the whole stupid mission.

My heart pounded as I took a tentative step forward. Then another. I was halfway across the room, moving like I was approaching a bomb.

〘Host hesitation detected. Reminder: consequences of mission failure are permanent and irreversible.〙

Right. Because I needed the reminder.

I took another step. The floor creaked.

Sloane stood up and turned around in one smooth motion. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

"Great, you’re early. Let me stretch you out before you start."

Fuck.

"Nah, I’m loose enough already." I hopped from foot to foot, shaking my arms like I’d been warming up for hours. "Let’s start."

Sloane frowned. "Dumbass. Don’t blame me if you pull something."

The gym was bigger than my entire college apartment had been. Back in the other life. Free weights along one wall. Training mats covering half the floor. A punching bag in the corner, looking distinctly less worn than everything else.

Sloane walked over to it, tapped it with her knuckles. "Try to punch this, I guess."

"Wow, you’re the best teacher ever, Sloane!"

"WELL I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TEACH!" Her volume jumped like someone had cranked a dial. "WHAT I DO WON’T WORK FOR YOU!"

"How do you even know that?" I asked. "You have to know how to punch or kick or something, right? The basics?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine."

She stomped over to a cabinet, pulled out hand wraps, and tossed them at my face. I caught them before they hit me.

"Put these on. Then punch this." She pointed at the bag.

I looked at the wraps. "I don’t want to hurt you."

Sloane burst into laughter. Not a giggle. Not a chuckle. Full-blown, doubled-over laughter that made her pink ponytail bounce. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"You? Hurt me?" She wiped her eye. "Fine, I didn’t warn you."

I wrapped my hands the way Jake from boxing club had shown me. Loop around the wrist. Between the fingers. Around the knuckles. Tight but not cutting circulation.

Sloane watched with a blank expression. "You taking this serious or what?"

"Yeah. I am."

Something in my tone made her eyebrows lift slightly. Good. I was tired of being dismissed.

I squared up to the bag. Planted my feet. Turned my hips into it like Jake taught me.

The punch landed with a satisfying thud. Not powerful, but clean.

〘Physical Analysis: Form acceptable. Power output 26% of average Halloran applicant.〙

"Not terrible," Sloane said, arms crossed. "Do it again."

I threw another punch. Same form. Same result.

"Again."

I punched the bag ten more times. My form slipped on the eighth. Sloane caught it immediately.

"Elbow dropped. Reset."

I fixed my stance. Kept going. My knuckles started to burn through the wraps.

〘Physical conditioning recommended. Current stamina insufficient for combat applications.〙

Thanks for the insight, Captain Obvious.

"Let’s try something else," Sloane said after my twentieth punch. "You’re not going to win fights by punching things."

"So what’s the alternative? Run away?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You joke, but yes. Sometimes. Knowing when to retreat is a skill most Heroes never learn."

That was actually decent advice.

"So what are you going to teach me? How to run away with style?"

"I’m going to teach you how to not get hit." She moved to the centre of the training mat. "Come at me."

I blinked. "What?"

"Attack me. However you want."

"You want me to hit you."

"I want you to try."

I was suddenly aware this was a trap. Sloane had an Aspect called Detonation. She could literally make things explode on contact.

But the quest timer kept ticking down. If I could manufacture a reason to make contact during sparring...

I stepped onto the mat. Circled her cautiously. She watched me like a cat tracking a particularly stupid mouse.

"Any day now," she said.

I lunged forward with a straight punch. No telegraph. Nothing pulled.

Sloane shifted her weight two inches to the left. My punch went past her face. Before I could recover, her palm tapped my ribs.

"Dead," she said. "Again."

I reset. Came at her with a combination. Jab, cross, hook.

She slipped all three without moving her feet. Tapped my throat with two fingers.

"Dead again."

That continued for ten minutes. Me attacking. Her avoiding everything with minimal movement. Tapping parts of my body to indicate fatal strikes.

I got nowhere near her. Not even close. The quest timer mocked me from the corner of my vision.

〘Quest completion probability decreased to 42%. Alternative strategy required.〙

"You’re overthinking," Sloane said. "Stop trying to set up the perfect attack. Just move."

I wiped sweat from my forehead. "Easy for you to say. You’ve been training for nine years."

"And you’ve been doing nothing for nine years."

That stung. Mostly because it was true. The original Lukas had wasted his life feeling sorry for himself.

"Okay, teacher. Show me how it’s done." I made a come-here gesture. "Attack me."

Sloane laughed. "You sure about that?"

"I need to see what I’m aiming for."

She shrugged. "Your funeral."

I braced myself. Squared my stance. Prepared for —

I was on my back. Staring at the ceiling. Sloane standing over me. I hadn’t even seen her move.

"What the —"

"First lesson," she said. "Never assume you can track someone faster than you."

===

[A/N:]

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