Training

For a moment, Shawn's emotions were a tangled mess. In the briefest span of time, his expression shifted from shock to anger, then disdain.

Shawn recalled the corridor where he had first encountered Hesta. He much preferred how she had been then—terrified out of her wits, yet forcing herself to stay still and not make any rash moves. There had been something genuinely amusing about that frail but stubborn appearance.

He could not understand how this newcomer, who had barely arrived, could become so arrogant in such a short time.

Had those deafening cheers from the citizens of Tanyi City given her courage? Or did she think Liz Fletcher had her back, and since he had not made any moves this past week, she had gotten the illusion that she could ride on his neck?

Shawn no longer had any interest in going through anyone else's information. After erasing his login traces, he left Mrs. Lavette's room early and returned to his dormitory.

Jane Hesta.

As he walked, Shawn silently repeated the name to himself. Several search records were like a challenge from Hesta, stirring up his long-dormant competitive spirit.

How should I teach you a lesson?

At that moment, on the training field, Hesta suddenly lost her balance while running laps and fell to the ground. Her hands and knees were scraped at once, and she immediately felt a searing pain.

A whistle sounded almost immediately in the distance. The instructor at the starting point was urging her to get up quickly and keep running.

Without checking her wounds, Hesta continued forward.

The 120 hours of basic life training had already ended. She had thought her physical training program would change along with it, but to her surprise, it was still the same as before: nothing but endless long-distance running.

Hesta had learned from Liz that the other members at the base averaged three five-kilometer weighted cross-country runs per week, plus one twenty-kilometer forced march in full gear every month. The rest of their time was divided between combat, shooting, and tactical instruction.

Yet judging from her current assessment results, Hesta's height of 1.31 meters and weight of 24 kilograms were still nowhere near sufficient for her to begin group training.

Due to her long-term vegetarian diet and ascetic life, she was extremely slight. The training officers often joked that she had the sort of frame that would break a bone after taking one heavy punch. When they first met, Hesta had been told to give up on joining group training as soon as possible. Her most important tasks now were to grow taller, gain weight, and build up her cardiopulmonary endurance.

"Cardiopulmonary function is like a boiler," the training officer had said. "It's like stoking a furnace. If you want the fire to burn hot, you first need to supply enough oxygen."

As Hesta ran, her lungs felt as if they were on fire. Yet somehow, Shawn's ill-intentioned face intruded into her mind again, suddenly giving her a great deal more strength.

The whistle sounded again in the distance. "Maintain an even pace! Who told you to vary your speed? Running fast and slow will only tire you out more!"

She struggled to adjust her pace.

Although Hesta had also needed to work and hike with the others at the convent, they had walked and rested as they pleased back then, so it had not felt painful.

When she finally crossed the finish line, the training officer, Arnold, came up behind her. "What were you thinking? Why was your rhythm so poor today?"

Hesta could not speak. She shook her head, feeling weightless all over. Even after stopping, her breathing had not become any easier. She sensed that Arnold was ready at any moment to grab her arm, lest she collapse after finishing the run as she had on her first day.

Arnold was already sixty-five years old, but when Hesta first met him, she had thought he was merely a middle-aged man in his early forties who looked older than his age. After all, his hair was nearly all white.

Arnold had a build similar to Calvin's, though he was somewhat shorter. Whenever he stood still somewhere, he liked to fold his arms across his chest. That defensive posture made him look extremely sturdy, and his upper arms, as thick as his head, always stretched the sleeves of his short-sleeved shirt taut.

Hesta had once asked him whether she could develop muscles like his through long-term training, and if so, how long it would take.

After hearing this, Arnold first burst into laughter, then asked what she ate every day.

That question was easy enough to answer—after she began physical training, part of her diet had changed from the staff buffet to a prescribed meal plan.

Every morning, her fixed breakfast consisted of 15 grams of whey protein powder mixed with 35 grams of oats, along with five egg whites and one yolk. During the first few days, she had not always been able to finish it all, but she could now.

Her first physical training session of the day usually began half an hour to an hour after breakfast. Once it ended, she consumed a large amount of carbohydrates. The base did not deliberately restrict portions; Hesta usually chose mashed potatoes, buckwheat noodles, or dark bread, paired with salted fried minced beef patties or chicken breast.

Dinner was relatively more flexible. She could still choose from the buffet as before, but for the past half month, Hesta had been fixated on a salad called "Northern Salad." It contained chicken gizzards, potatoes, shredded chicken breast, broadleaf lettuce, and endive, and it was unexpectedly delicious.

Arnold nodded repeatedly as he listened, saying that as long as Hesta maintained that diet and trained according to the established schedule, she would surpass him one day. Yet for some reason, Hesta always felt that his tone was not particularly convincing when he said it, as though he were joking.

At that moment, Hesta slowly walked along the outermost lane of the track, while the training officer followed closely behind her to the right.

Arnold looked at her. "Have you run into some trouble, Hesta?"

Hesta glanced sideways at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Lately, you've often been distracted during training. That isn't a good sign," Arnold replied. "If you really have run into a problem, feel free to come talk to me."

Hesta shook her head. "There's nothing I'm unaccustomed to. Life here has been better than ever before, Instructor."

"Then what were you thinking about while you were running today?" Arnold asked.

Someone who has been causing me trouble lately, Hesta answered silently.

But before speaking, she asked, "Are you a Quicksilver Needles, Instructor?"

Arnold's brows lifted slightly. "I'm not."

"Then I can't answer you. The matter may be... classified?" Hesta replied. "I really was distracted and did not perform well. I'll pay attention tomorrow. Please forgive me."

Arnold gave a faintly contemptuous laugh.

"I'm not a Quicksilver Needles, Hesta, but I am a retired soldier of the United Government Army."

Arnold spoke with emphatic force, his voice steady and powerful.

"I took part in dozens of hunting operations against Chelated Beings, and I also had the pleasure of working with many Quicksilver Needles who fought bravely against the enemy. And those were merely an insignificant footnote in my military career."