Dragon Ball: Enlisted

Six days had passed since then, and in total, the training had lasted a week.

As the first day was an assessment of how far one could go, there were no more extreme stretches of physical activity.

Though, that wasn't to say the schedule was easygoing.

Waking up at the crack of dawn, they only had an hour of morning time before going straight into hour-long training sessions.

After some breakfast and personal time, they went right back into training. 

Of course, following this was the afternoon meal time. The food was… edible. I guess. If you didn't think too hard about what it was.

I even gained a skill after eating some of the more… exotic dishes.

o–o

User has encountered a lethal toxin and survived. [Human Adaptability] is reacting…

Minor Skill [Lesser Resistance: Poison] has manifested!

(+1 Body)

o–o

…Yeah. 

In all fairness, they did warn me that they weren't sure my species could handle the food. But I figured that with my ability, the worst-case scenario was that I had to be put in a healing pod or something.

And hey, I was right. So whatever.

After the afternoon meal, we had to sit down and get lectured by Instructor Gruen for what felt like hours. 

I'm not saying he was boring—just that it was hard to focus when your whole body felt like it had turned into jelly. Without any energy left, we really couldn't devote attention to training the mind, so to speak.

I tried my best, really, but it felt like my brain always abandoned ship halfway through.

After all of that, we were pretty much free to do as we wished until dinner. 

After that, we were left to our own devices until dinner. Sparring was off the table—apparently, the instructors didn't want us forming bad habits. Calia told me flat-out it was to avoid one-sided fights while we were all still building our strength.

Made sense. I wasn't too hung up about it.

Wraak, on the other hand… let's just say the giant crocodile wasn't thrilled.

Not that he ever spoke to me, but he seemed chill—until the sparring ban turned him into the loudest person in the room. I assumed he had his reasons. Whatever they were, I didn't care enough to ask.

Instead, I focused on myself as usual.

With just the normal training Aprico put us through, I wouldn't gain any points of [Body]. I understood what he was trying to instill in us by just focusing on gymnastic exercises, but it wasn't building any raw power.

I'm pretty sure his plan was to get us used to the movements before strapping weights on us to make it harder, but I wanted to get stronger now. 

While everyone else was far too tired to continue training after lunch, I and a few others decided to go right back into the gym. Judging by the looks we got, the others thought we were either obsessed or clinically insane.

'Or maybe they're just looking at me,' I thought, stretching out on the weight bench.

It was always awkward when I used the weights. Mostly because I had no idea what I was doing.

My training log would probably mark this as 'inefficient,' but hey—one point of [Body] every other day was better than nothing.

And today… wasn't any different.

I positioned myself—feet flat against the floor, back nice and flat against the bench. My hands found the cold grooves on the bar, and I gave it a solid squeeze.

Taking a deep breath, I unracked the bar with a bit more of a heave than expected, and it swayed for a second. My arms locked out, holding it in place. When it was stable enough, I lowered it down as smoothly as I could.

Of course, it dropped a little faster on the way down, but that was fine.

As soon as the bar touched my chest, I shoved it back up with all my strength. The bar wobbled, but I powered through it, my elbows flared out wide. Eventually, the weight reached its apex, and my arms slightly shook.

Lower, push, repeat. Simple enough.

Somewhere in the background—near the treadmill or the row of stationary bikes—I caught voices drifting in and out of focus.

"Look. Even the dead last is doing extra training."

"Isn't it ridiculous, though? Why did he spend all his life lazing around if he was going to work hard now?"

"Dunno. But look, doesn't it look like he's going to pass out again?"

The bar dipped lower than I meant it to, and I shoved it back up with a little more effort than I'd admit.

I kept going.

There was no doubt they were talking about me… but they sounded ridiculous. The mockery was almost nostalgic, like watching background characters rip on Naruto for stupid reasons.

Made me want to laugh.

Because as long as I kept moving forward—even just a little—then I was content.

By the time I was halfway through my second set, someone stepped closer.

"If you don't mind the intrusion," a calm voice interrupted, "I'd like to talk. There's something I want to tell you."

I tilted my head, meeting sharp green eyes.

Silver hair. Red skin. The girl who looked suspiciously like Jeice's long-lost cousin.

I blinked, sweat stinging my eyes. We hadn't spoken at all this past week. The only words I'd ever said to her were probably "excuse me" when I needed to squeeze past.

Now she was here, standing over me while I was drenched in sweat, holding a ridiculous amount of weight over my chest.

And as I sat there, vaguely aware that half the gym was watching us, one single thought lodged itself into my head:

'I don't remember her name.'