Chapter 12: The Price of Power
Training pressed on relentlessly, and thanks to the captain’s suggestion that I share her room, Sane’s nighttime assaults came to an abrupt halt. For reasons I couldn’t fully grasp, he only struck under the shroud of darkness, his fury reserved for those vulnerable hours. With me safely out of reach, an uneasy peace settled over the barracks. Over the next few days, I began to see the captain’s iron resolve in a new light—she was determined to forge us into something stronger, no matter the cost to herself.
My senses and hyper-cognition, heightened by the serum coursing through my veins, had unlocked corners of my mind I never knew existed. I could detect which hormones were on spike and I unintentionally tracked her cycle. As awkward as it was, I noticed she was experiencing bad crumps.
She buried the pain beneath a warrior’s mask, leading every drill across the training grounds—the earth scarred and muddy from endless marches, the air heavy with the tang of sweat and clashing steel. I caught her wincing mid-step during a sparring session, her face paling as she drove her blade forward, her stamina a marvel even as her body screamed for reprieve.
That night, as I lay restless on my cot, her condition worsened. She began to sweat profusely, her skin glistening and clammy under the flickering barracks lamp. A fever seized her, fierce and sudden. I rose, soaking a towel in cold water to ease her burning forehead, but as I neared, vivid memories of our awkward bathroom encounter surged unbidden—her startled eyes, the heat of my embarrassment. My hand faltered, and I turned instead to Yukio for help.
He didn’t hesitate, rushing to her side with a quiet intensity.
“She’s been pushing herself too far,” I said, “She’s our captain, but she’s not invincible. And she’s a woman, Why does she try to match the men?” I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
Yukio’s head whipped toward me, his eyes ablaze. “Because she’s a warrior!” he snapped. “In the art of the sword, we speak with our blades, not our bodies.” His rebuke cut deep, a defense of her honor I hadn’t anticipated.
“Biologically, it’s illogical,” I countered weakly, but the fire in his glare silenced me. I’d misspoken, and the weight of it sank in—he thought I’d insulted her, diminished her strength. Shame crept over me, and I slipped outside, leaving him to tend to her through the night. His silhouette flickered against the lamplight as he stayed by her side.
By morning, her fever broke, and she rose, her strength renewed. I resolved to keep my distance, focusing solely on my training and leaving her struggles to her own fierce will.