Chapter 39: Hunger
The gym buzzed with energy as dozens of youths sweated profusely, pushing their limits under the watchful eyes of their coaches.
After several grueling hours of weight training, Shelby finally clapped his hands and announced, "That’s it for today. Everyone, take these tokens and head to the martial arts training hall. There, you’ll meet your assigned guides. If you’re good with boxing—then box. If it’s karate, then do karate. Now move!"
The crowd began filing out, their muscles sore but spirits lifted with the promise of variety.
One of the freshers, a lean youth with short silver hair, veered toward the back of the hall where Zane was still pounding away on the track-mill.
"Zane," the youth called out. "We’re heading to martial arts now. Didn’t you hear Instructor Shelby?"
But Zane didn’t reply.
His gaze was blank, his jaw clenched tight, every ounce of his being locked in combat with the monstrous weight tied to his body. The load increased every fifteen minutes—a single kilogram at a time—but it felt like mountains crashing down on his bones.
He ran on, using Luminous Step to stay upright.
To Zane, it wasn’t just about resistance training anymore. This was a war against time—against the tick-tock rhythm of fifteen-minute intervals that delivered more suffering. It was no longer physical. It was psychological.
Fifteen minutes. Why does it feel so short?
A weaker voice within him screamed, panicking like a child drowning in floodwaters. To that part of his mind, fifteen minutes felt like a lifetime of agony condensed into a single breath—then repeated, over and over again.