Chapter 112: His Grip, His Fear
For the rest of the day, Micah went on absentmindedly. Commands blurred into white noise, the harsh bark of the instructor went in one ear and out the other. Nothing stuck. When they marched, he was half a beat late. When they pivoted, he spun the wrong way. By the third error, Sergeant Seth McKay’s whistle echoed so fiercely that everyone flinched.
"Ramsy!" he yelled. "Eyes front, brain engaged, move!"
Micah jerked to attention, straightening his back. But the second the instructor’s eyes landed on another student, his thoughts rushed to anything unrelated to the training.
He dreaded tonight’s meeting. For the first time, he was going to be in the same space as both the novel’s original male lead and its protagonist. And worst of all, he himself filled the role of villain in the novel.
The combination felt dangerous, perhaps even lethal. What if something went wrong? What if the world’s unconscious or plot power was activated because of it?
When they dropped to push-ups, Micah copied the motion. His palms were coated with dust and sweat. His gaze landed on the burn scar on his hand. Darcy, the kind, real young master, had gone through worse than just a burn scar. Micah’s throat tightened. No, he never let those terrifying things happen to him...
Halfway through the set, Micah missed the count, froze in the air, and drew a roar from the Sergeant. His arms shook, but he persisted, earning ten additional push-ups for his error.
From the neighbouring line, Emile stared. Sweat plastered his curls to his forehead, yet his gaze stayed pinned on Micah.
During a water break, Emile walked over.
"Micah, are you all right?" he asked.
After lunch, Emile had noticed his strange behaviour, stumbling through the training.