A Week After

A week had passed since Kai's grueling training began, and it felt like an eternity. Every day was a relentless cycle of combat lessons, lectures, and swimming drills, leaving him bruised, exhausted, and questioning his life choices.

Under Coach Armstrong's merciless guidance, Kai had managed to pick up a few combat moves. Still, every session ended with him sprawled on the training hall floor, nursing new injuries and swallowing his pride. The beatings were relentless, and Armstrong didn't hold back, not even for a second.

Thankfully, Natasha was always there to patch him up after 5 p.m. before his swimming lessons. She teased him endlessly, calling him "the human punching bag," but her concern peeked through despite her playful demeanor. Watching Kai limp into her office every day wasn't easy for her, but she masked her worry behind her usual charm.

Outside of combat, Kai was making slow but steady progress in his studies. History, in particular, was manageable, thanks to its uncanny resemblance to Earth's—with a few key differences. Those differences, however, were often enough to trip him up during Professor Madya's relentless lectures.

One surprise came in the form of his implant. He discovered—by accident—that it could record videos through his eyes, a revelation that came moments before Professor Madya sternly forbade him from ever using that feature during class.

Swimming, on the other hand, remained a daunting challenge. While Kai could now swim longer and hold his breath underwater for extended periods, Coach Leo had set an unforgiving target that made his progress feel insignificant. "You're barely at 10% of where you need to be," Leo had remarked casually during their last session. That percentage had been enough to make Kai groan in frustration.

Currently, Kai found himself in the training hall, drenched in sweat and moving on instinct. Every fiber of his being screamed for rest, but Coach Armstrong's relentless attacks kept him on edge. This was survival—not training—and Kai had learned quickly that evasion was his best shot at staying conscious.

Ducking, weaving, and sidestepping, Kai focused on avoiding the coach's deadly blows. Though he still got hit more often than not, his movements were sharper, his reactions faster. Each session taught him something new, and every painful lesson etched itself into his muscle memory.

"It's getting harder to hit you every day, soldier," Coach Armstrong barked, a faint hint of approval in his tone. He swung a fist that Kai barely avoided, the force of the air grazing his cheek. "You're improving a lot. If you keep this up, by the end of the lesson, maybe—just maybe—you'll manage to land a hit on me."

Kai didn't dare respond. He focused on his footing, watching the coach's every move. His chest heaved as he ducked under another swing. Was that a compliment? Coming from Armstrong, it felt monumental.

"But don't think I'll go easy!" Armstrong roared, and before Kai could react, a fist slammed into his stomach with the force of a freight train.

The impact sent Kai stumbling backward, his legs buckling. He crumpled to the floor, clutching his stomach and gasping for air. The pain radiated through his entire body, sharp and unforgiving.

"Get up, soldier!" Armstrong commanded, standing over him like an immovable mountain. "Pain is temporary. Weakness is a choice. Now move!"

Kai groaned, his body protesting as he struggled to his knees. The room spun slightly, but he gritted his teeth and planted one foot firmly on the ground. His ribs ached, his muscles screamed, but he wasn't about to give up—not yet.

"You're as brutal as ever, Coach Armstrong," a deep voice echoed from behind. Startled, Kai glanced up just as a man emerged from the shadows of the training hall, his polished boots clicking against the floor with measured authority.

Coach Armstrong turned toward the voice, his expression shifting slightly—still firm but with a hint of respect. His sharp eyes followed the approaching figure until the man stopped beside him.

"It's rare to see you here in the training hall, General Hackett," Armstrong said, straightening slightly.

The newcomer, General Hackett, exuded authority in his crisp, immaculate uniform. His hands rested behind his back, and his sharp gaze seemed to pierce through everything in the room, finally landing on Kai. "I am here to see our future captain's progress," Hackett said calmly, his tone deep and deliberate. "To see if he is suited for the role. What is your assessment, Coach Armstrong?"

Coach Armstrong didn't hesitate. "...As of right now, he is still far from meeting the qualifications of a captain," Armstrong began, his tone as blunt as ever. Kai winced internally at the words, though they weren't unexpected. "But—" Armstrong continued, his voice gaining weight, "—he's better than most recruits. His progress over the past week has been rapid, and he's managed to learn how to evade my attacks."

Evading attacks? Armstrong made it sound like a major accomplishment, but Kai knew better. He still got pummeled into the ground every session, though perhaps he was slightly less bruised than the day before.

"Interesting," General Hackett mused, his gaze flicking briefly toward Kai before turning back to Armstrong. Without further comment, Hackett nodded. "I'll take my leave now."

And just like that, the General turned on his heel, his presence fading as he exited the training hall.

Kai watched him go, confused and still trying to process the encounter. His curiosity got the better of him as he approached Coach Armstrong, his hand still clutching his aching stomach. "What was that about, Coach?"

"It's nothing," Armstrong replied curtly, clearly unwilling to elaborate. Then, as if sensing Kai's exhaustion, he added, "Take five minutes."

Relief flooded through Kai. In this brutal world, "Take five minutes" was second only to "Class is over" as his favorite sentence. He sank to the floor, letting out a long, painful exhale while rubbing his sore stomach.

Just as the tension started to ease, Armstrong's voice boomed once more. "Soldier, I forgot to mention something."

Kai's head snapped up, his stomach already sinking at the tone.

"For you to pass this class, you must defeat me," Armstrong said with unwavering certainty, his piercing gaze locking onto Kai. "You can request a spar whenever you feel ready. If you win, you pass the class immediately. You don't have to wait until the end of the training period. Beat me early, and class ends early. Do you understand?"

Kai swallowed hard, the weight of the challenge settling in his chest. "Yes, sir," he managed to reply, his voice steady despite the knots twisting in his gut.

Defeat Coach Armstrong? At this rate, that felt like a pipe dream. But it also planted a tiny seed of hope—if he could manage it, just maybe, he could finally stop getting pulverized every day. For now, though, he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring his five-minute reprieve.

Kai was submerged in the water, lungs burning as he pushed himself to hold on for just a few more seconds. His entire body was tense, every fiber focused on resisting the instinct to rise for air. When he couldn't take it any longer, he surfaced with a sharp gasp, panting hard as water dripped from his face and hair.

"How long, Coach?" Kai managed to ask between breaths, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he clung to the pool's edge.

Coach Leo glanced at the timer in his hand, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Five minutes. Ten seconds longer than yesterday. Congrats."

Kai frowned, his lips tightening. "Ten seconds? That's... barely anything." He sighed, his disappointment evident.

Coach Leo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Now, boy, don't get all mopey on me. Ten seconds may seem small, but it's significant improvement. That means you're progressing every single day and not plateauing at one record. If you keep this up, who knows? You might even break the world record for holding your breath without an implant." He leaned back casually, adding with a grin, "And yes, there is a world record for that, in case you were wondering."

Kai blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected encouragement. "Break the world record?" he muttered under his breath, a faint smile creeping onto his face. "I guess that's... something to be proud of."

"Exactly," Leo said, giving him an approving nod.

Kai looked at him curiously. "Wait a second... Did you just call me 'boy'? You don't look old enough to call me that."

Coach Leo raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Oh, you didn't know? I'm 45 years old."

Kai froze, staring at him in disbelief. "Forty-five? You've got to be kidding me. You look like you're in your late twenties!"

"Not kidding," Leo replied nonchalantly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "I had plastic surgery when I was 25. That's why I look younger than I actually am."

Kai blinked, trying to process what he'd just heard. Forty-five years old with the face of someone barely pushing thirty? That wasn't just rare—it was downright baffling.

Noticing the confusion plastered across Kai's face, Leo chuckled again. "Don't overthink it, boy. Plastic surgery is pretty common here. Several of my friends have done it too. It's just another tool to maintain appearances and confidence."

Kai's mind flashed to a certain country back on Earth where plastic surgery was practically a cultural norm, especially among celebrities. It was so common that many had their first procedures as young as 18. The thought sent a chill down his spine, a reminder of how eerily similar this planet was to Earth in so many ways.

Shaking the thought away, Kai leaned back against the pool's edge, staring up at the futuristic lights above. Every day, this world revealed more about itself—its challenges, its advancements, and its strange parallels to the life he once knew. One week in, and it already felt like an eternity.

"Alright, enough daydreaming," Leo's voice cut through his thoughts. "Back in the water, boy. We've still got work to do."

With a sigh, Kai slid back into the pool. This planet was full of surprises, and at this rate, he'd never run out of things to learn—or questions to ask.