Trial by Fire

The first day nearly killed me.

Alexis claimed she was just "helping me recover."

She lied.

This wasn't recovery.

This was war.

Gravity Reinforcement Therapy (The "Welcome Back to Earth" Special)

I stood in the center of the training room, my entire body weighted down by what had to be a torture device in disguise.

It was an exosuit—provided by the hospital itself—lined with adjustable weights that mimicked increased gravity. Every movement felt ten times heavier.

Every step was a battle. Every breath, a struggle.

She had me walking, balancing, dodging, even catching objects she randomly threw at me.

The worst part?

The moment I fell, the moment my body gave out—she reset the timer.

"If you fall, you start over. No complaints, Reynard."

I gritted my teeth as she tossed a weighted ball at me. I caught it—barely—before my legs buckled. My body had spent nearly a year adapting to lower gravity. This was the equivalent of dragging myself through hell.

Alexis leaned casually against the wall, sipping coffee. "Oh, come on. Where's that legendary endurance of yours?"

I steadied myself and forced another step forward. "Buried under—" I exhaled sharply, "—this death trap you strapped me into." I guess even a level 10 Endurance Boost can't help if your body doesn't have the sufficient muscle mass.

She grinned. "Good. Then it's working."

Aggressive Physical Therapy (Or, "Suffer.")

"Stretch," Alexis said, pressing down on my shoulder.

My body resisted. Muscles that had weakened over months of space travel screamed in protest.

Alexis didn't care.

"Oh, does that hurt?" she mused, forcing my leg into a deeper stretch. "Too bad. Hold it for another thirty seconds."

I clenched my jaw as pain shot through my hamstrings.

This wasn't just physical therapy. This was brutality.

She hooked me to electrical stimulation machines, forced me through weighted resistance training, and pushed my joints to their absolute limit.

She enjoyed it.

I shot her a glare between gritted teeth. "You're taking way too much pleasure in this."

She smirked. "You're the one who insisted on being superhuman. I'm just making sure you live up to the title."

Endurance Shock Training ("You're Not Dying, Keep Moving.")

Low oxygen. High resistance. She was actively trying to kill me.

The altitude chamber stole the air from my lungs, forcing my body to adapt to extreme conditions. My heart pounded, my vision blurred, my body screamed for oxygen.

Alexis stood outside the chamber, watching with mild amusement.

"You're fine," she said through the intercom. "If you pass out, I'll revive you."

"Encouraging."

After that, HIIT circuits. Sprints, rowing, cycling. Everything designed to push my cardiovascular system to its limit.

Then, the swimming.

She threw me into a pool with ankle weights.

"Try not to drown," she called as I struggled to keep myself afloat.

I shot her a glare. "You're supposed to be a nurse."

"I'm off-duty," she said with a wink.

Diet Overhaul ("Eat, Or I'll Hook You to an IV Again.")

The food wasn't bad. In fact, it was almost too good—perfectly balanced meals, packed with lean protein, complex carbs, and enough vitamins to rebuild a dead man from scratch.

The problem?

How much of it she forced me to eat.

Breakfast was eggs, chicken, avocado, whole grain toast, and some nutrient-packed smoothie that tasted suspiciously green. Lunch was lean beef, quinoa, and roasted vegetables. Dinner? Salmon, sweet potatoes, and a pile of steamed greens big enough to make a rabbit cry.

And if I so much as hesitated?

Alexis was right there, watching me with the patience of a seasoned predator.

"Eat." She propped her chin up with one hand, idly twirling a fork in the other. "Or I start the IV."

I glared at her. "You can't do that, I don't need an IV."

"You're my patient," she corrected, flashing me a smug grin. "Which means you do what I say."

At one point, I tried to skip a meal. Just once.

A mistake.

Alexis appeared out of nowhere with a syringe in one hand and an IV drip bag in the other, the kind of setup that screamed 'I am not bluffing.'

"You will eat," she said, stepping closer, her voice deceptively sweet as she pointed the syringe at me. "Or I'll sedate you and do it myself."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're joking."

She tilted her head, a slow smirk curving her lips. "Am I?"

I searched her face. She wasn't joking.

I ate.

And she, of course, had to make a comment about it.

"There we go." She gave an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, watching me chew like she had just tamed a wild animal. "Was that so hard? Or do you just like it when I threaten you?"

I nearly choked on my food. "Excuse me?"

Alexis grinned. "I mean, first the IV, now the physical therapy—I can't help but notice how cooperative you get when I get a little rough." She leaned forward slightly, blue eyes dancing with mischief. "If you wanted me to boss you around, Reynard, you could've just said so."

I stabbed my fork into my food with slightly more force than necessary.

Alexis just laughed.

Sleep & Recovery Enhancement ("Shut Up and Rest.")

I tried to fight the schedule.

I lost.

Alexis had zero patience for my refusal to rest. If I didn't sleep, she would make sure I did—one way or another.

The first night, I thought I could get away with it. I had spent so long functioning on minimal rest that my body had adapted. I was used to the exhaustion, the constant demand for survival. I had fought sleep on Mars, through space, through the hell of re-entry.

A little fatigue wasn't going to kill me.

Alexis disagreed.

The first time she caught me trying to stay awake, she walked in calmly, deliberately, and tossed a sedative-loaded syringe onto my bed.

It landed next to me with a soft thud.

I stared at it. "...Really?"

"Use it now," she said, voice light, too light, "or I'll do it myself."

I looked from the syringe to her, trying to gauge if she was bluffing.

She wasn't.

"That's not how medicine is supposed to work," I muttered.

Alexis tilted her head, lips curling into an innocent, almost angelic smile—a direct contrast to the absolute menace she was.

"I'm creative," she said sweetly.

I narrowed my eyes. "That's called malpractice."

"That's called you not listening to me," she corrected, stepping closer. "And I really don't like repeating myself, Reynard."

She trailed a finger along my IV line, as if reminding me exactly how easy it would be for her to just inject the sedative herself.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down my face.

"Fine," I muttered. "But if I wake up feeling groggy, I'm blaming you."

She smirked. "Blame me all you want, Reynard. As long as you're unconscious, I win."

Neuro & Reflex Training ("Your Brain Needs to Catch Up Too.")

"Think fast."

Something whizzed through the air.

I barely dodged in time.

A sharp thud followed as the object slammed into the wall behind me. I turned my head—a stress ball.

Alexis grinned. "You're getting better."

I exhaled slowly, suppressing the urge to scowl. "Are you trying to train my reflexes or kill me?"

"Both."

She sounded far too cheerful about it.

This was her version of neuro and reflex training—a series of merciless drills designed to sharpen my reaction time, sensory awareness, and mental processing.

At one point, she made me wear a blindfold and forced me to navigate an entire room using only sound and touch. Every time I hesitated, she would throw something at me.

A pen.A clipboard.Once—a damn empty IV bag.

"You're supposed to be a genius, right?" she teased as she handed me yet another strategic puzzle. "Then hurry up and solve this before I make you do another set of squats."

I rubbed my temples. I hated this.

Not because it was difficult—but because she was enjoying it too much.

Alexis leaned in slightly, watching me struggle with a puzzle that involved rearranging a series of patterns to form a complete sequence. Her presence was deliberate, her voice smooth as she murmured, "Come on, Rey. I thought you were supposed to be quick on your feet."

Her breath was just close enough to tickle my skin.

I froze for half a second—just long enough for her to suddenly press a hand against my shoulder and shove.

Caught off guard, I stumbled back.

She laughed. "Reaction time still needs work."

I gritted my teeth. "That wasn't a reaction test. That was you pushing me."

"Same thing," she said with a mock-innocent shrug. "Now get back to work, or I'm making this harder."

I glared at her.

She smiled back.

The Final Day – The Heavenly Comeback

The last day came faster than I expected.

I stood in the training room, breathing evenly. My muscles no longer ached. My steps were light, controlled.

Alexis circled me, a satisfied look on her face.

"Alright," she said, stepping forward. "Time for the big moment."

She reached for the weighted exosuit.

And removed it.

I felt light. Unshackled.

She removed the oxygen restrictions, the dietary constraints, the endurance blockers.

And suddenly—

I moved like I was weightless.

Faster. Stronger. Sharper.

Alexis whistled. "Damn."

I exhaled slowly. "That was hell."

She smirked. "That was necessary."

I rolled my shoulders. My body felt perfectly calibrated and as much as I hated it, she was right.

I needed this to be ready.

She clapped her hands together. "Alright, Rey. One month down, one to go."

I met her gaze. "Time to become a lawyer."

She grinned. "Now that is going to be fun to watch."

One Month Left Until Trial.