Four days since I woke up.

9:00 AM. I roll out of bed and get to work.

Push-ups. Pull-ups. Slow and deliberate reps. Positive and negative.

I feel the whole system connect. Bone. Muscle. Joint.

The human body is a single, precision machine. Gears in a clock, meshing.

One part moves, the next responds.

Open. Extend. Close. Bear the load. Fire. Alignment.

That’s the synergy of the whole machine.

“Hhhrrrraaaaghh…”

“Meow.”

I focus on alignment. On the flow of oxygen. The transfer of energy.

I spend five minutes raising one leg. Five minutes lowering it. A training variant of Seismic Stomp.

I visualize the force channel, from the sole of my foot straight to my fist.

Click. It all falls into place. Every last gear. A perfect synchronization.

My condition was near-perfect last night. This morning, it’s flawless.

Alright. Calibration complete. I have full command of my balance and coordination again.

I can pilot this body with the same precision I had before the injury.

I change. White shirt, slacks, tie, jacket.

Lady Ayano, who’s been watching my morning routine, trails behind me. I head for the breakfast table to join Lady Kimiyo and Lady Ren Akachi.

“How’s the body, Ikaku Akamuro?”

“Perfectly, thank you. I just finished my morning calibration.”

“Is that so? Good. That was faster than I thought, this ‘calibration’ of yours. Four days ago, you said it would take a month.”

“It’s a testament to the excellent recovery environment you’ve provided.”

My eyes land on the spread laid out just for me.

A mountain of oatmeal. An industrial-sized chicken breast salad. A filet steak. A vanilla protein potage. A vanilla protein cake.

Lady Ren looks a little stunned by the sheer volume of it all.

Lady Kimiyo gives off a clear vibe: Just keep this guy full of protein and he’ll be fine.

She’s not wrong.

I’m not a competitor anymore, of course. Unlike my past life, there are no cutting phases. No contests. That means I’m on a permanent bulk.

I hammer down protein for maintenance and growth, along with every other nutrient I can get my hands on.

Calories are fuel. Fats and carbs are just part of the equation for peak performance. Especially now, during recovery. My intake has to be higher than ever.

I get to work, shoveling it all in.

As I empty one plate after another and stack them to the side, a maid silently clears them away.

“Mr. Akamuro…”

“Mmph. Ghm… Yes, Lady Ren?”

“That’s… an awful lot again today… Are you sure it’s okay for you to eat that much?”

“I appreciate the concern. But rest assured, I weight-train my esophagus and stomach, too.”

“You can train those?”

“Eating is training. It’s a fundamental.”

Lady Ren stares like I’m an animal in a zoo. I just smile and drain the one-and-a-half-liter pitcher of high-calorie potage.

Thirty-five thousand calories later, I carry my noisy weapons out to the garden.

Alright. Time to face these guys again.

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