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墨書 Inktalez
Recovery Training continued for three months.
Unlike the simple introductory training program he first encountered, the difficulty of the project increased as it progressed. It ranged from a twenty-kilometer long run to the Ultimate sprint without time limits, and even included running quickly in a swimming pool filled with liquid water.
Meanwhile, a figure flashed back and forth on the playground. Freyr gradually developed a deep-rooted experience in running during the Recovery Training. His sustained sprinting speed could last longer now, and alternating between fast and slow paces did not burden his body too much. He dared not push his body harder, as running was merely a warm-up exercise.
The upcoming tasks would leave him panting, more exhausting and demanding than running. He would rather spend all his time running, even if it was tough and tiring, sometimes with a refreshing sip of Clear Water. However, aside from running, there was no opportunity to drink water or even take a break during other training activities.
Going to the restroom was out of the question; there was no chance to extend time for a quick rest. He hadn’t visited the school restroom in a long time, and each training session exaggeratedly drained the water from his body until he reached a point of dehydration where he could no longer sweat. Only then would they let him go. Compared to the horror of having no sweat to flow, he preferred the regular army's rule where one could rest after soaking a piece of paper with sweat. But here, the rule was to train until there was no sweat left.
As he ran longer distances, reaching over ten kilometers, his stamina began to wane. He lacked the Willpower for prolonged concentration. Thus, this training session remained an essential part of his regimen. He then ran over to Freya, grabbing a cup of water while continuing to run, replenishing his body's lost fluids until he completed the twenty-kilometer task.
With the resource of water revitalizing his tired body, it felt like he could extract strength anew. When his focus sharpened intensely, no one could interrupt his thoughts. As his concentration surpassed a certain threshold, it seemed that the powerful Gene Chain within him was activated.
He recalled from professional classes that the first stage of Gene Chain ability resembled a waterline on a ship; as the water within that line quickly ran low, it would unleash immense power—his physical strength far exceeded that of an ordinary human.
After finishing the last kilometer, he stood on the rubber track, gasping for breath. The timing was just right as the sun rose high in the sky; he did not want to race under the scorching sun on a hot track. Dehydration would short-circuit his Thinking and affect his abilities; humans were creatures that feared heat—compared to cold, heat was an unspeakable agony.
"Drink some water." Freya approached gently, offering him a cup of Clear Water.
"Okay, thank you."
Freyr took the cup with an attractive demeanor and tilted his head back to gulp down its contents, feeling deeply satisfied.
Freya furrowed her brow slightly as she wiped away beads of sweat from her forehead and asked carefully, "So, how do you feel right now?"
Freyr licked his tongue thoughtfully as if pondering hard for a moment before smiling slightly and saying, "I can sum up my feelings in one word: tired."
"Just one word?" Freya seemed surprised but quickly smirked and added, "That means you haven't trained enough! Look at you—since you still have energy to joke with me, you must not have pushed yourself hard enough during training. Don’t think you can slack off just because there are no grades counted! You've made some progress, but you're still lagging behind average performance. Remember that everyone in our team is improving too. When will you stop talking nonsense and put your energy into training?"
"Yes, yes! You're right."
Freyr shrank back slightly as he felt a cool breeze behind him. He abruptly shifted gears to restore his emotions to their fullest state.
The morning's long run was merely a warm-up; naturally, he couldn’t expend too much energy focusing on achieving results unless he wanted to forgo assessments for the remaining training tasks. Although he wanted to see if he could concentrate on one thing effectively, it was genuinely challenging for him. There had been one occasion when he succeeded but ended up collapsing on the playground and had to be taken by a doctor to the school's health room for treatment.
Without the right tools, one should not take on delicate tasks. Although he had only done it once, that experience almost made him detest the Recovery Training program. It was only after a crash course in nutrition that the doctor finally allowed him to participate in training.
The morning task was a warm-up run, followed by a hike to an artificially carved hill created by the school. Although it was a fake mountain, its steepness made it feel like a real challenge. Standing at a height of one hundred meters, it wasn't particularly tall, but its nearly 45-degree incline made reaching the summit a strenuous and thankless endeavor, which gave rise to his lifelong disdain for this training exercise.
At the foot of the hill stood a wooden cabin, which served as the base for equipment distribution.
Freyr walked over and dragged out a mini bicycle designed for children under six years old. This miniature contraption was the tool for this training regimen. He had been tormented by this tiny bike for three months, enduring rigorous training where he had to ride up and down the hill. If he failed to meet the required training time, he would be denied water.
In front of the cabin were just a wooden table and two wooden chairs. Freya would often sit under an umbrella on one of the chairs, applying sunscreen to avoid being scorched by the intense sunlight. When it rained, conditions worsened significantly; the incline became even more challenging as rainwater soaked the ground, drastically reducing tire traction.
Riding uphill required immense effort, especially in the rain when he had to exert every ounce of strength just to make it up. Yet no matter how many times he adapted to the conditions, he could never surpass the minimum performance standard during rainy days.
In summer, water was essential; during rain, even drinking water became scarce.
The narrow bike seat caused painful chafing. After several initial training sessions, he discovered that his skin had been rubbed raw.
This training consumed a lot of physical energy and severely tested his concentration.
The cycling session lasted all morning until lunch at one o'clock, when Freyr would be called back to lock up his bike and return to Cambrian Hall.
Mealtime felt like a battlefield; it wasn't merely about being looked down upon or ostracized. Freyr had a heart of iron and was immune to most people's taunts. He often let others go ahead of him in line since his teammates also endured tough training and needed substantial meals.
However, no matter how much food Clinton prepared, by the time Freyr reached for his plate, he would find only a small amount of mashed potatoes and a pitiful steak that was mostly bone with just a thin layer of meat wrapped in thick flour—barely any meat flavor left.
Seeing this made Freyr strive hard to tolerate everything. Tolerance didn't mean complete acceptance; rather, it could encourage others' arrogance. Several times, his locker had been pried open, and snacks stored inside were taken away.
He couldn't childish seek help from his coach; doing so would only add more tension to an already uncomfortable atmosphere. Those people harbored deep resentment towards him and might even prevent him from entering Cambrian Hall or steal his clothes while he showered, leaving him embarrassed and exposed.
Such actions were not uncommon. He knew that enduring without reporting them would allow him to deal with them decisively when the time came. With this thought in mind, he finished off what little remained on his plate and stepped out to eat some compressed biscuits he had brought with him. Though dry in texture, these biscuits were homemade and packed with nutrients far exceeding those found in steak.
Despite lacking steak's remarkable healing properties and having its own shortcomings in that regard, he refused to compromise with Clinton.
“After lunch, Freyr, come to my office; we need to talk.”
Suddenly, Clinton's voice echoed from the back of the room. He sat there with an air of authority reminiscent of a club leader. However, as someone with psychic sensory abilities, he could understand people's thoughts—both expressed and unexpressed—and could gauge their true feelings through conversation.
However, the way Clinton chose to address him was under the bright lights of the hall, calling him out to the office in front of so many people. All eyes, filled with resentment, anger, and jealousy, suddenly turned toward Freyr.
Freyr had long been an isolated figure sitting off to one side. The team's jealousy towards him had gradually morphed into disdain; they hated seeing someone so different from them still mixing within the group. At first, Freya had sat beside him, but at that moment, her presence next to him only heightened the discomfort in the room. The atmosphere had become stifling, with everyone's emotions fluctuating significantly.
"Mm!"
For these past few days, after meals, Clinton would call him to the office.
The two would sit together and talk. Clinton was probing into his thoughts; even though Freyr's face was as rigid as an iceberg, Clinton could still glean some information from his consciousness. Although this information was trivial, he was gradually being influenced by his surroundings and was close to finding a breakthrough.
Clinton would ask him questions and express concern for him as if he were a long-lost relative treating him warmly. Each time he was called to the office, their conversations would last quite a while.
"How have you been in this team?" he asked a strange question.
"I think the training is fine; I'm making gradual progress," Freyr replied.
Clinton frowned and quickly asked, "Hey, I didn't ask how your training is going. I don't need to know what level you're at; I receive your reports. Just answer me how you're doing."
Freyr remained unfazed and replied calmly, "Just as you see it. Every time you call me to your office, I face their jealousy. They treat me like a snitch. You even praise me in front of them, holding me up as an example while you insult and ridicule them like they're ants. I don't understand your intentions behind this, nor do I want to. I only care about whether I can continue to improve..."
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