Chapter 39: Training

A whirlwind of emotions stirred within Sean. In a heartbeat, his expression shifted from shock to annoyance, and finally, to disdain.

He recalled the corridor where he had first encountered Hester. He actually preferred her as she was then—visibly terrified yet forcing herself to stand her ground, refusing to act rashly. That blend of fragility and stubbornness had truly amused him.

He could not fathom how this newcomer, barely settled in, could have grown so arrogant in such a short span of time.

Was it the clamorous praise from the citizens of Tanyi that had emboldened her? Or did she mistakenly believe that because Liz Fletcher had her back, and because he had been relatively inactive this past week, she could now ride roughshod over him?

Having lost all interest in browsing through anyone else’s information, Sean erased his login history and left Mrs. Lavitt’s room early, returning to his own quarters.

Jane Hester.

All the way back, Sean repeated the name silently to himself. Those few search records felt like a declaration of war from her, reigniting a long-dormant competitive fire.

How should I teach you a lesson?

***

Out on the training ground, Hester suddenly lost her balance and tumbled to the ground while running. Both her hands and knees were scraped, and a stinging, burning pain flared up instantly.

A whistle blew in the distance almost immediately; it was the instructor at the starting point, urging her to get up and keep running.

Without even checking her wounds, Hester pushed forward.

Her 120 hours of basic living training had concluded. She had expected her physical training regimen to change, but to her surprise, it remained the same: endless long-distance running.

From Liz, Hester had learned that other members of the base averaged three 5-kilometer weighted cross-country runs per week, with one full-gear 20-kilometer forced march every month. The remaining time was split between combat training, shooting practice, and tactical instruction.

However, based on current assessments, Hester’s height of 1.31 meters and weight of 24 kilograms were far from enough to begin the intensive training.

Due to years of a vegetarian diet and ascetic living, her frame was incredibly thin. The instructors often joked that she was the type of person who would fracture a bone if hit with a single heavy punch. During their first meeting, she had been told to abandon any thoughts of joining the intensive training; her most important tasks were to grow taller, gain weight, and improve her cardiopulmonary endurance.

"Cardiopulmonary function is like a furnace," the instructor had explained. "It’s just like burning a stove—to get the fire roaring, you need the oxygen supply first."

As she ran, Hester felt her windpipe burning, yet somehow, Sean’s malicious face intruded upon her thoughts, unexpectedly granting her a fresh surge of strength.

The whistle blew again from afar. "Maintain a steady pace! Who told you to change speeds? Speeding up and slowing down will only make you more exhausted!"

She struggled to adjust her pace.

Back at the monastery, Hester had been required to perform manual labor and hike with others, but those tasks allowed for frequent rests, and she had never found them agonizing.

When she finally crossed the finish line, Instructor Arnold caught up with her. "What are you thinking about? Why was your rhythm so poor today?"

Hester couldn't speak. She shook her head, feeling lightheaded from head to toe. Even though she had stopped, she didn't feel her breathing grow any easier. She felt as though Arnold was ready at any moment to grab her arm to prevent her from collapsing as she had on the first day.

Arnold was a man of sixty-five, though when Hester first met him, she had taken him for a middle-aged man in his early forties who simply looked weathered, especially since his hair had turned almost entirely white.

Arnold’s build was similar to Galvin’s, though he was shorter. When he stood still, he loved to keep his arms crossed; this defensive posture made him appear incredibly sturdy, his upper arms—as thick as his head—always straining against the sleeves of his shirt.

Hester had once asked him if she could develop such muscles through long-term training, and if so, how long it would take.

Arnold had laughed heartily before asking her what she ate every day.

That was an easy question to answer—since starting physical training, part of her diet had shifted from the staff cafeteria to a specialized supply.

Every morning, her fixed breakfast consisted of 15 grams of whey protein, 35 grams of oatmeal, five egg whites, and one yolk. In the first few days, she couldn't always finish it all, but now she could.

Her first physical training session of the day usually began within an hour of breakfast. Afterward, she would consume a large amount of carbohydrates. The base didn't strictly control portions, so Hester usually opted for mashed potatoes, buckwheat noodles, or black bread, accompanied by salted pan-seared beef patties or chicken breast.

Dinner was relatively flexible; she could still choose from the buffet as before. However, for the past half-month, Hester had been fixated on a dish called "Northern Salad," which contained chicken gizzards, potatoes, shredded chicken breast, leafy lettuce, and endive—it was unexpectedly delicious.

Arnold had nodded frequently, saying that as long as Hester persisted with this diet and trained at the set rhythm, one day she would surpass him—though for some reason, Hester always felt his tone lacked conviction, as if he were merely teasing her.

At this moment, Hester was walking slowly along the outermost track of the training ground, with the instructor following close behind her on her right.

Arnold looked at her. "Are you having some trouble, Hester?"

Hester glanced at him. "Why do you ask?"

"You've been distracted during training quite often lately. That’s not a good sign," Arnold replied. "If you are truly facing any problems, feel free to talk to me."

Hester shook her head. "I'm not having any trouble adjusting. Life here is better than it has ever been, Instructor."

"Then what were you thinking about while running today?" Arnold asked.

Someone who has been looking for trouble with me lately. Hester answered silently.

But before speaking, she asked, "Are you a Mercury Needle, Instructor?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow. "I am not."

"Then I cannot answer you; the matter may be classified," Hester replied. "I was indeed distracted and did not perform well. I will be more careful tomorrow. Please forgive me."

Arnold let out a laugh tinged with slight contempt.

"I am not a Mercury Needle, Hester, but I am a retired soldier of the United Government," Arnold said with a resonant, firm voice. "During my service, I participated in dozens of hunting operations against chelates and collaborated very successfully with many valiant Mercury Needles."