Chapter 3

The coach paused, then gave my hand a perfunctory shake.

I didn't bother to explain further, simply started warming up my wrists and ankles.

A series of crisp clicks and pops echoed from my joints.

The training began.

For the thirty-kilogram weighted cross-country run, I pushed the treadmill to a speed that made its system error out.

For the five hundred push-ups, I completed them with one hand, my other hand even charging my phone.

For the hour of combat training, I disarmed and pinned the former Marine coach to the ground in just three minutes.

The coach lay on the floor, drenched in sweat, his face a mask of disbelief.

I stood up, not a single bead of perspiration on me.

"Is the warm-up finished?"

"When does the real training begin?"

Hearing this, Seraphina, who had been secretly touching up her makeup in front of the mirror, let out a sharp gasp as her powder compact slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

She spun around, staring at my completely unruffled appearance, stammering.

"Sister... were you in the Italian Mafia or something?"

The coach shakily picked himself up from the floor.

He looked at me as if I were some kind of deity.

"It's already... it's already over..."

I sighed in disappointment, shaking my head.

I walked to the nearby lounge area, tore off a club promotional flyer, and flipped it to the back.

I quickly scribbled down an application.

"Application. Double training intensity, extend duration to six hours."

"Reason. Current program insufficient to activate muscles."

"Applicant. Alexandria Thorne."

I finished writing, preparing to hand the paper to the coach.

Just then, the gym door was pushed open by a young man in a sharp suit.

Seeing the newcomer, Seraphina's lips curved into a pout.

Her body seemed to lose all strength, and she crumpled dramatically into Julian Maxwell's arms.

"Julian... Brother Julian..."

She was on the verge of tears, her voice laced with a sob, "Sister forced me to train with her... I really can't take it... it's so hard..."

Julian Maxwell's brows furrowed exactly as expected.

He steadied Seraphina, his eyes filled with reproach as he looked at me.

"Alexandria Thorne, isn't it? I know you might have some resentment, but Seraphina is a victim too! She's frail; what if something happens to her? Would you take responsibility?"

I couldn't be bothered to argue with such illogical nonsense. I walked forward without a word.

I reached out and grabbed Seraphina by the back of her collar.

Like lifting a kitten, I plucked her out of Julian Maxwell's arms and casually set her aside.

I rolled my eyes at her.

"Those superficial moves you were doing? You call that training? Stop blocking the way."

Then, I handed the promotional flyer with my application to Julian Maxwell.

"Please pass this training adjustment plan to my father."

By now, the coach had finally recovered from his immense shock.

He rushed over, speaking excitedly to Julian Maxwell.

"Mr. Maxwell, you've misunderstood! You've completely misunderstood!"

"Ms. Thorne is a military prodigy! I'm not fit to be her coach; she should be teaching me combat!"

Julian Maxwell frowned, instinctively glancing down at the flyer.

His eyes widened in sudden astonishment.

When he looked up again, the disdain was gone, replaced by a profound curiosity.

Seraphina, standing nearby, watched this scene unfold, her face alternating between green and white.

The hatred in her eyes was almost palpable.

She stomped her foot angrily, then burst into tears and ran out of the club.