Chapter 5: Thanks for the Workout, Instructor

Phoenix snapped the heavy leather-and-iron weights around her wrists and ankles, testing the fit with a light, rhythmic ankle bounce. Forty pounds of lead plates? Please. In her previous life, she’d sprinted six miles through flooded subway ruins in pitch-black darkness, carrying fifty pounds of wet ammunition and a screaming rookie on her back while dodging mutated quad-peds. This felt less like a brutal military punishment and more like wearing fluffy bedroom slippers on a lazy Sunday morning.

Instructor Dan blew his silver whistle with enough force to nearly burst a lung, the screech echoing off the stone walls of the amphitheater. “Begin! One hundred laps! Let’s see how long that big mouth keeps running, Wraith!”

While the surrounding Sentinels—built like brick outhouses and oozing physical confidence—puffed out their chests and paced themselves like high-bred racehorses, Phoenix took off like a low-flight missile.

Lap 1. She breezed past the first pack of mid-tier Sentinels within the first two hundred meters. They gasped, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as a supposedly "defective, bottom-ranked Guide" flashed past them in a blur of white-and-gold academy leather, her long jet-black ponytail whipping through the wind like a battle banner.

Lap 15. Phoenix hit her groove, her breathing so steady and rhythmic it sounded like a clock ticking. Her stride was ridiculously smooth, effortless, and optimized for maximum energy conservation. Every time she rounded the bend near the spectator stands, she offered a cheerful, mocking little wave to Travis, whose smug, arrogant expression was rapidly deteriorating into absolute horror.

“Why isn’t she sweating?!” someone shrieked from the sidelines. “She’s an F-rank Guide! Her lungs should be exploding right now!”

Lap 40. Phoenix caught up to the leading pack of S-class Sentinels. These were the academy’s golden boys, currently dripping with buckets of sweat, legs visibly trembling, and desperately leaning on their passive physical enhancements just to keep their knees from buckling. Phoenix casually jogged right alongside their star sprinter, keeping pace without a single hitch in her breath.

“Nice pace, big guy,” she chirped, completely unbothered as she glanced over at him. “Your form’s a little stiff, though. You’re holding way too much tension in your lower back. Relax your shoulders, or you’re going to cramp up before we even hit lap sixty!”

The star Sentinel turned his head to glare at her in sheer outrage, tried to bark a response, choked on his own spit, tripped over his own boots, and face-planted directly into the synthetic turf with an echoing thud.

Lap 75. Three-quarters of the class were now collapsed in wheezing, panting, pathetic heaps along the edges of the track, clutching their ribs, begging for water, and deeply re-evaluating every life choice that had brought them to this academy. Phoenix, meanwhile, was humming a cheerful, jaunty pop tune, executing a light double-step every time she rounded the turn in front of Instructor Dan’s podium.

Instructor Dan’s jaw was practically scraping the rubberized track. His trusty timer clipboard trembled in his massive, scar-covered hand as his mind struggled to process the sheer impossibility unfolding before his eyes. A Guide—a creature meant to sit in air-conditioned rooms and hand out mental soothing waves—was currently running a circles around his top combat units.

By Lap 100, Phoenix didn't even slow down to cross the finish line; she hit the final stretch with a burst of speed, finishing with a crisp, high-kicking jump and skidding to a graceful, flawless halt right in front of Instructor Dan.

She wasn't even out of breath. Her pale porcelain skin had a light, healthy flush, her dark brown eyes sparkled with pure, mischievous amusement, and not a single strand of her jet-black hair was out of place.

Phoenix tapped her wrist, looking up at Dan with bright, expectant eyes.

“One hundred laps in thirty-one minutes flat,” Phoenix announced smoothly, flashing a dazzling, victorious smile that lit up the entire field. “I believe that breaks the academy record held by the Sentinel department by a full eight minutes, Instructor. Now… where are you taking me for lunch? I hear the lobster tail and steak in the executive dining hall are exquisite.”

Instructor Dan stared at her, completely speechless, the whistle slipping from his numb lips and dangling limply from its cord.

Behind him, Travis looked as if he had just swallowed a live grenade, his face alternating between pale shock and burning embarrassment. Phoenix caught his stunned gaze across the quiet field, offered him a playful two-finger salute, and gave him a slow, deliberate wink.

Welcome to the new regime, sweetheart.