"Is that your brilliant idea for training?" Michael grumbled, his voice strained as he tackled his first-ever deadlift.

"Absolutely," Grace replied, unwavering. "And we're not stopping here. We'll keep pushing until you're ready for round four with Matteo."

"So..." Michael panted, the weight bearing down on him. "You're starting to find this situation amusing?"

"It was only a matter of time," Grace quipped, her tone lightening. "But hey, you can't blame me. You brought this upon yourself by challenging the Department Manager. If anything, I'm the innocent bystander in this chaos," she added with a shrug. "Alright, five more reps. Check your Status Window once you're done."

As Michael lowered the bar, he stretched his aching muscles and glanced at his Status Window.

"No change," he reported wearily.

Following the third confrontation with Matteo, Grace had administered the fourth Vitality Capsule. Thankfully, the effects of the previous three had worn off by the end of the skirmish, sparing him from any lingering side effects.

"Add more weight," Grace commanded, her tone firm.

Michael sighed, his initial urge to argue dissipating into silence. 'I can't rely solely on the natural synchronization of Physique and Psyche. It's only pertinent to Magick Ions distribution, not expenditure. I need to learn to control them individually when there's an imbalance in their values.' That, at least, was Grace's blueprint for his training, what she deemed as "the foundation for future training".

The snag in her particular methodology, however, left Michael uncertain about how lifting weights would contribute to his development.

'It's still remarkable,' he acknowledged to himself. 'So, once more... I enter here, type there, and voilà!'

With a final adjustment to the weight settings on the control console of the deadlift bar, Michael watched as it buzzed softly on its low stand.

"Have you set it to 700 MKG?" Grace inquired.

"No, one ton."

"Lower it," Grace's tone brooked no argument. "Until your form is impeccable, you're not to increase the weight beyond 100 MKG at a time, and only after I've given the go-ahead."

"But it feels light, and I've lifted heavier loads before..."

She fixed him with a firm stare.

Michael relented, resigning himself to Grace's instructions. The bar buzzed once more, now adjusted to a weight of 700 MKG, yet that was merely a fraction of the equipment available in the Training Ground. Among the intriguing settings, one caught Michael's attention but remained untouched since Grace had already configured it: "Trend". With only two options, "Build" and "Mentality," Grace had selected "Mentality" at an "easy" difficulty level of "1.5" to offset his higher Physique.

As Michael engaged in his workout, nearly thirty minutes in and already onto the fourth standard exercise found in everyday gyms, albeit simplified for his current training regimen, he failed to discern a notable difference between his Physique and Psyche. The Trend setting seemed to maintain a semblance of balance between them, albeit without fostering true synchronization.

Another half hour passed, and Michael now found himself performing the eighth exercise: lunges, complete with dumbbells and shoulder weights.

"I must admit, you adapt quickly," Grace remarked, her voice carrying a note of approval. "Once you hit 1,655 MKG across all basic exercises, we'll consider pushing you to what should be your true limit: 2,303 MKG. In fact, it should be slightly higher, considering you weren't at peak condition during testing. Let's calculate... 340 times seven equals... 2,380 MKG," Grace murmured, ensuring her words remained private, shielded from prying ears.

After nearly two and a half hours of relentless effort, Michael finally completed the last set, reaching the elusive 1,655 MKG mark in the final exercise. Throughout the session, Grace had put him through a grueling regimen of twenty exercises: Push-Ups, Bodyweight Squats, Planks, Lunges, Bicycle Crunches, Jumping Jacks, Dumbbell Rows, Bicep Curls, Tricep Dips, Leg Raises, Wall Sits, Calf Raises, Pull-Ups/Chin-Ups, Russian Twists, Burpees, Mountain Climbers, Deadlifts, Seated Shoulder Press, Box Jumps, and Side Leg Raises – though not necessarily in that order.

'It's finally over!' Michael exhaled, collapsing onto the floor, relieved but hesitant to vocalize his relief. More than once, Grace had mistaken his complaints for a renewed burst of energy, prompting her to push him harder with shorter breaks. 'It was brutal,' he admitted to himself, weighing the hellish training against another round with Matteo. 'But no,' he concluded, shaking his head. 'Dealing with Matteo is a different kind of struggle altogether.'

Grace scrutinized Michael, her attempt to conceal her frown faltering as he met her gaze with forced cheerfulness. "Don't be such a baby. You haven't lost that many Magick Ions. What is it? Fifteen minutes and you're back to your 'me vs the world – because my time's running out' persona?" she mocked, mimicking his voice in an exaggerated manner. "And remember, the effects of the last Vitality Capsule are still in play."

"Fine..." Michael relented, his tone strained. "Just please, stop talking."

She nudged him with her foot. "Just please, stop talking, my dear Partner!"

"Sure..." Michael sighed, knowing she wouldn't let him rest until he played along, even if it was at his own expense. "My dear Partner."

"Great," Grace said, squatting down beside him. "We have an hour and a half left. Let's give you another fifteen minutes of rest before the fight. That gives us an hour's worth of training time. I'll reset the difficulty before we begin again."

Michael grumbled under his breath, but Grace had already disappeared from his view.

An hour passed...

Michael finished the tenth exercise, bodyweight squats, and collapsed to the floor with a resounding "BANG" as the weights on his body hit the ground.

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"What are you?" Grace pondered aloud, though she knew she had a comprehensive understanding of her Partner. Nonetheless, she struggled to comprehend his remarkable performance. "It's too much to attribute to mere natural talent. There must be..." She hesitated, considering mentioning the Demonic Contract, but with two Agents training nearby, she decided against it, not wanting to risk exposure even with her vocal control.

Setting the Mentality Trend's difficulty to "3" – the bottom of the medium difficulty range, where "5" represented the highest and "6" and "7" denoted hard and hardest respectively – Grace anticipated that Michael would struggle, perhaps completing only four exercises in an hour with inferior results. However, to her astonishment, he effortlessly completed all ten exercises, achieving a maximum MKG of 2000 each.

"Interesting..." Despite struggling for breath, Michael felt a sense of euphoria wash over him. Without waiting for Grace's instruction, he eagerly opened his Status Window.

Name: Michael Mir

Age: 23

Race: Human

Status: Under Demonic Contract, Symbiosis (OFF)

Health: 2,560 (-850)

Magick: 3,300 (-110)

Magick Ions: 330 (-11)

Physique: 256 (-85)

Psyche: 231 (-110)

Insights:

Worm: Sight (Second Stage)

Abilities:

Worm: ???

Michael's Health and Physique had taken a beating from the third bout with Matteo, further diminished by the demanding training regimen. In contrast, his other stats showed improvement, with his Psyche notably increasing since his last check.

"Hey, Grace!" he exclaimed, surprising her with his sudden burst of energy. He almost leaped to his feet but settled for lifting his weary chest from the floor.

"What?" Grace replied, taken aback by his reaction.

"I gained another Magick Ion!" Michael announced gleefully, like a child who had discovered spare change between the sofa cushions.

"It's to be expected," Grace responded matter-of-factly, not sharing in his excitement. "It's your first time addressing your weaknesses. Naturally, there will be gains. Singular gains. If you had completed the exercises flawlessly at the highest difficulty, you might have gained one Magick Ion per exercise. But that's beyond your capability. You might rush through medium difficulty, but achieving perfection at the hard level requires precision that few below the First Metamorphosis possess. Look at the 'Top Performance' section on the console. Even if you performed exceptionally, I doubt your name will be listed for any of the exercises we completed."

It took considerable effort, but Michael managed to sit upright.

"So, that's your training method?" he inquired.

"That's how I trained," Grace clarified. "There's no point in returning to the basics at my current level. We'll reassess once I cross the 350 Magick Ions mark."

Through their conversations, Michael gleaned that 700 was the maximum capacity of the Pool of Magick Ions for those under the First Metamorphosis. Beyond that, the capacity increased by seven times with each subsequent Metamorphosis, up to the Seventh – a detail about the advanced Metamorphoses that didn't require high clearance.

"Enough," Grace interrupted, pushing Michael gently until he lay back on the ground. "Rest. I'll wake you when it's time for round four."

…

Complete darkness enveloped the cold chamber, yet she could see perfectly well and hear beyond the heavy door used to seal her in. It was the same door she was instructed to open and close herself whenever a specific rhythm of knocks sounded.

Inside the frigid, dark chamber, they stripped her of every garment, leaving her naked on a thin mattress, alone and waiting. Only when summoned did they drape a dusty sack over her before leading her out.

She didn't feel resentment, nor pain, sadness, and definitely not happiness. It had been a month since she woke up here, locked in this chamber with occasional outings. Throughout this time, they only attempted to feed her during the first week. Whatever she was instructed to swallow was promptly expelled, in a much greater volume, as a jet of black sludge. For that reason, all she felt, from the moment she initially opened her eyes to now, was hunger.

KNOCK

It began. Three times, followed by a short pause, then three more knocks, a longer pause, and finally, three more knocks, accompanied by the screeching of nails on the door.

She rose, a mere skeleton of the woman she once was. Nevertheless, she effortlessly placed her hands on the door and pushed.

Outside, a young woman named Sister Tris stood, her left hand rubbing aggrievedly at her chipped fingernails. Resentment pulsed through her.

"Get out here already!" she snapped, seizing MK by the arm and dragging her out of the chamber and onto the floor. "Stupid, stupid! Ugly Thing!" she berated, her anger fueled by nothing more than MK's compliance with orders that had ruined her manicure.

Such was the routine treatment she endured ever since Mother Superior deemed her ineligible for the baptism ceremony and consequently, unfit to join the convent as a new Daughter for Her Holiness. Despite this, Mother Superior still believed MK had a role as a tool, if not a servant, for Her Holiness. All she needed to do was grind her down until she found her purpose.

MK rose, always in a zombielike manner. "Hungry", was recently the only word she uttered when given the chance. Yet, not once did she act on that hunger without permission. Not once did she swallow and left swallowed her food.

"After me. And don't you dare be sluggish, or I'll take away the mattress, spill water on the floor, and let you sleep there until the next time you're called. Understand?!"

"Hungry..."

"Damned dimwit!"

Several turns and stairways later, the two arrived at the entrance of the room at the single spire of the building. Sister Tris knocked once and composed herself respectfully and patiently as they awaited permission to enter.

"Enter," the warm voice of Mother Superior called from within.

Sister Tris opened the door, smiling candidly as though the person who had harassed MK never existed. "I've brought Thing, Mother Superior."

The room was nothing more than a cramped office, adorned with a desk, three chairs, numerous books, and a solitary window. Mother Superior occupied one side of the desk, while on the other sat a Hispanic man, seemingly in his thirties, clad in a tailored ash suit adorned with a pattern reminiscent of snake scales. Standing next to him was a towering Hispanic figure exuding the aura of an experienced bodyguard.

"Thank you, dear. You may leave us. I'll summon you to retrieve Thing when the time comes," Mother Superior instructed.

"Yes, Mother Superior," Sister Tris acknowledged, thrusting MK forward before spinning on her heels, shutting the door behind her, and descending the stairway.

"Is that her?" The man in the ash suit pivoted in his seat, a look of displeasure etched across his features. He glanced back at Mother Superior with a scowl. "What am I supposed to do with a malnourished girl infested with lice, Madre Superiora? Even the worn-out whores from the former Jefe's crew look better than this girl. If you had presented her to me before she deteriorated like this... redheads fetch a decent price. But not like this."

"Oh, it seems there's been a misunderstanding, Sir Joshua," Mother Superior interjected with a smile, gesturing for MK to approach.

As MK shuffled forward, preparing to utter her usual refrain of "Hungry", she locked eyes momentarily with the towering bodyguard, thrice her size. However, Mother Superior swiftly flipped her palm, causing the full word to lodge in MK's throat, resulting in a creepy stutter: "Hu-Hu-Hu-"

"Chaplain," the larger man warned calmly, noticing Mother Superior's action and the unsettling atmosphere surrounding the gaunt girl.

"Thing won't harm you. It is just a harmless, just a poor soul," Mother Superior assured, gesturing from MK to Joshua. "Follow and obey him for three nights," she instructed MK, then shifted her gaze to Joshua. "For three nights, you'll have her do as you desire. By the fourth morning, you'll leave her at the convent doorstep."

"Madre Superiora-" Joshua began, his frustration evident at what he deemed an insufficient response to what he should demand rather than request. A large hand rested on his shoulder, that of his bodyguard's. He shrugged it off along with his impatience. "Fine. I'll accept her, for three nights," he declared, rising from his seat. "But remember, Madre Superiora, I am the new Jefe, a new Jefe. The convent, while profitable, was mismanaged by my predecessor. It would be unfortunate if it were to become part of my 'clean house' operation."