April 28, 3104

The next day, I received a message:

"Here’s the data on professionals from the top 5000 up to the top 200, where the Grandmasters begin," along with a 20GB attachment.

“Yeah, I found a job while I’m in the hospital,” I muttered to myself.

For the next two months, my days followed a strict, draining schedule:

* 8:00 a.m. Wake up (though I often slept until 8:40).

* 9:00 a.m. Breakfast.

* 11:00 a.m. - 1:00 p.m. Physical therapy to prevent muscle atrophy.

* 2:00 p.m. Lunch.

* 3:00 p.m. - 5:00 p.m. Data sorting from Rebeca.

* 6:00 p.m. Dinner.

* 7:00 p.m. - 9:00 p.m. Intravenous medicine; the real ordeal began after that.

* 10:00 p.m. The hardest part of the day. I thought the infusions marked the end of my treatment, but I was wrong.

Each night, they wheeled me to the basement and placed me in a transparent, vertical capsule. My limbs, wrapped in a soft, anesthetic-soaked material, were suspended to keep my wounds from closing.

For the first week, heavy sedatives kept me asleep during the sessions. Then, the doctors told me that staying asleep would delay nerve formation and prolong my recovery. So, for the next month, I stayed awake, watching as my limbs slowly regenerated—half of my forearm, a third of my calf. Drugs kept me from feeling pain, but I felt each small ache as my body fought to heal.

Day 40: The drugs began losing their effect, and stings appeared in my limbs. At first, they were minor, easy enough to ignore if I focused on something else.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 44%; Leg = 30%

Day 50: The stings sharpened, no longer fleeting. I informed the doctors, and they adjusted my medication. Still, they warned the pain would remain until the nerves fully developed. My grip weakened; I often dropped things, and headaches started, though not consistently.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 57%; Leg = 42%

Day 60: The pain grew intense, as relentless as ever. The doctors tried another combination, but it provided only brief relief. I endured it, knowing my forearm was almost complete, my calf not far behind.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 63%; Leg = 55%

Day 65: The pain grew fierce—a throbbing, nauseating intensity. I fought to keep food down, knowing my body needed all the nutrients it could get. If I vomited, I’d have to compensate with extra fluids and calories.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 74%; Leg = 62%

Day 70: Concentration was impossible. The pain radiated into previously unaffected areas.Because of the pain, I didn't understand that I wanted to go to the bathroom and I peed on myself since then, I have a urinary catheter.

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* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 79%; Leg = 69%

Day 73: It felt like knives twisting beneath my skin. Nausea and dizziness were constant. Sleep was possible only with heavy sedatives, and exercise was out of the question.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 89%; Leg = 77%

Day 76: My arm was fully formed. The doctor confirmed circulation, muscles, and tendons were complete but didn’t mention nerves. I didn’t ask, assuming he’d forgotten, though my mind was too muddled to think clearly. I grew more irritable, and I struggled to hide my frustration.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 100%; Leg = 90%

Day 79: My leg was fully regenerated. The pain remained intense, but knowing I was close to the end helped me endure it. My frustrations spilled over; I kept my replies short, my fists meeting walls and tables too often.

* Regeneration Progress: Hand = 100%; Leg = 100%

Day 80: As they prepared to move me to the basement, the doctor himself arrived.

“Your nerves aren’t fully developed yet,” he informed me.

“Can we proceed?” I asked, confused.

“Your body has adapted to the new tissues, but the nerves haven’t fully extended.”

“Can’t they grow along the way?”

“Not with nerves,” he replied. “We hoped they’d accelerate, but they haven’t.”

“What if I end treatment now?”

“You wouldn’t be able to control your fingers or the muscles in your calf.”

Silence filled the room. Finally, I nodded. “A few more days.”

The doctor agreed. “Three more for the arm, five for the leg.”

And so began the days I’d rather forget.

Days 81-82: Movement caused unbearable pain. I had to switch to intravenous feeding; nausea kept me from eating normally. This was real torture, but I have to because I have to bury my head in the ground because those with garbage from the leadership positions of the cindercrest clan, if I want to return what I once saw, then I have to resist

Days 83-84: Pure hell. I lost all sense of time and space as pain consumed me. The only time I showed any reaction was when the nurse said it was time to go to the basement, it wouldn't be wrong to say that I developed a phobia of transparent capsules

Day 85: My only memory is the doctor saying, “Well done, it’s over now.”

Darkness followed.

When I awoke, I saw the familiar vision of a white bridge. I raised my hand—my real hand. “I have an arm and a leg!” I whispered to myself.

The doctor entered, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get excited! Your limbs are fragile; even a small bump could break a bone.”

“You’re rougher on my limbs than I am,” I muttered.

He gave a slight smile. “I’m the first to grow fully functional limbs, remember.”

“Thank you,” I replied, realizing the depth of what he’d given me.

“Let’s not exaggerate,” he waved me off. “I just did my job.”

For the first time, I noticed him properly—around 30, dark brown hair, green eyes, and glasses.

“You’ve put me through my share of struggles. They say only the cheese in the trap is free. Why don’t I feel pain now?”

“After day 85, we put you in an artificial coma, flushed the drugs from your system, and let your tissues reset. Now, the pain is gone.”

I flexed my new limbs, feeling fragile but alive.

“What happens now?”

“As planned, we’ll focus on muscle growth and coordination. For now, your limbs look like they belong to a vegetarian.”

July 28, 3104