Ragged breathing blended with the faltering rhythm of each step. Sweat streamed down his forehead, stinging blurred eyes. His legs, numb and on the verge of collapse, moved with mechanical clumsiness. He pushed forward with great difficulty, while a constant pain in his chest and stomach fueled the urge to surrender to idleness.
The dawn air clung to his sweat-soaked shirt, sending chills down his spine. All around him, the empty streets seemed wider than usual, as if the silence expanded the space. Only the echo of his footsteps, the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, and the occasional howling of the wind reminded him that he was still moving.
It had only been a week since Dylan started this hellish training routine, and already every day felt like torture. Not only did he jog each morning, he also made himself go through basic exercises afterward: squats, push-ups, jump rope, and strikes against an improvised punching bag. At night, he stretched his trembling body to the limit, just like a recruit in their first month of boot camp.
His diet was moderate and strict; every meal tasted bland compared to the indulgences of the past. Yet, this brutal effort was barely enough to show just how pitiful his physical condition was.
With each passing minute he moved through that quiet suburban district, far from the city center's noise, the fatigue pressed harder on him. The longing to return to the comfortable, sedentary life he had embraced for so long became almost unbearable.
But there was something stronger inside him, something that kept him going:
A will of steel, forged after his return through time. He was no longer the same Dylan Castro who had grown up surrounded by the apathy of a lazy and stable society.
'Move it! This is nothing. You can do way more than this!' he snapped at himself internally, forcing one foot in front of the other.
Compared to what he'd survived in that other world—the monsters, the nightmares that still haunted his dreams—this was child's play.
'So what if everything hurts? You're not made of glass, idiot. If you survived over there, this is just a walk in the park,' he thought, holding back a gag from exhaustion. 'A walk with fire in your legs and nails in your lungs, sure, but still just a walk...'
Unintentionally, he flashed back to a time when he had to curl up in the snow to avoid being detected by a monster far stronger than he was. Insects crawled around him, the cold gnawed at his bones, and the creature's guttural laughter echoing, daring him to move... That was when he realized what true helplessness felt like.
But every battle is measured by the fighter's limits, and right now, this was his.
That is why...
''Aah!''
His foot tripped on a hole in the sidewalk, and he went down hard.
Instinct kicked in. He threw out his hands and barely managed to break the fall before his forehead could kiss the pavement. His palms burned, and a jagged little stone carved a fresh cut into his left knee.
"Son of a—!" he hissed, crouching and pressing a hand to the wound to let it bleed a bit more freely.
Dylan's face twisted as he felt the sting on his skin. It was a sharp, annoying pain rather than an intense one, but it was nothing new to him. It wasn't the first time he fell, nor would it be the last.
He reached into his waist pack and grabbed a water bottle, cleaned the affected area, and applied a bandage with quick movements. Then he brushed the dust from his hands and stood up, swaying slightly from a sudden wave of weakness caused by low blood sugar.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to find some stability amid the dizziness. Once he felt a bit better, he slowly made his way to the front of a nearby house, where a laurel tree with rounded foliage grew from a small concrete circle.
Ignoring the constant barking of the house's guard dog, he slumped beside the tree, panting. Then, he started rhythmically tapping his thighs, trying to coax some energy back into his legs.
Meanwhile, his eyes lifted to the sky, where daylight was just starting to break through. Sunrise was still a ways off. And while he didn't want to go home just yet, pushing himself any further would be reckless.
There was no room for another screw-up like last time.
Last Tuesday, his first attempt at jogging had gone… poorly. Fueled by stubborn pride, he set a ridiculous goal far beyond what his out-of-shape body could handle. He ignored every warning sign—nausea, dizziness, overheating—and just kept running beneath the harsh afternoon sun.
Until he couldn't anymore.
He collapsed right there on the street, surrounded by baffled neighbors who quickly called an ambulance.
He came to hours later in a hospital bed, dizzy, confused, and with a faint memory of worried voices speaking to him before he passed out.
The blackout was bad, sure; but what really stung him was the medical bill that came with it.
'Three hundred bucks for a few hours of sleep, some saline, and a cranky nurse? What a damn scam!' Even thinking about it made his fists curl with frustration. Compared to the healthcare in the Alliance, that felt like highway robbery.
At least that bitter experience served as an important lesson: he needed to be more careful when choosing the time for his training. The early morning hours or the final glow of sunset seemed like the best options. However, the noise of traffic-clogged streets in the evening pushed him toward the calm between five and six a.m.
He also considered starting at four, an hour earlier, but dismissed the idea after remembering his body wasn't ready for sessions that long. Besides, he couldn't ignore the danger posed by criminals lurking in the shadows of streets long abandoned by the law.
On Wednesday, Dylan skipped his jog following his doctor's recommendation—a decision he accepted with resignation, hoping to at least get something worthwhile for the money he'd spent on the appointment. Still, he wasn't willing to let the day go to waste; after some thought, he focused on completing a spontaneous task that had come to mind.
Back then, while trying to relax at home, his mind wandered to Haru and the gift she'd given him when they first met, in hopes of strengthening their bond before the transfer. But after giving it some thought, it seemed naive to pin all his hopes on a single meeting.
Determined to act more wisely, he looked up an online shop and ordered a retro gaming console bundled with a bunch of old titles. It cost more than he'd expected, but he was sure it would be a good investment. After all, it was in great shape and vaguely remembered how much it might be worth in the future.
He had no intention of giving it to her if they met again—instead, he'd take it with him to the other world and sell it to her, keeping his identity secret.
At the thought of that future, he let out a quiet chuckle. The mere idea of having that reward in his hands brought a faint smile to his face.
But his moment of distraction ended abruptly when he heard the sound of a door opening behind him. He realized several minutes had passed since he stopped to rest, which was clear from the absence of discomfort in his chest and the sun already rising, chasing away the last traces of night.
All around him, the neighborhood was starting to wake up.
Some people were heading to work despite it being Sunday. Others stepped outside to water trees, sweep leaves, or feed pets. There was even a little boy, with a cup in his hand, watching him from the porch across the street with curiosity.
On the other hand, an old lady a few houses down raised an eyebrow at him as she bent to tend her plants.
Several people gave him curious or suspicious sidelong glances, and a few stared openly, as if about to ask what he was doing there.
To avoid confrontation, Dylan leaned against the laurel tree trunk and stood up with effort. Wearing a faint grin tugged at his lips, he raised a hand in greeting before turning around to begin his walk back home.
His house wasn't far: he usually ran in loops rather than heading out in one direction, so it would take him just a few minutes to reach it.