Free Web NovelChapter 92: Product Generation Number
As soon as I finished changing into my combat suit and stepped onto trackfield, the scenery immediately dragged my mind back to that capture-the-point exercise from before.
Back then, we literally had to gang up on Tasora.
Even with our heavy hitters like Khent and Waffel riding her ass, we couldn’t even dent her defenses. Not to mention Finster going full-on protagonist mode just to protect her in the finale.
"Speaking of her, where is she anyway? She usually sits right beside you," Nagi asked, falling into step next to me.
"Whoa! You surprised me. What, are you a mind reader now, too?"
"How rude! Call it intuition," she huffed, crossing her arms.
"Anyway, whenever you think about Tasora, your face gets this scary look. Like you’re being forced to chew on something incredibly bitter but told not to make a scene."
"Huh... I highly doubt that. I pride myself on my acting and gaslighting skills."
"Uwaah, I don’t think that’s something you should be bragging about. Though I can’t exactly deny your disgusting claims, I definitely wasn’t kidding about the face you make whenever Tasora comes up." She hopped on her toes, reaching up to manually shape my brows.
I flicked her hand away gently. "No, I don’t."
"Yes, you do~."
She grinned, stepping back into our assigned lane.
"Yes, you do," Verde’s voice echoed directly inside my head....
You really didn’t need to side with her on this, Verde.
"I am not siding with her. I am simply siding with the truth of your flourishment."
Yeah, yeah. Whatever.
...
We gathered around the central grass patch, crouching and squatting down just as Professor Heather instructed.
"Good, everyone is finally here," Heather announced.
"We will begin with our weekly five hundred laps. Those who have not completed their count for the week may start running as soon as you are ready.
The rest of you, wait until I call your name for your personal assessment. Start!"
I stood there in confusion, automatically assuming I was going to be forced to run as well. Five hundred laps in my current state sounded like a death sentence. But just as I braced myself to step onto the track, my name cut through the noise.
"Student Salinin! Come forward for your early assessment."
"Yes, Professor Heather," I called back, jogging over to where he stood.
The moment I came to a halt in front of him, he stepped in close and began firmly gripping my biceps, pressing his thumbs into my shoulders.
"EEEEEK!"
"Stop squirming, Salinin. I am manually measuring your muscle composition, density, and overall physical build after your discharge."
"Puhahahahaah! Did anyone else just hear that?!" a loud voice roared from the sidelines.
"Matt just squealed like a literal girl! In fact, his pitch was better than most girls!"
Found her...
Squinting toward the source of the noise, I locked onto Tasora’s blurry silhouette sitting beside Finster and Azalea. Finster was frantically hovering behind her, waving his hands in a panic.
"Tasora, please, stop it! He just got out of the hospital, don’t tease him!" freewebnσvel.cѳm
Azalea just facepalmed, completely giving up on her chaotic friend.
She grabbed Emma by the sleeve, turning her back on the drama to start their laps together.
"EEEK! Ahhhh!!" I yelled out again as Heather’s hand moved down to check my latissimus dorsi muscle.
Professor Heather frowned, pulling his hands back.
"Why are you reacting like that? Are you still experiencing acute internal pain from the island?"
"No, sir..." I wheezed, my face burning with pure embarrassment as I adjusted my combat suit.
"I’m just... I’m just extremely ticklish..."
"PHUahahahahahahahaahha!"
"Hahahahahaahahahahah!"Tasora doubled over, laughing even harder at my confession.
"I can’t!"
"I literally can’t! My stomach... it hurts so bad! That guy is going to kill me from sheer laughter! Hahahahaha!"
That bitch...
Even Finster was taken aback by my explanation, biting his lower lip as he tried to suppress his own laughter while still desperately holding Tasora back from rolling on the grass.
"Student Rigel, I’m adding two hundred laps to your count due to your insolence," Professor Heather said, his voice flat and mildly annoyed.
"What!?"
"Two hundred and fifty, and another four bands for disrespect in talking back to a professor."
She was about to voice another explosive complaint, but she swallowed it the moment she realized arguing would earn her more punishment.
Instead, her pure, unfiltered anger was fully redirected at a single target.
"GRRRRR"
She gave me a fully menacing death glare, and I accepted it with deep, heartfelt gratitude.
I exhaled blissfully.
"Karma sure was doing God’s work today."
"EEEEEKK!"
Professor Heather resumed his one-sided physical examination of my torso.
The sensation was so intense that I literally had to bite down on my tongue in retaliation to stop myself from squealing like a tire on asphalt.
"Alright, that’s enough," Heather finally muttered, stepping back.
He tapped his glowing tablet. "Your baseline muscle density is surprisingly resilient for someone who just woke up from a coma. However, there are undeniable structural indicators of acute cellular strain.
Your fibers show micro-tears that suggest a sudden, violent acceleration of your physical limits."
Did you hear that, Verde? I thought.
He’s basically talking about the backlash from your blessing.
"Do not blame your own physiological incompetence on me," she huffed back.
"There are also distinct patterns of localized trauma," Heather continued, his eyes narrowing as he read the diagnostic feedback. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
"It looks as though someone systematically beat you to a point where your deep muscle tissues were warped and weirdly realigned out of sheer impact.
"My eyes immediately drifted toward the track, locking onto the blurry, running form of the true culprit.
Tasora was now jogging leisurely around the oval, looking entirely unbothered. She was somewhat sweating.....
Wait, sweating!?
That girl!?
Was that monster actually feeling the exertion?
"Take these," Heather instructed, interrupting my thoughts.
He handed me a set of dark, ultra-thin bands.
"Secure them over your shoulders and your lower calves, beneath your combat suit."
The bands were incredibly sleek, constructed from a futuristic, charcoal-colored flexible polymer.
Stamped across the fabric was a glowing digital readout displaying the number #470.
I assumed it was a product generation number.
I slipped them on beneath the tight fabric of my suit, expecting a heavy drag. To my surprise, they felt light and almost weightless, perfectly contouring to my skin like a second layer of cloth.
They were remarkably flexible, stretching effortlessly with my movements.
"Good. I assume you know what those are, given your family history," Professor Heather stated.
"Yes, Professor Heather," I replied. I didn’t recognize them at first glance, but the moment the material adhered to my skin, the feeling was unmistakable.
"These are gravity-compression bracers. Runed with localized weight distribution."
"Do you know about their internal safety mechanisms?"
"Um... no, sir. All I really know is that the wearer or instructor can manually calibrate the exact amount of mass to simulate."
"That’s fine. I’ll explain," Heather said, crossing his arms.
"This specific model is the Obsidian Core Tether, imported directly from districts of Tsanegvi."
The kingdom of Tsanegvi.... So that’s why it’s so high tech. It’s the hometown of Waffel.
"Unlike cheap weight bands that damage your joints, these use a kinetic-dampening ward. If your body undergoes a structural failure or a sudden bone fracture, the internal runes will automatically discharge their stored mass in less than a millisecond to prevent accidental crushing." Heather said as he pointed and poked the bracer under my suit.
"To synchronize them to your core, you just need to channel a direct spark of your thrum into the master rune."
I nodded, absorbing the technical details. "Got it, sir."
"With your physiology density, I assume you are an Ichor-type Weaver," Heather mused, studying my frame.
"No, sir. I am an Astute weaver."
He stood perfectly still for a second. His stoic, statue-like face actually cracked.
"Interesting... Alright, you may now begin your run. Since today is Thursday and tomorrow is the hard deadline for the weekly physical, it would be nearly impossible for you to complete the standard five hundred laps in time."
I sighed in relief, my shoulders dropping.
"I’m glad you understand my situation, sir."
"I’ll set the initial calibration to thirty kilograms per piece," he added casually, tapping his tablet.
Urg!
The sudden, brutal spike in gravity hit my body like a physical hammer. My knees buckled instantly, slamming hard into the turf. The sheer weight made my lungs feel constricted.
"Um... sir," I wheezed, straining against the dirt to lift my chin.
"Don’t you think this is a bit too much for a medical recovery case?"
"Nonsense," Heather replied, completely indifferent to my suffering.
"Just letting you know that completing this specific exercise is a requirement to even sit for the final exam in my curriculum. So, what are you waiting for? Go start your run."
I forced myself up, my muscles screaming in protest against the heavy load. I turned to limp toward the track, but a sudden, terrifying realization flashed through my mind.
"Um, sir? You didn’t actually tell me how many adjusted laps I need to complete."
He was already hovering his finger over a new name on his tablet, but he paused, lowering the device slightly.
"Did you not look at the readout since you claim to know what device that is? The required count is already highlighted directly on your bracer."
Don’t tell me...
A cold sweat broke out across my neck.
I hurriedly pulled back the sleeve of my tight combat suit, exposing the glowing digital display on the forearm band.
There it was, pulsing in bright, mocking neon numbers: #470.
It wasn’t a product generation code at all.
"Um, sir... I thought you were being considerate of my medical leave?" I asked.
"What are you talking about?" Heather said, his voice dropping to a stern, authoritative tone.
"The fact that I am actively bending the academy rules to grant you a thirty-lap leeway from the standard five hundred is already being incredibly considerate, Salinin. Stop wasting both of our time and get to work."
"I like this guy," Verde’s voice echoed merrily inside my head."
Yeah, I’m sure you do.
I thought, dragging my heavily weighted legs toward the starting line.
And I’m starting to absolutely hate him.
