Chapter 195 | The Betrayal of the Lazy Lottery Kid Alliance

Jordan stared at me like I’d betrayed him on a fundamental level.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

I jogged in place outside the simulation chamber, warming up my newly upgraded body. Each movement was a revelation. My muscles responded instantly, without the familiar, doughy resistance that used to fight me at every step.

"I’ve been training."

"Training." Jordan’s eye twitched. "You’ve been training."

"Yeah, man. You know, exercise. Movement. Physical exertion."

"I know what training is!" He gestured at me wildly, his hoodie sliding off one shoulder. "Three weeks ago you couldn’t run a mile without dying. Now you’re doing thirty-one pull-ups and finishing obstacle courses faster than guild kids!"

I grinned. "What can I say? The grind pays off."

"The grind pays—" He cut himself off and turned to Belle. "Is he serious right now?"

Belle didn’t look up from her phone, scrolling with one hand while eating an apple with the other. "He’s been insufferable since Saturday. I warned you."

"Insufferable is underselling it." Jordan pointed at me accusingly. "He’s become another Misato. The jogging. The early mornings. The actual enthusiasm about burpees."

"Nobody’s enthusiastic about burpees," Misato called from across the training bay, where she stood reviewing footage on a tablet. "But Monroe’s at least stopped whining."

"See!" Jordan threw his hands up. "She approves! That’s how you know something’s gone horribly wrong."

I bounced on the balls of my feet, testing my range of motion. Everything felt tight. Responsive. My body actually listened to commands instead of arguing about whether movement was strictly necessary.

This was what C-rank strength felt like. Combined with nearly D-rank endurance, I finally understood what baseline capability meant for hunters. I wasn’t elite yet. Nowhere close. But I’d climbed out of the absolute bottom tier into something approaching competent.

It felt incredible.

Jordan looked like he wanted to cry.

"What happened to my fellow suffering lottery brother?" He sagged against the wall dramatically. "What happened to the guy who understood that mornings were evil and exercise was a scam perpetrated by sadists?"

"That guy got tired of being useless."

"Useless!" Jordan’s voice cracked. "You weren’t useless! You were relatable! You were one of us!"

"Jordan," Naomi said gently, emerging from the women’s locker room in her tactical suit. "You’re being dramatic."

"I’m being dramatic? He’s literally become everything we stood against!" Jordan gestured at me again. "Look at him! He’s wearing name-brand shoes! His workout shirt fits! He has visible abs starting to show through the compression fabric!"

Belle finally glanced up from her phone. "You’ve been staring at his abs?"

"I—shut up! That’s not the point!" Jordan’s face flushed. "The point is he’s betrayed the lazy lottery kid alliance!"

"There was never an alliance," I pointed out.

"There was an implied alliance! A spiritual bond forged through mutual hatred of physical conditioning and Garrett’s sadistic mile runs!"

Misato walked over, her lime green ponytail swaying. She looked me up and down with professional assessment. "Monroe’s made good progress. Three weeks ago he was dead weight. Now he’s..."

"Acceptable?" I offered.

"Functional." Her eyes held the faintest hint of approval. "You pulled your weight on Friday. The alpha kill was solid."

Jordan made a strangled noise. "Even she’s complimenting him now! The apocalypse is imminent!"

"Jordan." Misato’s voice dropped into that dangerous register. "Drop and give me twenty."

"What? Why!"

"Because your whining is disrupting my briefing. Twenty push-ups. Now."

Jordan looked at me like I’d personally murdered his entire family. "This is your fault."

"How is this my fault?"

"Everything’s your fault!" But he dropped anyway, starting his push-ups with exaggerated suffering sounds.

Belle sidled up next to me. Her tactical suit hugged curves in a way that made focusing on strategy a genuine challenge. "He’s not wrong, you know. You have changed."

"Is that bad?"

"Bad?" She tilted her head, blue hair catching the fluorescent lights. "No. But it’s definitely noticeable. You move differently now. Faster. More confident."

"I killed a boss monster and cleared an A-rank gate. That tends to boost confidence."

"Mm." Her amber eyes studied me with that sharp intelligence that missed nothing. "Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s all that..."

She glanced at Naomi, who stood stretching her staff nearby, then at me.

"Training," Belle finished innocently.

Training. Right. That was definitely what she meant.

I’d spent the past three weeks building an extraction network like I was optimizing a production line. Naomi on rotation every other day. Belle when she needed buffs. Aurora when her Gold-tier Sensory Hijack started wearing off. The Divine Milking System had transformed me from a dying fat kid into something approaching a legitimate threat.

And yeah, maybe I’d gotten a little cocky about it.

"Ten more, Jordan!" Misato barked. "And stop groaning like you’re dying."

"I am dying! This is what dying sounds like!"

Belle snorted. "He’s going to pass out before we even get into the sim."

"Good." Misato’s smile was terrifying. "Less complaining that way."

The simulation chamber doors opened with a hiss, revealing a massive dome that could recreate any environment the FGRA database contained. Today’s scenario: Tier II forest biome with wolf-type hostiles. No confirmed boss according to initial scans, though after Friday’s surprise Reaper, I wasn’t trusting the sensors one bit.

Naomi finished her stretches and walked over, her pink and black hair pulled back in the practical braid I’d learned to do for her. She smiled, and something warm settled in my chest.

"Ready?"

"Always."

She bumped her shoulder against mine. "Liar. You’re nervous."

"Observant."

"I know you." Her hand found mine briefly. "You get quieter when you’re worried."

Damn. She wasn’t wrong.

The sim could hurt us. Not kill us, but hurt us badly enough that the neural feedback felt real. Twenty percent intensity meant a broken bone registered as genuine pain, just not permanent damage. Our tactical suits would disable if we took lethal hits, pulling us from the scenario.

But twenty percent of being eaten alive by wolves still sounded pretty fucking terrible.

Jordan finished his push-ups and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "I want it known that I object to this entire endeavor."

"Noted," Misato said without sympathy. "Now get your lazy ass up and suit up."