"I'm going to die," she groaned, the words muffled by the palms of her hands. The skin felt warm, smooth, and full of life—a grotesque mockery of the utter train wreck her existence had just become.
"Operation: Earnest Love & Iron Buns is a go!" Mochi declared with a triumphant clap of its tiny hands.
I'm going to kill that floating dumpling first, Samantha amended, a grim resolve solidifying in the pit of her stomach. Then I'll die.
Stepping out onto the small veranda behind their house was like stepping into a new world.
The morning air, usually a harsh enemy that threatened to chill her to the bone, now felt crisp and alive. It filled her lungs without a struggle, each breath a clean, cool rush of energy. The sun, once a source of wearying glare, now painted the world in vibrant color and warmed her skin with a gentle caress.
For seventeen years, the world had been a muffled, grey-scale experience viewed through the haze of chronic illness. Now, the saturation had been cranked to a hundred.
This was what it felt like to be healthy. And it was terrifyingly beautiful.
"Alright, contractor! No time for poetic contemplation! We have muscles to build and a penalty to avoid!" Mochi chirped, zipping in enthusiastic circles around her head.
Samantha's brief moment of peace shattered. She scowled at the translucent blue screen hovering in her vision, its text a harbinger of doom. The penalty for the workout mission, which had previously been three menacing question marks, had updated after she'd accepted it.
[Penalty for Failure: 'Cursed Physique' Stage 1 Activation (Duration: 48 Hours)]
She sucked in a sharp breath, her mind flashing back to the horrifying image in the mirror—the monstrous, muscle-bound titan with her own pale, sickly face. The System wasn't just threatening her with a difficult workout; it was threatening her with a 48-hour ticket to her own personal body-horror hell.
"You know, springing this on me right after breakfast wasn't exactly my idea of a good time," she grumbled, stretching her arms above her head. The movement was fluid, effortless. Strange.
"The clock is ticking!" Mochi trilled. "Besides, think of this as the tutorial level! That one guy in the manga did it every day and he didn't even have a cute mascot like me to cheer him on!"
"That guy was a fictional character written to be ridiculously overpowered!"
"Details, details! You have a supernaturally healthy body now. Let's put it to use! First up: one hundred push-ups!"
Samantha groaned, a sound of pure suffering. "This is going to kill me."
Still, she knelt, placing her hands on the wooden boards of the veranda. The wood felt solid, real, under her palms. She extended her legs back, her body forming a plank.
Okay. Just one.
She lowered herself down. Her arms, which had struggled to lift heavy textbooks, immediately started to tremble under the strain. Her muscles, dormant for a lifetime, screamed a protest song they had been composing for seventeen years. With a grunt, she pushed herself back up.
One.
Only ninety-nine more to go.
Two hours later, the world was a haze of sweat and burning agony.
Samantha was a drenched, panting mess, her new tracksuit clinging to her skin. The push-ups had been torture. The sit-ups, a fresh new hell for her abdomen. Now, halfway through the squats, her legs felt like overcooked noodles.
Fifty-one. Her thighs burned.
Fifty-two. A wave of dizziness washed over her.
Fifty-three. She pushed through it, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
It was then that she heard the soft creak of the sliding glass door opening behind her.
"Sam?"
She froze mid-squat, her head snapping around. Her older brother, Ren Kisaragi, stood in the doorway, a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand.
Ren was the epitome of the reliable, cool-headed older brother. Sharp eyes, an easy confidence, and an air of authority that made even their parents defer to him. But right now, his composure was utterly shattered. His jaw was slack, his eyes wide with a disbelief so profound it was almost comical.
He stared at her, then at the sweat-soaked towel on the ground, then back at her.
"…What, in the name of all that is holy," he said slowly, his voice laced with shock, "are you doing?"
Samantha straightened up, wiping a cascade of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She was panting too hard to form a clever lie. "Uh… exercise?"
Ren's eyebrow twitched. "You," he pointed at her with his toast, "are doing squats."
"Yup."
"After," he continued, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, "doing what appears to have been push-ups and sit-ups."
"…Yes?"
Ren's eyes narrowed. He took a step outside, his gaze sweeping over her like a medical scanner. "Okay, the joke's over. Who are you, and what have you done with my sister? The Samantha I know considers lifting the TV remote a strenuous activity."
"Ha-ha," she said without humor, stretching her screaming quad muscle. "I just… felt like I needed to get stronger."
His expression softened instantly, the mockery replaced by a deep, familiar concern that made a knot of guilt twist in Samantha's stomach. "Sam-chan… a week ago, you barely had the energy to walk up the stairs. Your aplastic anemia—your red blood cell count was in the gutter. Now you're out here trying for the Olympics?"
He had always been the one. The one who researched her condition until 3 AM. The one who held her hand during transfusions. The one who could tell she was about to crash just by the subtle tremor in her fingers. Lying to her mother was one thing, but lying to Ren felt like a betrayal.
She forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as brittle as it felt. "I got some good news from Dr. Aoki. My numbers are… way up. I'm in remission. A really good one." It wasn't a total lie, just a lie of omission. A lie that omitted a magical mochi and a cursed contract.
Ren's expression remained skeptical, but a flicker of hope entered his eyes. He stepped closer, his gaze still searching her face for any sign of her old weakness. "Are you sure? No dizziness? No shortness of breath?"
"I'm sure, Nii-san," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "I'm okay."
He let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay… Okay. But you don't go from zero to one hundred like this. It's reckless." He glanced at her flushed, sweaty face. "How much more of this insanity do you have planned?"
Samantha glanced at her holographic interface, which was helpfully invisible to him. "Just… uh… a ten-kilometer run."
Ren's head snapped up so fast she heard a faint crack. "A ten-kilometer run?"
She winced. "It's more of a… light jog? A very ambitious speed-walk?"
He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Unbelievable. Get some water. I'll go with you."
"A rival appears! The protective older brother arc begins now!" Mochi whispered with dramatic flair from beside her.
"You don't have to do that, Ren," she protested.
"Yes, I do," he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. "You're my little sister. There is a zero percent chance I'm letting you attempt to run ten kilometers and pass out in a ditch somewhere by yourself."
Samantha sighed, a strange mix of annoyance and warmth spreading through her chest. "Fine. But if I actually manage to outrun you, you're not allowed to cry about it."
A faint smirk touched Ren's lips as he turned to go change. "In your dreams, pipsqueak."
Mochi clapped its tiny hands together. "This is going to be so much fun!"
Samantha had a sinking feeling that Mochi's definition of 'fun' and hers were about to diverge. Violently.