Joshua opened his eyes and saw a familiar ceiling.
For a few moments, he didn't move.
Then it hit.
A wave of pain radiated from every corner of his body—sharp, throbbing, unrelenting. Not the manageable ache of post-workout soreness, but the kind that lived in the bones. His shoulders, arms, back, legs—even his fingers hurt. Lifting his head felt like a monumental task. He tried to sit up, groaned, then fell back against the chair with a dull thud.
He was back.
The cheap desk. The muted glow of his laptop screen. The hum of his small fan in the corner. Reality had returned.
He raised one arm with great effort and tapped at his phone, blinking at the screen. The time was exactly what he feared: 24 hours had passed in real time. That meant…
"Five days," he muttered. "I was in there for five whole days."
120 hours. No wonder his body felt like it had been torn apart and sewn back together with fishing line.
He sat still for another minute before gathering the courage to move. Every joint protested, but he managed to shuffle out of the chair and crawl his way toward the bathroom, one slow inch at a time.
Once inside, he leaned against the wall, catching his breath before peeling off his sweat-soaked clothes. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, and his pants weren't much better. He eventually made it to the shower and turned the knob.
The hot water was a mercy.
It rolled over his skin, washing away the grime and tension. He stood there, motionless, letting the steam rise around him. For a long time, he did nothing but exist, allowing the heat to ease some of the pain. It didn't cure anything, but it helped.
Forty-five minutes later, he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping wet.
He glanced at the mirror.
Then paused.
He leaned closer.
"…What the hell?"
Gone was the soft, slouching build he'd gotten used to over the last few years. His chest had definition. His shoulders were broader, arms leaner. The outline of his abs peeked through, not shredded, but clearly there. And most importantly—
"No more beer belly?" He poked his stomach. Flat. Firm. "You've got to be kidding me."
He turned sideways, staring in disbelief.
The transformation wasn't extreme—not like some fantasy montage—but it was real. The five days of hell in the village hadn't just felt real. His body had responded like it was.
"…This changes everything."
He dropped the towel and grabbed a clean shirt, still half in disbelief. His muscles ached as he moved, but underneath that pain was something new: strength.
And for the first time since he'd started this whole thing, he smiled.
This wasn't just a game.
It was a second chance.
He can't wait to back.
—
After drying off and getting dressed, Joshua shuffled back to the kitchen. His legs still felt sore, but the hot shower had dulled the worst of it. He didn't feel like cooking anything elaborate. Just something warm and easy on the stomach.
He boiled water and grabbed a packet of instant noodles from the cupboard. Nothing fancy—just the classic kind he always kept around for lazy days. As the noodles softened in the pot, the savory aroma filled the small kitchen, bringing a sense of comfort he didn't realize he'd missed.
He poured everything into a bowl, sat at the table, and took slow, deliberate bites. His arms still trembled slightly with every movement, but it was manageable now. The warmth helped.
"I'll eat something proper tomorrow," he muttered between mouthfuls. "Steak. Eggs. Whole feast."
Tonight, though, this would do.
After finishing, he rinsed the bowl, dried his hands, and made his way to the bedroom. The sheets felt cool against his sore limbs as he sank into bed. He barely pulled the blanket over himself before sleep claimed him.
Joshua woke the next morning to soft sunlight spilling through the curtains.
He blinked, then stretched—and paused. No sharp jolts of pain. No burning in his arms or tightness in his legs. Just a faint soreness, like the memory of pain rather than the pain itself.
He exhaled, deeply and slowly, and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt rested.
His body wasn't just healed—it was renewed. Stronger. More balanced. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, feeling oddly energized.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Joshua stood and walked to the mirror again. The image that greeted him still caught him off guard—no beer belly, no bloat. His posture had improved too. There was something different about the way he carried himself. He looked… grounded.
It wasn't a dream. Everything that had happened—Amador, Maydee, the training, the monsters—it was real.
And he wanted to go back.
But first, breakfast.