I wasn't sure how many days had passed three, maybe four, since I found my legs cooked and my hand snapped like a twig.
But injuries like that had become the norm.
I fought with mangled legs, snapped arms, and for the entire training session that day, she only targeted my legs.
The pain was unbearable.
And yet, through all of it, I started noticing something else.
This wasn't training. Not in any way.
Guro wasn't teaching me. She was just using me as a punching bag for her own enjoyment. The more I thought about it, the more everything she said felt like a lie.
I started doubting her story about being a fugitive.
Someone desperate to reduce their prison sentence wouldn't act like this.
The moment my legs healed enough to function, she changed her target.
My hands were next.
She beat me unconscious again. And when I woke up, they were ruined.
It kept happening. Over and over.
