System Mission: Seduce the Final Boss [BL]

Chapter 141: Days of horrors

"Again."

Blake collapsed onto the floor.

His arms trembled violently as he tried to push himself up. Sweat dripped from his forehead, landing on the gym floor beneath him.

He couldn’t breathe.

No, seriously, he physically couldn’t breathe.

His lungs felt like they had been replaced with burning coals.

"Myles," he wheezed. "I think I’m dying."

"It doesn’t matter."

"I’m so tired..."

"Do it again."

Blake let out a pathetic groan.

Myles looked relatively calm, as if this wasn’t torture. As if Blake wasn’t currently experiencing all seven stages of death simultaneously.

With a noise that vaguely resembled human suffering, Blake pushed himself up and somehow completed another push-up.

Immediately afterward, his arms gave out, his face slamming into the floor.

"You didn’t do the last one fully."

The scenery around him suddenly shifted.

The school track appeared beneath his feet.

"Run."

Blake looked down the seemingly endless track.

"...H-how many laps?"

"Until you stop being tired."

"That... that is impossible."

Blake began running.

One lap.

Two laps.

Five laps.

Ten laps.

Twenty laps.

At some point, the track stopped making sense.

The sun rose.

Then set.

Then rose again.

Students appeared and disappeared.

Teachers aged into skeletons.

Civilizations rose and fell.

Blake continued running.

His legs were gone.

He was fairly certain they had detached from his body several centuries ago, yet somehow, he was still moving.

"Myles," he gasped.

The other boy stood beside the track, stopwatch in hand.

"Yes?"

"I can see God."

"Alright. Run faster."

Blake screamed as the world changed again.

Now he was lifting ridiculously heavy weights.

"Myles."

"Yes?"

"Why am I lifting vehicles?"

"Strength training."

"That isn’t strength training, but was insurance fraud!"

Blake somehow lifted them anyway.

The moment he finished, Myles immediately pointed toward another exercise.

Then another.

Then another.

The nightmare skipped forward again.

Day one.

Day two.

Day three.

Day four.

The exercises grew more impossible every time.

Blake was climbing mountains.

Swimming through oceans.

Doing push-ups while balancing on one finger.

Running from bears.

Running with bears.

Outrunning bears.

Eventually, he was no longer convinced the bears were real.

Myles appeared beside him regardless.

"Again."

"Please."

"Again."

"I have a family."

"Again."

"Okay, I don’t actually have a family."

"Again."

The nightmare continued.

Blake found himself standing in a boxing ring.

Across from him stood Myles.

Only...

Something felt wrong.

The lighting darkened.

The atmosphere changed.

Myles’ expression became colder.

Sharper.

More dangerous.

The version of him that appeared in Blake’s nightmares wasn’t merely Myles.

It was whatever terrifying alter ego existed beneath the surface.

The one who beat people bloody.

The one everyone feared.

Blake swallowed.

"Myles?"

The other boy raised his fists.

"Defend yourself."

Before Blake could react, the punch arrived.

The world exploded.

The ring vanished.

Blake flew through three walls.

Then a fourth.

Then a fifth.

His body bounced across the horizon.

The moon cracked.

The sun exploded.

Blake landed in a crater.

Myles appeared at the edge.

"Again."

Blake began sobbing.

The nightmare skipped forward.

Years passed.

Decades.

Centuries.

Blake’s muscles became enormous.

He could bench press buildings.

He could outrun airplanes.

He could punch through mountains.

Yet every time he completed an exercise...

"Again."

Every time he improved...

"Again."

Every time he reached what should have been human perfection...

"Again."

The nightmare reached its climax.

An elderly Blake stood atop a mountain, his beard reached the ground.

His muscles had muscles.

A giant golden staircase descended from the clouds.

At the very top stood a celestial gate.

An angel emerged.

"Blake."

His voice echoed through creation.

"You have completed your mortal journey, you may now enter hell."

Blake nearly cried from happiness.

At long last.

No more training.

No more suffering.

The angel’s face disappeared.

In its place stood Myles.

Holding a clipboard.

"Try doing it again."

***

"Blake."

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Blake."

His eyes snapped open.

For several seconds, he simply sat there, breathing heavily.

His heart pounded.

His body felt suspiciously intact.

No mountains.

No angels.

No bears.

Just a classroom.

"..."

Blake lowered his head onto his desk.

He sighed heavily.

Almost ten days.

It had been almost ten days since he started training with Myles.

Honestly, those had been the most intense ten days of his life.

Somehow, somehow, he had survived.

The first three days, however, had been absolute hell.

For some goddamn reason, Myles had decided that training every single day was a perfectly reasonable idea.

The worst part was always the next morning, with the pain.

The horrible, horrible pain.

Getting out of bed became a challenge.

Walking became a challenge.

Breathing became a challenge.

At one point Blake had been sore in places he hadn’t known could become sore.

Still...

There had been results.

His stamina was noticeably better now.

His body felt stronger too.

Not muscular exactly.

Not yet.

But his arms looked thicker.

His legs felt sturdier.

There was actual definition where previously there had been none.

Which was probably the only reason Blake hadn’t quit.

"Ready?"

Blake looked up.

Myles stood beside his desk.

’Right, the last two periods were canceled because of a teacher substitution issue....’

Today was the day.

The day they started combat training.

To be completely honest, Blake didn’t know what to think.

He had already made the mistake of assuming Myles would go easy on him.

That assumption had died a painful death approximately nine days ago.

Now he was a little worried.

Myles wouldn’t hit him, right?

...Right?

Besides, today’s training wasn’t happening at the gym.

It was happening at Myles’ house.

Which somehow made everything more suspicious.

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the bus.

Blake glanced toward him.

"So..."

Myles looked over.

"So?"

"You already know what we’re doing today?"

"Yeah."

That was all he said.

Blake scratched the back of his head.

For once, he didn’t dare ask for details.

Ignorance felt safer.

Unfortunately.

Ignorance didn’t last forever.

***

The moment they arrived at Myles’ house, Blake regretted every life choice that had led him here.

"Take off your shoes."

Blake obeyed.

"Stretch."

Ten days ago he would’ve complained, now he knew better.

If Myles said stretch, it meant there was a reason.

The memory of trying to walk after Day Three still haunted him.

Once they finished warming up, Myles stepped onto the mat and gestured for Blake to stand opposite him.

"The basics first."

Blake nodded.

"Okay."

Myles raised his hands.

"So if someone attacks you from the right side, what do you do?"

"Move left?"

"No."

Before Blake could react, Myles stepped forward.

The movement was frighteningly quick.

His shoulder turned.

His weight shifted.

A fist shot toward Blake’s face, and he flinched.

The punch stopped an inch from his nose.

He stumbled backward anyway.

"Wrong answer," Myles said.

Blake swallowed, his heart was already racing.

"You could’ve warned me..."

"I did."

"No, you asked a question."

Myles tilted his head.

"That was the warning."

Blake stared at him.

"...Um, no."

"Again."

The lesson continued.

Myles would ask a question.

Blake would answer.

Then Myles would immediately demonstrate why the answer was wrong.

Unfortunately, his demonstrations were very effective.

"What should you focus on first?"

"Uh, the hands?"

Myles shook his head.

A moment later Blake found himself dodging a jab.

Or attempting to dodge.

The punch never landed, but that wasn’t the point.

"What were you watching?"

"Your fist."

"And when did you see it?"

Blake paused.

"...When you punched?"

"Too late."

Another attack came, but this time, Blake noticed something.

The shoulder moved first.

Barely, just a tiny motion.

But it happened before the fist.

His eyes widened.

"Understand now?"

The next few minutes became an endless cycle.

"People think punches come from hands, but they don’t."

His hips turned, the movement flowing upward.

Shoulders, arm and then fist.

Everything was connected.

"The punch starts here."

He tapped his hip.

"And here."

A tap against his shoulder.

"By the time you see this—"

His fist stopped in front of Blake’s face.

"—you’re already late."

Blake frowned.

’Ah. That actually makes sense.’

Myles attacked again, this time Blake ignored the fist.

Instead he watched the shoulders.

The moment they twitched, he stepped backward.

The punch missed.

Myles immediately attacked again.

Blake got hit in the shoulder, but it wasn’t hard, just enough to remind him he wasn’t good.

"Almost there."

For some reason, hearing "almost" from Myles felt like receiving a national award.

They continued.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

Blake’s shirt was already sticking to his back.

The physical effort wasn’t what exhausted him.

It was the concentration.

Every second demanded attention.

Every movement carried information.

And somehow Myles seemed capable of reading all of it.

When Blake became nervous, Myles knew.

When Blake shifted his weight incorrectly, Myles knew.

When Blake planned to move left instead of right, Myles somehow knew that too.

It was ridiculous.

"How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Reading my mind."

"I’m not."

"Eh."

Myles shook his head, then he pointed at Blake’s feet.

"You always put more weight on the leg you’re planning to move from."

Blake blinked.

"What?"

"Your shoulders tense before you dodge."

Myles pointed again.

"You also look where you want to go."

"...I do?"

"Yes."

Blake suddenly felt very exposed.

Apparently his body was broadcasting his intentions to the entire world.

"Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to tell."

’Um, is he calling me an idiot... so, actually, is he calling the soldiers a bunch of idiots?’

Myles stepped forward.

"Attack me."

Blake pointed at himself.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"You’re trusting me with this?"

"It wouldn’t hurt."

Blake wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or insulted.

Taking a breath, he raised his fists awkwardly, then, he threw a punch.

Myles moved.

Or rather, he barely moved.

A slight shift, just a tiny turn and the punch passed harmlessly by.

Before Blake could recover, he found himself spun around and off balance.

"What happened?"

"You committed too much."

"I committed what?"

"Your weight."

Blake stared.

Myles demonstrated, slowly this time.

He showed how Blake had leaned forward before throwing the punch.

How his center of gravity followed the attack.

How missing left him vulnerable.

The explanation made sense, unfortunately.

Actually applying it proved much harder.

"Again."

Blake punched, but simply continued failing.

After the tenth attempt he dropped onto the mat.

"This is impossible."

"It’s not."

"It is!"

Blake glared, and Myles simply stared back, not looking too intimidated.

’Hey, I should start ignoring him again...’

Somehow, he lost that battle too, so, with a sigh, he stood up.

"Fine."

The lesson continued.

But gradually, Blake started noticing other things.

Little details he’d never paid attention to before.

People couldn’t attack without preparing.

Nobody simply launched a punch from nowhere.

There was always a shift.

A transfer of balance.

A tightening of muscles.

A movement of shoulders.

A movement of hips.

Something.

And if he caught that something early enough...

The attack became predictable, not easy to stop with his strength without the buff, but predictable.

For the first time, fighting stopped looking random.

It started looking logical.

Myles suddenly lunged forward and at least, this time, Blake managed to see it, that shift in weight, the turn of the hip, the way he moved sideways.

The punch passed him.

His eyes widened.

"I did it!"

Myles nodded.

Then immediately attacked again.

Blake almost got hit.

"Never celebrate early."

"...Right."

Five minutes later, they moved into actual sparring.

Or at least what Myles considered sparring.

Blake considered it assisted survival.

The moment they started, he realized how enormous the gap between them was.

Everything happened too fast.

Myles wasn’t throwing wild attacks.

A jab came, and Blake attempted to block it. However, the moment he did, Myles immediately shifted directions, and a second attack followed.

Then a third.

Blake retreated, lost balance and landed flat on his back yet another time.

One minute.

That was how long he’d survived.

One entire minute.

It was a good personal record, really.

"I lost."

"You did."

Myles offered him a hand.

Blake accepted it.

His legs felt shaky.

His lungs burned.

His shirt was soaked.

And somehow... he was having more fun than expected. Not because he enjoyed losing, nobody enjoyed losing this much, but because he could actually see improvement.

Ten days ago he would’ve lasted maybe ten seconds, today he’d lasted a minute with base Myles who is also holding back, which makes him still above avarage.

Myles walked back to the center of the mat.

"One more thing."

"There are more things?"

"The goal isn’t to be faster."

Blake frowned.

"What?"

"Everyone wants faster punches."

Myles stepped forward.

"The better goal is making decisions earlier."

Blake tilted his head.

"If I know what you’re doing before you do it, speed doesn’t matter. If I know what you’re doing before you do it..."

Myles demonstrated.

He watched Blake’s stance.

His feet.

His shoulders.

Then accurately guessed which direction Blake planned to move.

Three times in a row.

It was absurd.

Yet Blake couldn’t deny it.

The evidence was standing right in front of him.

For the rest of the session, he practiced exactly that.

Not reacting to punches, but reacting to the things that created punches...

And eventually... something clicked.

Myles threw another attack, and Blake spotted the shoulder movement, so he sidestepped.

Not perfectly, but successfully. The punch missed, regardless, a grin spread across his face.

Myles nodded.

"You saw it."

Blake laughed, for once, he wasn’t blindly flailing around with the brute force of his buff...

For once, he understood what was happening.

And surprisingly, against all expectations, he was getting the hang of it.