For a moment, a storm of emotions churned inside Shawn Grangewa — shock, irritation, and finally disdain flashed across his face in quick succession.
He suddenly recalled his first encounter with Hesta in the corridor — he had actually preferred her that way back then.
Terrified yet forcing herself to stand firm, frozen in place and too scared to act rashly. That small and stubborn defiance had genuinely amused him.
He couldn't understand how this newcomer, who had barely arrived, could become so arrogant in such a short time.
Was it the roaring chants of those Tanji City citizens outside that gave her courage?
Or perhaps she thought she could rely on Liz Fletcher's protection — and since he'd been quiet all week, she'd begun to imagine she could trample right over him?
Shawn no longer had the patience to browse through anyone else's records. After carefully erasing his own login traces, he left Mrs. Lovett's office early and returned to his dormitory.
Jane Hesta.
All the way back, he silently repeated her name.
Those few search queries felt like a provocation — a challenge — igniting in him a long-forgotten sense of competitiveness.
How should I teach you a lesson, I wonder?
---
At that very moment on the training field, Hesta suddenly lost her balance and fell to the ground.
Her palms and knees scraped against the track, and a sharp, searing pain spread instantly.
A whistle blew from a distance — the instructor at the starting line was shouting at her to get up and keep running.
Without even checking her injuries, Hesta pushed herself up and continued forward.
The 120-hour basic survival training had already concluded, and she had assumed her physical training schedule would change.
To her surprise, it was exactly the same — endless long-distance running.
From Liz, Hesta had learned that other members at the base typically completed three 5-kilometer weighted cross-country runs each week, one full 20-kilometer march per month with complete gear, and the remaining time was spent on combat drills, marksmanship, and tactical instruction.
However, according to the current assessment, her height of 1.31 meters and weight of only 24 kilograms were still far below the level required for group training.
Due to years of vegetarianism and ascetic living, her frame was frail and delicate — the training officers often joked that she had the kind of build that would "fracture after one good punch."
On the very first day, she had been told bluntly to give up the idea of joining full combat training for now.
Her most important goals were to grow taller, gain weight, and build lung capacity.
> "Your lungs are like a boiler,"
the instructor had told her.
"You can't keep the fire burning unless there's enough air to feed it."
As she ran, her chest burned as if her lungs were aflame — yet somehow, Shawn's smirking face flashed across her mind, and that image filled her with a sudden burst of strength.
Another whistle sounded from the distance.
"Keep a steady pace! Who told you to sprint and slow down? Changing speeds will only tire you faster!"
Hesta struggled to even out her rhythm.
Back in the St. Anne Monastery, she had also done physical labor and long walks, but those had been leisurely, with plenty of breaks — nothing like this grueling repetition.
By the time she finally crossed the finish line, Instructor Arnold had already caught up with her.
"What were you thinking about out there? Your rhythm was all over the place today."
Hesta couldn't speak — she just shook her head, feeling light-headed and hollow.
Even though she'd stopped running, her breathing refused to steady.
Arnold kept close beside her, ready to grab her arm if she collapsed again — just like she had on her very first day.
Arnold was sixty-five years old, though when Hesta first met him, she had thought he was in his early forties — just prematurely gray. His hair was nearly white.
His build was similar to Calvin's, though a little shorter.
When he stood still, he often folded his arms across his chest — a posture that seemed both defensive and powerful. His thick, corded arms stretched the sleeves of his T-shirt tight.
Hesta had once asked him if she could ever build muscles like his through training — and if so, how long it would take.
Arnold had laughed heartily at that, then asked her what she ate every day.
That was at least an easy question.
Since starting her physical training, part of her diet had been switched from the standard cafeteria meals to a targeted nutrition plan.
Each morning she received 15 grams of whey protein powder and 35 grams of oatmeal, plus five egg whites and one yolk.
At first, she couldn't finish it all, but lately she'd managed.
The first training session of the day usually began half an hour to an hour after breakfast.
Afterward, she would eat a high-carb meal — mashed potatoes, buckwheat noodles, or black bread, along with salted minced beef or grilled chicken breast.
Dinner was more flexible; she could choose from the cafeteria again. For the past two weeks, she'd favored a dish called "Northern Salad," made of chicken gizzards, potatoes, diced chicken breast, romaine, and endive — surprisingly delicious.
Arnold had nodded approvingly, saying that if she stuck to that diet and maintained her routine, she'd surpass him someday.
Yet for some reason, his tone never quite convinced her — it sounded more like a joke.
Now, Hesta was slowly walking along the outer track, with Arnold following just behind her right shoulder.
"You've been distracted lately, Hesta," he said. "That's not a good sign.
If something's bothering you, you can always come talk to me."
Hesta shook her head. "No, sir. Life here has been better than ever."
"Then what were you thinking about during that run?" Arnold asked.
About someone who keeps bothering me, she thought silently.
But before answering, she asked instead, "Sir, are you part of the Mercury Needle Unit?"
Arnold raised an eyebrow. "I'm not."
"Then I can't tell you," Hesta replied evenly. "It might be… classified.
I was distracted and didn't do well today. I'll focus tomorrow. Please forgive me."
Arnold gave a small, dismissive laugh.
"I may not be a Mercury Needle operative, Hesta," he said firmly, "but I'm a retired officer of the Unified Government Army."
His voice was solid and commanding.
"I've taken part in dozens of operations against the Chelate Creatures, and worked alongside many brave Mercury Needle operatives.
And all of that," he added, "was just a small part of my military career."
(End of Chapter)
---
Hi ✨ for access to additional chapters of
VIPERS VOWS AND VENGEENCE { 30 CHAPTER }
WHY IT NEVER END'S { 30 CHAPTER }
IN NEXT LIFE WE'LL SWITCH { 30 CHAPTER }
Join patreon.com/Imtheone14