The training room lights were always bright.
White light fell straight down.
No angle changes.
No shifting shadows.
The ground was evenly illuminated.
Reflections suppressed.
No variation in space.
Air stable.
Temperature constant.
Humidity constant.
No wind.
Ros stood at the center.
Her breathing was light.
Even rhythm.
Minimal shoulder movement.
No unnecessary motion.
The person opposite said nothing.
Next moment—
Impact fell.
Not once.
Not concentrated.
Continuous.
First hit—chest.
Force entered directly.
Bones took it.
Organs shook.
Her body leaned back.
Center shifted.
Then pulled back.
Second.
Third.
Fixed rhythm.
No pause.
Pain appeared.
Skin split.
Blood spilled.
Temperature dropped.
Breathing shallowed.
She didn't move.
Just stood.
As wounds formed—
they changed.
Edges contracted.
Tissue refilled.
Structure restored.
Blood stopped.
Skin closed.
No process.
Only result.
The attacks continued.
Torn again.
Restored again.
No interval.
No pause.
Repeat.
Her body switched constantly between two states.
Destruction.
Existence.
Near termination.
Existence.
Falling.
Existence.
Every time—
pulled back.
No choice.
Her gaze didn't change.
No searching for exit.
No evasion.
Only acceptance.
—
First year.
Frequency stable.
Count fixed.
Damage controlled.
After recovery—intervals.
She could sit.
Walk.
Deepen breathing.
She would look at her hands.
Knuckles restored.
Skin intact.
No trace left.
She would look up.
Lights unchanged.
Space unchanged.
—
Second year.
More repetitions.
Shorter intervals.
Recovery time reduced.
She began getting hit again
before full stabilization.
Breathing shortened.
Recovery remained.
No failure.
—
Third year.
Pain blurred.
Not reduced—
overwritten by repetition.
She stopped distinguishing each instance.
Only knew it happened.
Then ended.
—
Fourth year.
She stopped counting.
Time lost units.
No morning or night.
No length or duration.
Only beginnings—
and beginnings that never fully ended.
—
Fifth year.
Endings began to disappear.
Beginnings connected.
She could still walk out of the training room.
The corridor was straight.
Lighting identical.
No difference.
She walked.
Footsteps light.
Her body freshly restored.
Not fully stabilized.
She would stop at the doorway.
Look outside.
Then leave.
No other destination.
No lingering.
Training continued.
Cycle continued.
No additional change.
—
Sixth year.
Change appeared.
Training frequency increased.
Six times a week.
Intervals compressed.
Almost no gaps.
She entered more often.
Left for shorter periods.
Damage became more direct.
More explicit.
Recovery continued.
No failure.
Seven began appearing at fixed times.
Not far.
Stayed briefly.
He didn't approach.
Just watched.
Then spoke.
Voice low.
Slow rhythm.
He suggested she go to the infirmary.
She nodded.
Walked over.
Door opened.
Air changed.
Slightly warmer.
Softer scent.
She sat down.
Her fingers slightly unstable.
A cup on the table.
Steam rising.
She reached out.
Touched the cup.
Warmth transferred.
Pause.
Then she held it.
Took a sip.
Warm.
Not stimulating.
Breathing slowed.
There were small snacks on the table.
Neatly shaped.
She picked one up.
Bit into it.
Sweet.
Flavor clear.
Clearer than the training room.
Elena Neroth sat across from her.
Voice soft.
Slow rhythm.
She spoke.
About the body.
About changes.
About relationships.
About liking.
Ros didn't respond much.
She listened.
Sometimes her gaze rested on the cup.
On the table.
On her fingers.
She listened.
77 was isolated.
She didn't see him.
Didn't ask.
She stood up.
Body restored.
Breathing stable.
Left.
Returned to training.
Frequency unchanged.
Intensity increased.
Recovery continued.
She still went to the infirmary.
Still sat.
Still drank tea.
Still ate snacks.
Still listened.
Those contents didn't change.
Her reactions became lighter.
Less.
Slower.
She would glance—
then look away.
No lingering.
—
One day—
She woke.
Her gaze unfocused.
Above—transparent structure.
Light filtered in from outside.
Not harsh.
Her body was fixed.
Water surrounded her.
Temperature near body temperature.
No fluctuation.
Breathing restricted—
but not cut off.
A tube entered her mouth.
No taste.
No chewing.
Only flow.
She didn't move.
No need.
Time gave no signals.
No beginning.
No end.
People moved outside.
Footsteps muted by water.
Distant.
She couldn't see faces clearly.
Didn't need to.
Her body was destroyed again.
Not impact—
direct alteration.
Internal structure broke.
Then restored.
Broken again.
Restored again.
No interval.
No pause.
She didn't leave.
Always here.
Cycle.
Repeat.
Existence.
Existence again.
—
At some point—
She began to notice.
Recovery was not her action.
Not a choice.
Not a decision.
It happened.
Whether she participated or not—
it happened.
She had no ability to terminate it.
No way to stop it.
As long as existence could be confirmed—
it returned to existence.
This process had no end.
No exhaustion.
No failure.
She stopped waiting for an end.
Because it would not come.
She stopped distinguishing beginnings.
Because beginnings never stopped.
Breathing grew shallower.
Rhythm slower.
Consciousness lightened.
As if thinned.
The outside drifted farther.
The inside became clearer.
Her body repeated.
Her consciousness stood aside.
Watching.
Not participating.
—
At some point—
A voice appeared.
Very light.
No direction.
"Why don't you run?"
Her gaze shifted.
Very slowly.
Only water.
Transparent structure.
Blurred figures.
No speaker.
She didn't respond.
No condition to speak.
The voice appeared again.
Clearer.
"I can help you blow up anything that stands in your way."
No reaction.
Just looking.
No focus.
The voice didn't disappear.
It appeared at intervals.
Again.
Again.
Becoming clearer.
Her perception continued changing.
The outside farther.
The voice closer.
Her body continued cycling.
Destruction.
Recovery.
Repeat.
No end.
—
She began to notice something else.
Existence was maintained.
But the part that "wanted"
was decreasing.
Not taken away.
Not removed.
Just not needed.
No need to choose.
No need to decide.
No need to leave.
No need to stay.
Only to exist.
Then continue existing.
She stopped thinking about the corridor.
Stopped thinking about the lights.
Stopped thinking about the warmth of the cup.
Stopped thinking about sweetness.
They didn't disappear.
They just moved far away.
The voice pressed close to the edge of her consciousness.
No disturbance.
Only it.
Her consciousness grew lighter.
Its boundary thinner.
As if it could be pierced at any moment.
—
One day—
After a recovery—
A very brief interval appeared.
Extremely short.
But real.
Within that interval—
A small deviation appeared.
Not a clear thought.
Just a direction.
She didn't move.
Her body was still fixed.
The cycle continued.
But that deviation didn't disappear.
It stayed there.
After every recovery—
it remained.
Stable.
Didn't expand.
Didn't vanish.
Just existed.
Always existed.