The training yard no longer looked the same as before.
The marks on the stone ground had multiplied, fine cracks spreading like a web around the spot where Victor trained every day. It wasn't the result of a single impact, but repetition—force applied to the same point thousands of times, under conditions that simply shouldn't exist.
One month.
Just one month.
And yet—
Victor was upside down, balanced on a single hand, his body perfectly aligned as he performed another push-up under a pressure that would crush anyone who wasn't absurdly resilient.
Thirty times normal gravity.
His body no longer trembled like before.
There were no uncontrolled spasms.
There was effort, of course. Muscles tightened, his breathing was heavier than normal… but it was controlled. Stable. Functional.
He went down.
His face inches from the ground.
And pushed back up.
Without failure.
"…two thousand one hundred and forty-three…" he murmured, his voice low, yet steady enough to keep count.
