Claire's face instantly went pale. The sheer, terrifying thought of her only son being dragged to a cult leader in Malibu by her wildly eccentric mother was enough to send her into a full-blown panic attack. She opened her mouth to scream an absolute 'no'.
Okay, time to shut this down, I thought.
While I genuinely appreciated her weird, slightly crazy grandmotherly caring—and was highly impressed by her accidental deduction of my transmigration—I had zero intentions of spending my precious Saturday morning getting scammed by a fake guru named Ra.
I finally opened my mouth. I gently but firmly removed her hands from my forearm. I raised my palms in a relaxed, calming gesture, signaling her to pause, and channeled my best, most soothing 'adult' voice.
"Granny, granny, calm down," I said smoothly, a warm, perfectly crafted, disarming smile on my face. "I am perfectly fine. I don't need to go anywhere or see any masters. I'm just playing sports and eating a lot of protein. My spirit is exactly where it needs to be."
I smoothly pivoted the conversation, utilizing the greatest social deflection trick in the book: making the other person talk about themselves.
"But enough about my boring growth spurt," I continued smoothly, leaning against the counter and giving her my full, undivided attention. "How is your spiritual journey going? I heard you were traveling. Any improvements? Have you found any new crystal alignments?"
Well, looking at your chaotic energy, it doesn't seem like you've found much inner peace, I thought to myself, but I kept my face highly polite and intensely interested.
DeDe gazed at me for a few long seconds. The frantic, manic energy slowly drained out of her. Hearing me speak with such a calm, grounded, and mature tone finally seemed to relax her.
"Oh, gosh... then okay," DeDe sighed, pressing a hand to her heart. She looked at me with a misty, deeply nostalgic expression. "My little goofy boy has truly grown into a calm young man. Oh, where do the days go?"
She let out an exaggerated, theatrical sigh, mourning the rapid loss of my childhood for a brief moment.
Then, like a heat-seeking missile finding a fresh new target, DeDe snapped her head to the side. Her eyes locked directly onto Alex, who was standing quietly by the fridge, trying her absolute hardest to blend in with the stainless steel.
"And Alex!" DeDe announced, marching over to my sister. "Let me look at your aura! I sense a dark, swirling storm of academic stress and suppressed emotional blockages! We need to talk about your root chakra!"
Alex's eyes widened in sheer panic. She shot me a desperate, pleading look that practically screamed, Save me!
Sorry, little sister, I laughed internally, offering her a lazy, unapologetic salute. Every soldier must fight their own battles. Tag, you're it.
While DeDe began bombarding Alex with wildly invasive questions about her chakras, Claire quickly stepped over to me.
"Go," Claire whispered, her eyes darting nervously between me and her mother. "Get out of here before she changes her mind and tries to feed you tree bark. Go upstairs, get changed, and refresh yourself for rehearsal dinner. You smell like a gym locker."
"Yes, ma'am," I nodded dutifully.
I grabbed my backpack and quietly slipped out of the kitchen, abandoning Alex to her dramatic fate.
As I walked through the main hallway, I could hear the faint sounds of a football game playing on the television coming from the den, accompanied by loud, synchronized snoring. I peeked around the corner. Phil, Uncle Mitchell, and Uncle Cam were all passed out in various awkward positions on the couches, completely exhausted by the sheer emotional labor of wedding planning.
I silently crept up the stairs and headed to my bedroom. I dropped my heavy bag onto the floor with a satisfying thud.
The second floor was currently completely empty and delightfully peaceful. Haley was out doing who-knows-what with her friends, and Alex was currently trapped downstairs in a spiritual interrogation.
I peeled off my sticky, sweat-drenched gray hoodie, my t-shirt, and my grass-stained shorts. My muscles were screaming for relief. After the early morning push-ups and the brutal afternoon agility drills on the pitch, my body felt like it had been run over by a commercial truck. I desperately needed a shower.
I quickly stripped down, casually wrapped a clean white towel tightly around my waist, and stepped out into the hallway, walking the few short steps to the shared bathroom.
I locked the door behind me and turned to the shower dial.
Most normal people, after a long, exhausting day of physical labor, would instinctively reach for the hot water. They would want a warm, soothing shower to relax their muscles, create steam, and melt away the tension.
But not me.
I grabbed the heavy metal handle and cranked it violently to the right. All the way to the blue marker. Pure, unadulterated cold water.
I stepped under the showerhead.
SHHHHK!
The freezing water blasted against my back. The shock was instantaneous and violent. It felt like a thousand tiny, icy needles piercing my skin all at once. I gasped loudly, my chest heaving as my body's natural fight-or-flight response kicked in.
But I didn't step away. I stood perfectly still, letting the freezing water cascade over my head, down my shoulders, and across my aching chest and sore thighs.
This is the Dao of Cold Water, I thought, gritting my teeth as my body slowly began to acclimate to the extreme temperature.
In my past life, I had read countless articles on sports science. Cold exposure therapy. Ice baths. While warm water relaxed you and made you sleepy, cold water actively restricted the blood vessels, violently flushing out the lactic acid buildup that caused severe muscle soreness. It reduced inflammation, spiked your adrenaline, and forced your central nervous system to completely reboot.
Warm showers were comfortable, sure. But cold showers just hit different. They were intensely effective. They forged discipline.
After two minutes of standing under the icy deluge, the initial shock faded, replaced by a powerful, buzzing sensation humming across my skin. My foggy, tired brain instantly sharpened to razor-like clarity. My heavy, sore muscles felt tight, responsive, and incredibly refreshed.
I grabbed the bar of soap and quickly scrubbed away the sweat, dirt, and grassy grime of the football pitch. The cold water washed all the suds down the drain, leaving me feeling completely, flawlessly clean.
I turned the dial, shutting off the water. The sudden silence in the bathroom was deafening.
I grabbed my towel and vigorously dried my body, watching my skin turn a healthy, vibrant shade of pink from the extreme cold. As I looked at my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror, I flexed my arms slightly.
The 'Level One Slime' was officially upgrading. The lazy king was slowly, but surely, building a physical vessel capable of handling whatever ridiculous sitcom drama this universe decided to throw at him next.
And with the massive rehearsal dinner starting at night, I was going to need all the strength I could get.