Thursday, 12 days until Brigit’s trip. Dungeon points: 388 + 1450 – 51 = 1787

  We return home exhausted. I flip open the dungeon points menu with interest. “Looks like we got over a thousand points,” I tell Angelique.

  Angelique flops on the couch. “That’s good,” she mumbles.

  “Goodnight,” I say as I walk up the stairs.

  Angelique raises her hand and replies, “Night.”

  My alarm clock goes off in the morning, and my hand barely reaches the clock. With a thud, I turn off the alarm clock. I know I need to get up, but my eyes are glued together. I lay there between sleep and waking until I snap out of it. With a jolt, I sit up. “I need to get going!”

  I slap my cheeks and drag myself out of bed. I slip on my workout clothes and head downstairs. I quietly open the door and slide across the ground. There I see Mom working and a simple breakfast waiting for me toast, ham, and eggs.

  I grab an energy drink and down it after eating. I then wrap my arms around Mom and thank her for the meal. She pats my arms and says, “Have fun.”

  I glance at Angelique, who is scrunched up and sleeping on the couch. Brigit is still asleep, so I close the front door as quietly as possible. I then casually jog to the dojo.

  This time Ayame is waiting for me. Her short blond hair glistens in the morning sun. Her statuesque figure gives her a heroic feminine aura, and her short kimono shows her ridiculously long legs. I swallow a knot in my throat and jog over.

  “Good morning,” she says with a wave.

  “Thanks for training me,” I reply.

  She swiftly steps to my side and turns in one smooth motion. Her hand presses on the small of my back as she guides me forward. “It benefits me as well, so there is no need to thank me,” she explains.

  Ayame’s steps are quiet yet firm. Unlike across the street, the yard is pristine and filled with tranquil rock gardens. Sand has been beautifully raked into different shapes. The dojo is bright white with Japanese styling.

  We enter and take off our shoes. The setup of the dojo is similar to Musha’s. The only difference is the racks of weapons of all shapes and sizes. The only things missing are guns.

  As we begin stretching, Ayame comments, “Musha was right. Your muscle mass has degraded significantly.”

  I flinch. I didn’t want to have this conversation again. “Yeah,” I reply, disheartened.

  Ayame smiles at me gently. “Don’t be disheartened. If you redouble your effort, I’m sure you will be fighting fit soon.”

  “Thanks,” I respond while doing a split stretch. I sit up, lean back on my arms, my chest pushed in the air, and look at Ayame. She’s standing and stretching with her face between her legs. She might even be able to eat herself out, I fantasize.

  When she rights herself, she holds out her hands to me, which I take. Ayame pulls me up and gently holds my arm. “Since you are doing muscle training with Musha, we’ll work on footwork.”

  I ask, “What kind of footwork?”

  Ayame falls to the ground and twists, then quickly regains her footing. “Things like falling. People don’t practice this and so often hurt themselves. We will also work on parkour. You know how to run as a sport, but moving quickly and safely over obstacles can be important for combat. Lastly, we’ll work on standard gymnastics.”

  “I guess those are all good skills. But what about learning to use weapons?” I ask expectantly.

  “We need to build up your muscle memory and strength. We’ll do some stance work and eventually try some wood weapons,” Ayame replies.

  After the explanation, I spend part of the day falling over and over on the bouncy dojo floor. Then we move on to some mock fighting in slow motion, where we do moves repeatedly. Once we reach noon, I’m sweating and panting. It'd still have been a rough day if I hadn’t lost my muscle mass.

  Ayame frowns as I prepare to leave. “It really isn’t enough time. At this rate, you’ll take years to be able to even do simple sparring.”

  “Sorry,” I say while tying my shoes. “It’d be nice to have more time, but for now, I’m busy.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just wish we had more time,” Ayame says with a worried face and a hand on her cheek.

  “Don’t worry. I understand. It’s nice to move my body in new ways. Thanks for the training!” I state with a bright smile. I tighten my ponytail and head home.

  I return home to a warm meal waiting for me. I’m a mix between hungry and tired, so I appreciate Mom’s work. As I eat some chicken, I notice that Angelique isn’t there. “Did Angelique go home?” I ask Mom.

  Mom shakes her head while continuing to look at her laptop. “She’s at the dungeon. Some women arrived,” Mom states.

  I look over at Christal with a sour face. She responds, “Mistress, after what happened last time, I was asked to only inform you when there is an emergency.”

  I groan and put my head in my hands. I squeeze my face in frustration. Everyone is so annoying! I curse to myself. But I shake my head, smooshing my face with my hands. “It’s the way you said it. If you’d been more clear, I wouldn’t have done that,” I sneer. “I’m tired,” I mumble into my hands.

  Mom advises, “You should take a nap. Angelique’s dad will be coming to pick her up after work.”

  I nod and eat for a while to gather myself. “Anyways, you should inform me when people enter. I’ll try to be less panicky.”

  “As you wish, mistress,” Christal replies in her normal flat tone.

  “But Angelique is helping with the dungeon?” I question the air.

  Mom responds, “Once Saphire got used to her, they hit it off. Angelique is helping Saphire learn English since it’s hard to learn when it’s translated into your head. Blue is helping them communicate and teaching them Purla.”

  I lean back in my chair and slump with a huge sigh. Mom questions me, “What’s wrong?”

  I swipe my hand through my hair and say, “Angelique is working so hard. I’m just not sure if I deserve her friendship.”

  Mom sets her laptop down and walks over. She massages my back, and I can feel her big boobs on my head. It’s relaxing to feel Mom’s warmth. “She seems to be having fun, and it’s her choice to be your friend,” Mom comforts.

  “We're just friends because there isn’t anyone else,” I state dispiritedly.

  “As you say, she is working hard. So she considers your friendship important. You can only do your best to reciprocate. Now go lay down.”

  “It’s not good to sleep after you eat,” I complain.

  “It can’t be helped,” Mom says, pulling me out of my chair. I trudge up the stairs and flop into bed without changing.