“Did you manage to sort things out last night?”
“Hah, ngh... D-don't talk to me. I'm out of strength.”
“There are still two more. Come on, fourteen.”
Since it was the day after the ball, I thought we'd skip a day. But because I hadn't danced and wouldn't be tired, I'm still being put through brutal rehab exercises today.
“All right, good work. Let's take a short break.”
I let the heavy thing in my hand, something like a dumbbell, drop.
A simple motion: lying on a bench, stretching both arms out with dumbbells, then slowly lowering them.
How is this rehab? This is just working out.
Surprisingly, I can clearly see the improvement, so I work hard, but it's killing me.
It's absolutely not because I'm becoming more womanly and my soul is synchronizing with this body, making my disability improve...
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