Want Me to Help You Wash?

“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...