Tomora was having the best sleep of his life.
That wasn't saying much, considering the last few days had been a nonstop parade of suffering, humiliation, and near-death experiences, but still—this sleep was glorious. Warm. Heavy. The kind that glued your soul to your body so tightly even nightmares gave up trying.
He drooled a little into the fabric of his sleeping bag.
Then something crashed into his ribs.
Hard.
The world exploded.
Tomora sucked in air like he'd been dragged out of deep water and jolted upright with a strangled noise, eyes wild, hair sticking up in directions that defied physics.
"RI—"
Another kick landed, this one more precise.
"—SE AND SHINE, MY BOY!" a cheerful voice announced. "Good morning!"
Tomora blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His brain tried to reboot.
"…Morning?" he croaked, voice thick with sleep. His eyes slowly adjusted, taking in the dark forest, the glowing campfire embers, the moon hanging smugly overhead.
He looked up.
At the hooded figure.
Standing over him.
Foot still raised.
Tomora's face twitched.
"MORNING?" he shouted, scrambling halfway out of the sleeping bag. "MORNING?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND—IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!"
The hooded figure tilted his head and glanced at his bare wrist like there was an invisible watch there.
"Yeah," he said casually. "And?"
He looked back down at Tomora.
"Get up. Let's go. We're behind schedule."
Something inside Tomora snapped.
Not fully—more like a warning crack, the kind that meant a bigger break was coming soon.
He stared up at the man with murder in his eyes, breathing slow and shaky.
"I swear," he whispered, voice vibrating with rage, "I swear on everything… I'm going to kill you one day."
The hooded figure waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Add it to the list."
He clapped his hands once, sharp and loud.
"Anyway! Today's task is simple. You only have one job."
Tomora groaned, rubbing his face.
"Oh no," he muttered. "Every time you say that, something bad happens to me."
He squinted up at the hooded figure. "Let me guess. Run until my legs fall off? Climb Mount Fuji again? Let you throw rocks at my head like last time?"
The hooded figure stepped closer and put a hand on Tomora's shoulder.
Tomora flinched on instinct.
"Wrong," the man said.
Tomora blinked. "…Wrong?"
"Today," the hooded figure continued, "you're going to sleep."
Tomora relaxed slightly. Just slightly.
"…Oh," he said. "Okay. That's—"
"—while doing push-ups."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Tomora stared.
And stared.
And stared.
"…What?"
The hooded figure nodded. "Yep. If you stop moving, I'll kick you in the head."
Tomora's mouth slowly fell open.
"If you fall asleep for real," the man added thoughtfully, "I'll kick you harder."
Tomora's eye began to twitch violently.
"And if you complain…" The hooded figure lifted his foot a little, testing the weight. "Well."
Tomora swallowed.
"…You'll kick me," he said weakly.
"Good!" the hooded figure said brightly. "You're learning!"
He pointed at the ground.
"Now. Get. To. Work."
Tomora stared at the dirt like it had personally betrayed him. Then, with the defeated whimper of a man who knew arguing was pointless, he dropped down and slammed his hands into the earth.
He started doing push-ups.
His arms immediately screamed in protest.
"HOW," he shouted between reps, voice cracking, "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP WHILE DOING THIS?!"
The hooded figure shrugged. "Dunno."
He stepped past Tomora.
"You'll find a way though."
Tomora glanced back just in time to see the man unzip his sleeping bag.
"Hey—HEY—!"
The hooded figure lay down inside it, sighing contentedly as he got comfortable.
"That's my bed," Tomora said, shaking with rage mid-push-up. "THAT IS LITERALLY MY BED."
"Mm," the hooded figure murmured, already settling in. "It's warm."
Tomora's arms buckled slightly.
"WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING," he shouted, barely holding himself up, "WHILE I'M—AAAAAH—!"
A sudden thump landed near his head.
Tomora yelped and pushed harder, heart racing.
"Careful," the hooded figure said lazily. "You almost stopped."
Tomora glared back at him with tear-filled eyes.
"You're a monster," he said hoarsely.
"Focus," the hooded figure replied, already closing his eyes. "On your breathing."
He shifted slightly in the sleeping bag.
"And your suffering."
The night dragged on.
Tomora's push-ups grew slower. Sloppier. His arms trembled violently, sweat dripping down his face and into the dirt. His vision blurred, eyelids drooping against his will.
Every time his body faltered—
Thump.
A kick landed near his shoulder.
Not hard.
Just enough.
A reminder.
He started counting reps under his breath just to stay awake. Lost count. Started again. His thoughts drifted, fragmented—training, pain, anger, the word Mimic echoing somewhere deep in his mind.
At some point, he realized something terrifying.
He was starting to doze between push-ups.
His body moved on instinct alone.
That scared him more than the kicks.
By the time the sky began to lighten with the faintest hint of dawn, Tomora finally collapsed face-first into the dirt, arms giving out completely.
He didn't even groan.
The hooded figure opened one eye.
He sat up slowly, crawling out of the sleeping bag and standing over Tomora's motionless form.
"…Huh," he said. "Didn't stop."
He nudged Tomora lightly with his foot.
No response.
The hooded figure smirked beneath the hood.
"Guess you're learning faster than I thought."
He turned away, stretching.
Behind him, Tomora slept—still breathing, still alive, still furious even in his dreams.
The worst part?
Morning was coming.