As soon as she stepped outside, Haru silently made her way to the waiting taxi, stumbling from accumulated exhaustion. She had changed clothes a few minutes earlier—thanks to the spare set her father insisted she bring—but the sweat clinging to her skin screamed for a shower. Even so, she didn't dare take one at Dylan's place. Whether out of caution or plain embarrassment, she'd passed on the idea.
The driver, a middle-aged man, opened the back door without a word. Haru clumsily climbed in, her limbs heavy and sore. She tossed her backpack aside, and as the car pulled away, she waved goodbye to Dylan, who was still watching from the doorstep.
Once the taxi turned the corner, Dylan shut the door and checked his phone. A message from his mom, as usual, some video links from social media and the typical question: when would he come visit? He ignored the videos and replied with a vague promise—some free weekend, maybe.
He left the phone on his bed in his room and headed to the bathroom, ready to do what Haru hadn't had the nerve for.
As he walked, he mentally reviewed her performance that day. In terms of willpower, she'd exceeded his expectations. Physically? She was as weak as anyone might expect. For him, today's session had just been a warm-up; nowhere near his usual routine. For Haru, though, it had been sheer torture. In fact, if she hadn't calmed down at the last second several times, she might've used the taser Hiroshi gave her to escape that hell.
Dylan chuckled to himself, recalling the variety of faces she made each time he announced a new exercise. He laughed, ignoring the "danger" he'd supposedly been in.
But the amusement faded as soon as he stepped into the bathroom and started undressing. There was no denying it: Haru had no physical talent. Her condition wasn't as bad as his had once been, as at least she wasn't overweight, but her reflexes, flexibility, and coordination were severely lacking.
'What a shame. Most of that could be fixed with enough practice… but we don't have time.'
Even a donkey can learn to dance with enough training, but that wasn't a luxury they could afford. The Transfer was just around the corner and there was no way Haru could become a competent fighter in time.
She didn't have the benefit of a century-old man living in her head, after all.
With that in mind, Dylan scrapped the vague plan he'd had for her. Physical training and self-defense would have to take a back seat. Not completely—every bit of progress could help her—but the focus needed to shift.
He had to teach her other things. How to survive in the wild, for starters, and even a basic—however shallow—understanding of certain animal species and their weaknesses...
'Sure, sounds good... but how the hell do I even do that?'
Dylan wasn't exactly an expert. His memory had gaps, and that's why he relied on unorthodox methods: tutorials, documentaries, online articles. Now, on top of relearning everything, he had to teach it too. He couldn't promise he'd do it well, but he wasn't about to quit.
So after showering and drying off quickly, he sat in front of his computer. He opened a blank document and began typing his notes—topics, ideas, possible structure. It was a slowly first step, but a necessary one.
Curiously, the process also helped him rediscover bits of his own past.
. . .
The next day, Haru showed up at Dylan's place a little after noon—way past ideal training time—having stopped first at her elderly friend Antonia's house. And to top it off, she wasn't even wearing workout clothes. She had on her usual outfit: hoodie, light blouse, loose-fitting pants.
She looked uneasy as Dylan gave her a once-over and stepped aside to let her in.
"Casual wear?" he asked without a hint of surprise.
"Y-yeah, haha. It's all I've got. Yesterday's outfit still isn't dry. I guess I should've bought more than one set," she said, hovering near the living room chairs, unsure whether to sit or not.
"I see. That's fine, we can work with it..."
"W-wait, Dylan. I'm not actually here to train today."
"Oh?"
Hearing her shaky voice, Dylan didn't press her. Haru hesitated, wetting her lips as she searched for the right words. Finally, she let out what had been swirling in her mind since the night before.
"It's just that… I want to talk about our deal. You know? Maybe this training thing isn't for me. I don't think I can become like you. Every muscle in my body still hurts. Even ones I didn't know existed."
Dylan didn't flinch at the attempt to back out—he'd seen it coming. But the fact that she came all the way just to say it? That was a good sign. That, in itself, was a good sign. It confirmed his motivation to keep playing the mentor.
"Don't worry. We're not running today," he said calmly. "But that doesn't mean you'll just sit around. Since you're here, let's make it count."
After that, he disappeared briefly into the house and returned with a small dumbbell, barely two kilos. It wasn't his, it belonged to Roberto, who'd hardly touched it since he bought it.
When he handed it to her, Haru gave it a suspicious look but took it with both hands.
"And this?"
"Play around with it while we talk. One arm at a time. Just do simple reps, whatever comes to mind."
Then he gestured for her to follow him to the other side of the living room. He moved a couple of chairs, and they both sat across from each other at the dining table. Seeing her still hesitant to use the dumbbell properly, Dylan stroked his chin and spoke in a relaxed tone.
"Don't overthink it. Yeah, you'll probably be even more sore tomorrow. But after that, it gets better."
"You're not exactly making me want to keep going."
"That's not the point. I'm just telling you the truth."
Haru made a face but, driven by curiosity, finally gave it a try. She planted her elbow on the table and started lifting the dumbbell awkwardly. Dylan didn't correct her; he just nodded.
"Your body's important," he said after clearing his throat. "But it's not everything, Haru. I know you want to fight like I do, but there are better ways for you to get stronger. Knowledge is one of them."
"Knowledge?"
"That's right. There's a lot out there that could help you: history, geography, biology, politics, survival skills, first aid… Basic stuff, things anyone should know to navigate the world. You can't always rely on GPS or hope someone shows up when you're in trouble. You need to understand your surroundings, know how to react. Know which plants are edible and which will kill you. How to read the weather, recognize danger signs, even read people based on how they move or talk…"
He paused briefly before continuing, more absorbed in his own words.
"And politics, of course… you can't live in the world without knowing how it works. Who holds power, why they have it, how it can affect you. And history's full of lessons nobody learns—but you could. Even basic economics helps. Knowing when something's a scam. Learning to defend yourself not just with your fists, but with your head…"
In his own way, Dylan was trying to sound like a wise mentor. Unfortunately, for all the years' worth of memories swirling in his brain, pulling off the act wasn't easy. Age didn't always come with wisdom. So to Haru, his speech sounded more like a ramble than a profound lesson.
She didn't really think he knew more than she did. After all, she'd taken her share of workshops and courses. And her pride made it hard to accept instruction from someone who didn't seem smarter than she was. Still, she didn't interrupt or mock him. Deep down, she'd take his rambling any day over another run.
And secretly, it amused her to see him so serious over something so small.
As he talked, she started picturing him as a character from a novel—an enigmatic mentor with a tragic past and an endless library in his mind. The image was so ridiculous she couldn't help but giggle.
Dylan tilted his head.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing… just remembered something."
He didn't push for more and kept talking, determined to make her accept his new teachings.
. . . . .
The weeks began to blur together. Time, indifferent to human affairs, swept up routines, habits, and fleeting moments, blurring them into a barely recognizable flow. Each day brought something different, yet they all felt equally short-lived.
True to his word, Dylan continued teaching Haru everything he thought might help her in the future: from basic biology concepts to outdoor survival skills, to long explanations about environmental awareness and weather patterns.
Once, he even thought about borrowing Roberto's car and driving her to a nearby forest for hands-on practice.
But that… didn't quite go as planned.
The road was closed, and the "field trip" turned into an hours-long drive with all three of them crammed in the car. They only stopped once, at a fast-food joint along the way. Roberto got drunk out of boredom, Haru had more fun than she was willing to admit, and Dylan came back irritated by all the time they'd lost.
There were also weekends when Dylan took breaks to visit his parents. His mother greeted him with her usual barrage of questions: if he had a girlfriend, if he was planning to get married, if work was going well. His father just listened from the yard while watching chickens chase ducks. The scene never changed—frozen in time, like nothing ever moved there.
Meanwhile, Félix continued his nightly gaming sessions with Haru, though they were growing rarer. She wasn't home as much, and when she was, she'd go straight to bed, exhausted. One of the few nights they did talk, he joked about her dating her "stalker." Haru didn't answer. Her brief silence left him with more questions than answers.
Elsewhere, Ana, the housekeeper, updated Hiroshi on his daughter's recent changes. She seemed more energetic, livelier—like something had finally healed a wound that time never could. The father, ever wary, was still uneasy about how much time she spent away from home. But Ana gently reminded him: ''children aren't meant to live in cages. You've got to let them fly," she said.
Roberto kept visiting his girlfriend every weekend—or so he claimed. Sometimes he came back happy, sometimes downcast. His relationship with July wasn't improving or falling apart—it just lingered, like a stubborn ember that refused to die but couldn't reignite either.
And so, time marched on. The weeks slipped by like beads on a tangled string, and the world—oblivious, indifferent—kept turning. Nothing seemed out of place. Life moved on, as if nothing were about to change.
But Dylan knew better. He felt it more strongly with each passing day. That date in his mind, that impossible knowledge, clung to him like a shadow. Sometimes, he even doubted himself—wondered if it wasn't all a vivid dream. But the certainty remained, unshaken. No matter how quiet the world seemed, he knew the truth.
The Transfer was coming.
And with December nearly over, only a few hours remained before his fears would come true.