Sunlight sliced insistently through the curtains, warm and far too cheerful for the exhaustion still stubbornly clinging to every muscle in my body. I blinked groggily, consciousness drifting in slowly, memories of the brutal training session echoing vividly in my aching limbs.
But as much as it hurt, pride flared gently within my chest as I remembered the system's assessment of my progress.
Forty-five percent.
Not perfect, certainly, but significantly less likely to accidentally obliterate a classroom. Progress was progress, after all.
[Awake yet, sleeping beauty?]
"Barely," I mumbled into my pillow, pushing tangled strands of silver hair away from my face. "And I blame you entirely."
[You're welcome.]
I rolled my eyes fondly. "Thank you, by the way," I murmured more seriously. "For everything."
[Oh, look at you, getting all emotional. If I had tear ducts, I'd be weeping dramatically right now.]
"Never mind," I groaned, cheeks warming slightly. "I take it back."
