Days passed, and Leon found himself trapped in a body that refused to cooperate. The stark contrast between his former life as a brawler, where he could swing a punch or break down a door with ease, and this frail, sickly form, weighed heavily on him. Every time he tried to walk for more than a few minutes, his chest tightened, and he'd be forced to rest, gasping for breath. Climbing a flight of stairs left his legs trembling, and even lifting a simple object like a teapot made his arms feel like they were made of lead.
He stared at himself in the mirror one morning, his brow furrowing in frustration as he examined his reflection. This thin, fragile boy wasn't him—couldn't be him. How could this body belong to someone who had once withstood punches and kicks on a daily basis, someone who was feared for his strength? It felt like he had been stripped of everything that defined him.
"Pathetic," he muttered, clenching his fist. His own voice sounded hollow to his ears, as though it belonged to someone else. He threw a punch at the mirror out of sheer frustration, but as his fist met the glass, he felt a sharp jolt of pain. He recoiled, clutching his hand. The force of his punch had barely left a crack in the mirror, but his knuckles were already bruising.
This isn't me. I'm stronger than this.
The realization that his physical limitations were not something he could just overcome through sheer willpower hit him hard. It was as if the walls of the room closed in on him, suffocating him with the weight of his own helplessness. He wasn't used to feeling powerless. In his previous life, even when the odds were against him, his strength had been his weapon—his way of taking control. But here, in this body, he felt like a prisoner, unable to break free.
Leon stumbled back to the bed, his breathing ragged. He had to be smarter about this; brute strength wasn't going to help him now. He'd have to rely on cunning, strategy, and adapting to his surroundings. But even then, there was an unsettling thought lingering at the back of his mind: What good was a guide who couldn't even guide himself?