Motivation - Old version

Five

The next day, the male intern—whose name, Kazue had learned, was Daguchi Ichiro—didn't show up and ask for help like everyone else in the past had. A little surprised at the change, the brunet just shrugged it off and almost finished his daily list of tasks without a hitch. One less thing to do, and he was perfectly fine with that.

All that was left was his daily training-slash-workout routine that his father had designed.

Changing into a plain black tank top and sweatpants, Kazue slung his gym bag over his shoulder and wandered off to the training room, hoping it wasn't occupied so he could finish as soon as possible so he could go back to not having a life in peace.

Unfortunately, his non-existent life, evidently, had it out for him because the training room was occupied, and by Aerogale's intern. Not the one with the dust, no, but the redheaded girl who could coat herself in flames. The one he still didn't know the name of.

Kazue leaned against the doorframe, watching with an eyebrow quirked. Changed into workout clothes like him, the girl was actually doing what he'd suggested on the list he'd taped to her unconscious forehead. Specifically, the third item on the list, her punching power. She was standing in front of one of the many bags held to the ceiling by a chain, visibly wincing every time her bare fists made contact with it.

"You know, you should probably wrap your hands before doing something like that," the brunet commented, easily slipping into his 'I'm the son of Number Seven' persona and dying inside at how fucking cocky his own voice sounded. "Wouldn't want to make your knuckles bleed. Sorry for not putting that on the list."

"Shut. Up." she gritted out without looking back, punching at the bag even harder than before. "And go away."

Kazue made his sigh louder than necessary, walking inside to set down his gym bag and dig around inside. "Take them," he stated, holding out an unused pair of bandages to the girl with his trademarked dead expression. "You'll only hurt yourself if you go barehanded."

"I said, go away," the girl muttered, sweat plastering the loose locks of hair from her ponytail to her forehead. "I don't need my Kōhai's help, alright? Screw off."

He mentally rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was running through the older teen's mind. "Clearly you do, if that stance is anything to go by," Kazue commented dryly and dropped the bandages at her feet, not failing to notice how she paused for a fraction of a second to try and see what she was doing wrong. "Hands up higher; anyone could easily deck you across the face if your guard drops that low. Feet the slightest bit farther apart. Thumb goes across your fingers, not at the side of your fists."

With that, he proceeded to 'screw off', heading to the opposite side of the gym and starting his stretches. Kazue was not about to get a muscle cramp in the middle of training after lecturing an intern about their own shortcomings. Now that would really be a pain in the ass.

~-~-~-~

About a week later, the day of the practical exam finally rolled around. Not that Kazue was particularly looking forward to it, rather he just wanted to get it over with and go back to the agency where his talents would actually be useful.

He recognized a few people—well, more of everyone, really, because all he needed was a single glance for something to be permanently ingrained in his memory—at the exam location, but stood off to the side alone in his plain grey and black tracksuit. The number seven, ironically or unironically enough, was pinned to his chest.

Kazue didn't exactly have a strong desire to socialize outside of obligation, but he also wanted to stay as far as possible away from the proctor of the exam.