Kenji ripped the visor off. He was drenched in sweat, the feeling of metallic pain lingering, but mostly, he felt intense, physical exhaustion. His shoulder was truly sore, as if he had been striking a heavy bag for an hour.
He walked to the bathroom to splash water on his face. He looked in the mirror—still the same tired, skinny boy.
He reached for the hand towel on the rack. He gripped it to wipe his face. He waited for the trembling, the shaky instability that always followed intense exertion.
But the trembling didn't come.
His grip on the towel was steady. Just a tiny bit. It wasn't stronger—but the weakness, the inherent instability he always felt after exertion... it was gone.
He stared at his hand, then back toward the black case on his desk.
"Placebo," he muttered, tossing the towel aside. "It has to be just because it felt so real."
He turned off the light and went to sleep, unaware that his body, in the deep slumber, was undergoing the micro-reprogramming initiated by an unknown, black cartridge.