I woke up in an unfamiliar room.
Dim lighting. White, pristine ceiling. A faint antiseptic smell mixed with the scent of fresh flowers from a vase in the corner. The bed was soft, the sheets smooth, and the pillows felt like clouds.
'A private room,' I thought. 'Must be special facilities for tournament participants.'
I moved my body. Every muscle, every joint, every fiber of my flesh felt like it had been ground up and hastily reassembled. An incredible fatigue still clung to my bones.
But... there was no pain.
I raised both hands before my face. Right. Left. All intact. Even my right hand, which I remembered being severed at the wrist, was now back as if nothing had happened.
No scar. No tissue damage. No pain at all.
As if that hand had never been cut off.
I clenched my fingers. Opened them. Clenched again. Normal.
I took a deep breath, feeling my chest expand. The ribs I remembered cracking multiple times now felt whole. The wounds covering my body—all gone.
