Freeze Frame

Chapter 45

Third person pov

"I take it all back... Lillian, you were right." Hitoshi gasped out. "This is hell."

"Hi, welcome to Chili's." Was Neito's weak response. Nobody was sure if he was agreeing or just delusional from exhaustion. They were a mere fifteen minutes in, and already ready to drop. Aizawa had truly gone all out with this work out plan. It left them plenty of time for themselves and school, sure, but that only meant the man had compacted everything they needed to do and more into a very short amount of time.

Lillian hadn't said a word of complaint the entire time. Sure, she was sweating, and looked possibly a little deader than Hitoshi felt, but she'd kept her mouth smoothed out into a thing yet grim line.

"It isn't as bad as English." Lillian whispered, meeting Hitoshi's eyes. "Never as bad as English."

"Do I want to know what that means?" Neito whispered to Hitoshi.

"Probably not." Hitoshi muttered back. Neito winced, swiping his forearm across his forehead. He only succeeded in smearing his sweat. Truly, he had no idea he could produce this much of the substance until now. It was actually quite mortifying. This couldn't possibly be good for his skin.

"Jared, can you read number 23 for the class?" Lillian asked suddenly as they began sprinting after doing a round of sit ups, crunches, push ups, and a whole plethora of other shit that nearly made Neito's spine snap in two and Hitoshi's arms fall off.

"No I cannot." Neito said pompously.

"What up, I'm Jared, I'm nineteen and I never fucking learned how to read." Hitoshi recited perfectly. Aizawa looked up as they approached. Even with his face covered, you could tell he didn't want to be here. And yet he was anyway, sitting there all bandaged up with his juice pouch and sleeping bag. The trio wasn't sure if they should bow before him or cry and cower. Maybe both, but in intervals.

"It's free real estate." Lillian noted as they darted past. You could practically sense Aizawa pause at her words.

Aizawa's workout was, in short, the definition of hell. Maybe it wasn't all the way down in the ninth circle, but it couldn't be that far off. Lillian was clearly convinced there was something worse than this. That being said, she wasn't as against physical activity as Hitoshi was, and she didn't seem to mind the sweat as much as Neito did.

It's not that it particularly bothered Monoma. It just made him feel nasty, and feeling nasty wasn't on his to-do list at the moment. He really hadn't been planning on adding it either. He hated the way his clothes stuck to his skin, and how his hair got all sticky and disgusting. It made him want to vomit, dry heave for a second while he regained his bearings, and then vomit again.

In simple terms, it made him sick.

"So, we have to do this everyday?" Hitoshi asked as they skidded to a stop for a fifteen second break. Then, they'd fall into push ups. Another form of torture. Monoma did the best out of all of them, and Hitoshi could certainly get a few good ones in. Lillian, on the other hand, wanted to bash her face in everytime anything that had to do with upper body strength came up. Not because she particularly hated the exercises, but because she had no arm muscles to speak of.

"Y-Yeah." Lillian panted. "After two weeks I think we split it up. Two thirds physical exercise, and one third quirk control."

"Wow, that's totally tubular." Monoma wheezed out in his best surfer voice. The fact that he was about to keel over right then and there really made him sound more like a dying walrus than a wave surfer.

"Gnarly." Hitoshi agreed, feeling rather green at the moment.

"Fifteen seconds." Lillian groaned, and they all dropped down. "You know, I just wanna be a cowboy, baby."