Part-10

  A wave of relief washed over James. A quice around his room revealed no sign of Lily. His heart pounded with a mix of apprehension aement. This was his bsp; He tiptoed out of his room, his mind rag. Was Lily in the dining room, mung oover cookies? Or perhaps sprawled on the cou the drawing room, lost in a movie?

  He didn't waste time p her whereabouts. He had a mission to plete, and the thought of reliving the helplessness of the alleyurred him on. He crept down the hallway, his senses on high alert. Reag Lily's room, he paused for a beat, taking a deep breath. This was it. He peeked inside.

  The room was a mess, a testament to his sister's usual disarray. Clothes were strewn across the floor, books y open on her desk, and posters adorhe walls. A backpack sat slumped on a chair, its tents spilling out like a treasure trove. And there, led amidst notebooks and crumpled papers, was the prize he sought – the bright yellow stress ball.

  James' sce twinged. Stealing from his sister, even something as seemingly insignifit as a stress ball, went against his nature. But the memory of Lemon's cruel ughter and the sting of blows fshed in his mind, erasing his hesitation. He reached for the stress ball, his fingers brushing against a worn teddy bear – a reminder of their childhood. A pang of guilt stabbed at him, but he steeled himself. He'd make it up to Lily ter. Now, he had a mission to plete.

  With a silent apology to his absent sister, James she stress ball a a hasty retreat. He navigated the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest. Reag the safety of his own room, he bolted the door shut, colpsing onto his bed. Relief flooded him, mixed with a surge of nervous anticipation. He held the stress ball in his hand, a simple object that now seemed to hold the power to ge his future.

  James gripped the stress ball, its bright yellow surface cool against his cmmy palm. With a deep breath, he began to squeeze. The first few pressions were easy, a satisfyiance pushing back against his fingers. But as the numbers on the ter ticked by – 100, 200, 300 – his hand began to protest. Muscles in his forearm burned, and his fingers felt cramped.

  He hadn't sidered this. Building strength wouldn't be effortless. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and a tremor ran through his hand with each squeeze. Stubbornly, he tinued, picturing Lemon's sneering face with each squeeze. It was a mental image that fueled his determination. Every time his grip faltered, he visualized the alleyway, the rain stinging his face, the siing thud of his body hitting the ground. Shame and anger pulsed through him, a potent cocktail that pushed him to squeeze harder.

  By 546, his hand was a throbbing mess. Ign the burning ache that radiated from his fiips to his elbow, he forced himself to one more squeeze before finally relenting with a groa the stress ball fall limply into his p, his hand trembling untrolbly. Yet, a grudging sense of satisfa bloomed in his chest. He had pushed himself, and the ter reflected his progress. Even with the break, he was halfway there.

  He slumped back, panting, and stared at the holographic s h in front of him. It dispyed his progress: "Mission 2: Strengthen Yrip with Stress Ball (546/1000 Squeezes). Reward: Skill - Thundercp (Sp)." Relief washed over him. Apparently, taking breaks was allowed.