Morning hit the motel windows, casting a warm glow over the room.
Damon turned, hearing the curtains open with a soft rustle. He opened his eyes, squinting slightly at the bright light.
"Morning, mom," he said, sitting up in bed. He raised his hand to rub his eyes, then paused mid-air, remembering that he wasn't exactly fully recovered.
It had been a few days since the fight, and Damon wasn't feeling well.
He had been looking forward to opening his new punching bag, but he had held off, to recover.
Aoife answered, "Morning, Damon," her voice warm and gentle. She turned around, looking at Damon, and forced a smile after glancing at his bruised body.
Her eyes lingered on the purple marks on his face and the bandages on his hands.
Damon sat up, stretching his hand, trying to play it cool. "You're up early," he joked, attempting to hide the pain he felt.
Aoife scoffed, "More like you're up late," she said with a smirk, moving away from the curtains. Her long, dark hair swayed behind her as she walked towards the small kitchenette in the motel room.
Damon swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the soft carpet beneath his feet. He stood up slowly, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back.
His muscles protested with a dull ache, but he ignored it, knowing it was just part of the healing process.
Aoife turned around, watching him with a concerned expression. "You should be resting, Damon," she said, her voice firm but gentle.
Damon shrugged, trying to downplay his injuries. "I'm fine, mom. Just a few bruises," he said, attempting to smile.
Aoife raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "A few bruises?" she repeated, and said with sarcasm evident in her voice. "You look like you've been through a war."
So he finished up, cleaning up the bathroom, making sure to wipe down the sink and toilet, and then went out to the parking lot.
The bright sunlight hit him like a slap in the face, making him squint. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, feeling the warm rays on his skin.
The parking lot was empty, except for a few cars scattered here and there. Damon's eyes scanned the area, taking in the familiar sights.
Damon looked around, scanning the empty parking lot. He was about to open his system interface, but then paused, thinking better of it. That would be reckless, he thought.
What if someone was watching him, observing his every move? He couldn't afford to have his secret revealed, not now, not ever.
Damon took a careful look around. No movement. No people. He felt a sense of caution, realizing how easily he could make a mistake. He decided against using the system here. It wasn't safe.
Instead, he made up his mind to go for a run. It was a better way to clear his head and keep up with his training, he'll also just access the inventory right around the corner.
He took a deep breath and started jogging, leaving the parking lot behind.
Damon arrived around the corner, making sure he was alone. He glanced around cautiously, his eyes scanning the empty street.
Satisfied that no one was watching, he opened the system interface. The familiar screen flickered to life, displaying his inventory.
Damon's eyes landed on the punching bag icon, and he clicked on it. The description popped up, and he read through it quickly.
"Bag of steel" - a sturdy, oversized punching bag designed for intense training. He could use it for low kicks, practicing his technique and building his strength.
Damon's fingers hovered over the button, ready to bring the bag into the physical world. As he hesitated, he thought about the perfect spot to set up the bag.
With a decisive nod, Damon clicked the button. The system interface flashed, and the punching bag materialized in front of him. It was bigger than he expected.
Damon cracked his knuckles, a fierce grin spreading across his face. It was time to put in the work, to push himself to the limit.