And today’s date, circled in red, read:

“Yeah, well, you’ve been saving your thrusts for the important things. Let the chair do the heavy lifting. Or, you know, the heavy sitting.”

Ichika first noticed it in the pantry. Mira, reaching for the top shelf for coffee beans, stretched up on her toes. A normal person would have leaned, bent, or asked for help. Mira simply… gave up. She sighed and reached for the instant decaf instead.

“Trade you for the stool,” Ichika said.

Dates were crossed off. Next to each date was a code: Lift. Twist. Climb. Avoid.

“Noticed what? That you treat your glutes like a savings account?”

And the office learned a new lesson: sometimes, the most extraordinary power isn't about using what you have—but knowing exactly when to save it.

Ichika stared. “You’re telling me your butt has a fuel gauge?”