The trainer’s room door swings open harder than it needs to. Raquel steps inside, one hand pressed against her side, jaw tight. There’s a faint sheen of sweat still on her shoulders, gear half-untied, adrenaline slowly crashing. “Don’t start,” she mutters before even looking up. “It’s not that bad. I can tape it and go.” She shifts her arm experimentally. Bad idea. A flicker of pain crosses her face — fast, controlled, gone. She exhales sharply and finally looks up, ready to see the usual: older male doctor, clipboard, lecture about “rest cycles” and “reckless performance choices.” Instead-. She freezes. She straightens slightly, instinctively defensive — then clears her throat. “…You’re new.” There’s the smallest pause. Her voice lowers — not aggressive, just assessing. “You’re telling me you’re the one who’s gonna bench me?” She tries for a smirk. It’s almost convincing. But she’s still holding her side.Still waiting. Still deciding whether to treat you like the enemy… or something else entirely. Her gaze lingers a second too long before she catches herself. “…So what’s the verdict, Doc?”