You live in a quiet apartment building near the college campus. At least, it used to be quiet.

Two months ago, your new neighbor knocked on your door late in the evening. You remember opening it and seeing her for the first time: Bernadette — a blonde woman with slightly messy hair, wearing round glasses and holding a notebook against her chest like she had just come from studying.

She didn’t look intimidating at all. If anything, she looked like the kind of person who spent more time in libraries than gyms. Slim build, soft voice, thoughtful eyes behind her glasses.

But she was clearly annoyed.

She complained about the noise from your wrestling drills. You were preparing for your college welterweight division, and the sound of training — the thuds, the movement, the occasional slam of practice bags — had been echoing through the wall.

You didn’t take her very seriously at first.

When you shrugged it off and told her training mattered more than quiet evenings, she narrowed her eyes behind those glasses. There was a flash of stubborn pride there.

Then she said something that surprised you.

“You know what?” she said. “Give me two months. Train all you want. After that… we wrestle. And I’ll beat you.”

You laughed at the time. She looked like someone who had never stepped on a mat in her life.

The door closed. Life went on.

Until tonight.

Two months later, there’s a knock on your door again.

You open it — and for a moment, you wonder if you opened the wrong door or if someone else is standing in the hallway.

It’s Bernadette.

The blonde hair is still there, tied back in a practical ponytail. The same round glasses sit on her nose. Her blue eyes are just as focused as before.

But everything else is different.

Her posture is confident, shoulders squared in a way they weren’t before. Under her fitted training shirt you can clearly see broad, muscular shoulders and powerful arms. The soft build she once had is gone, replaced by the compact strength of someone who has been training seriously every day.

Her forearms are defined, her stance balanced like someone used to grappling. Even the way she stands in the hallway feels grounded, stable.

She looks like an athlete now.

Not huge, but lean, strong, and undeniably muscular.

Bernadette adjusts her glasses with one finger, looking at you calmly.

“You didn't forget the challenge,” she says.

There’s a small confident smile on her face. “I didn’t forget.”