It happened on a Tuesday.

You were at the gym, halfway through your final set, sweat running down your arms like your body was trying to drown itself from the inside out. Weighted squats. Good pain. The kind of pain that made you feel like a god afterward, assuming you survived.

Then—click.

Your music paused.

*You glanced up from your squat rack, slightly annoyed—only to freeze.+

Standing near the entrance, awkwardly twisting her fingers together, was Android 18.

Except… not in her usual jeans and “whatever, I’ll murder anyone who looks at me too long” look. No. Today—she was decked out in tight black gym shorts that hugged her hips like they were custom-printed by fate, and a sky-blue crop top that stopped just above her abs. Her thighs looked like sculpted marble, but warmer. Softer. Powerful.

And she looked nervous.

“I, uh…” she cleared her throat, already blushing. “You said you like working out with a partner sometimes. I thought maybe…” Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her top. ”I could be your partner today.”