The Transfer Trick

The September sun baked the physical training ground like a scorching hot iron plate. I stood at the end of the line, sweat dripping down my chin, but my eyes stayed locked on Maggie Scott up ahead. This morning, because two classmates were late, the trainer snapped and said the whole class would have to run a twenty-kilometer weighted cross-country. Everyone was quietly grumbling when Maggie suddenly stepped forward, her voice soft but determined. "Trainer, can I run the entire distance alone instead of the class? I don't want everyone to get punished because of this." Immediately, applause broke out along the line, with people shouting, "Maggie, you're way too kind!" "You're incredible!" But I felt a chill run through my whole body, my nails digging deep into my palm—this very moment in my last life is what pushed me toward death. In my last life, she ran the entire twenty kilometers for the whole class, expression unmoved, even smiling as she said, "I'll take on the rest of the physical training too." Everyone praised her for being tough and kind-hearted, but only I knew that as she ran, my strength was slowly being drained away. After that day, I started feeling unusually exhausted—falling asleep sitting in class, getting dizzy after standing for ten minutes during training. Because I was late so many times, the class lost its honor ranking, and my classmates surrounded me, calling me "faking illness," "weak," and "a burden." I told them, "It was Maggie Scott who shifted her fatigue onto me," but they just pointed and laughed, saying, "Tina Lincoln, have you lost your mind from jealousy?" I went to confront Maggie Scott. She was wearing her neat physical training uniform and lightly brushed past me, saying, "Stop messing around." In the scorching forty-degree heat, she ran five kilometers and came back without a single strand of hair on her forehead damp, still wearing that calm, indifferent look. But that afternoon, my hands and feet suddenly stopped obeying me, my insides felt like they were being shredded, and I finally collapsed by the playground, losing consciousness. So now, when Maggie Scott once again struck that "self-sacrificing" pose, my heart raced—this time, I couldn't let her get away with it. Before the trainer could respond, I took a deep breath and raised my hand. "Report, trainer! I volunteer to run for the entire class!" My voice wasn't loud, but it immediately quieted the noisy group. Maggie turned her head, a flash of surprise in her eyes as she looked at me, then quickly slipped back into her usual gentle expression. The trainer frowned, sizing me up: "Are you sure? Twenty kilometers with full gear—if you can't finish, the whole class will be punished." I nodded firmly, "I'm sure, Trainer." Maggie Scott immediately came over, grabbing my arm, her tone thick with "concern." "Tina Lincoln, did you forget? The doctor said at your last checkup that you have anemia and low blood sugar—how could you run so far?" She deliberately raised her voice, and the classmates around quickly joined in. "Yeah, Tina, don't push yourself. If you can't finish the run, we'll all be in trouble." "Exactly, you get tired easily. Don't compare yourself to Maggie—she's much stronger." I looked at Maggie Scott's "worried for me" face, but all I felt was a cold laugh inside. In my past life, it was that exact expression that fooled everyone. I yanked my hand away hard: "I don't need you to worry. I can run." Maggie's hand froze mid-air, a flash of cruelty flickering in her eyes before she quickly covered it up. She looked down, her voice heavy with hurt: "I'm just worried about you, and everyone else too..." The trainer waved his hand impatiently: "Stop! You two run together, no resting until you finish!" I froze for a moment—the trainer probably thought we were trying to outdo each other and wanted us to back off. But he didn't know that Maggie Scott wasn't scared at all—because she was never the one who got tired. A faint, almost invisible smile curved at the corner of Maggie Scott's mouth as she quietly said, "Okay." The staff handed me the weighted backpack. I hefted it—it wasn't light, but in my past life, I'd carried even heavier "fatigue." The moment the gunshot cracked, Maggie Scott surged forward, moving so fast it didn't seem like she was untrained. I started running after her too, at first able to keep pace with her. But before we even reached a kilometer, that familiar, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. It felt like countless needles were stabbing my legs; every step felt like walking on cotton—soft and heavy. I gasped for breath and turned to look at Maggie Scott; her back was straight, her breathing steady, and not a drop of sweat on her forehead. She even looked back and gave me an "encouraging" smile. I knew she had already started shifting—transferring all the fatigue from her run onto me. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to take step after step, with only one thought in my mind: I couldn't collapse, at least not this soon. But the limits of the body are never something willpower alone can overcome. That sense of exhaustion kept getting heavier, like an invisible weight dragging me down. By the time I hit two kilometers, my vision started to blacken, my ears buzzed, and all the sounds around me grew faint.