"Ugh," Ryouma said, and rolled off the bench. His muscles, weak as water, barely supported him; he leaned his head back against the bench and wondered if he'd really felt a flare of chakra there, or if that was just the sparks going off inside his head. If his impromptu spotter really had to use chakra to lift the bar up, that was something to be proud of...

He shook his head, ran a sweaty hand over his sweaty face, and glanced up at last. A thin, wiry kid in beaten-up jeans and a too-small sweatshirt, with big hands, a reddened nose, dark eyes, and unruly hair. He looked all of fifteen. Maybe that spark of chakra wasn't much to be proud of, after all.

"Thanks," he croaked. Winced, worked a little saliva into his mouth, and swallowed. He sounded a little less like a startled toad, this time. "Sorry about that. Just got off medical rest, got a little too excited about getting back in shape." He felt his pectoral muscles tenderly, and winced again. "Holy crap. Four weeks does make a difference."

So did losing a substantial chunk of flesh.