Divine Milking System-Chapter 43 | I’m the Weakest Link, So the Hot Instructor is Targeting Me Personally

Chapter 43: 43 | I’m the Weakest Link, So the Hot Instructor is Targeting Me Personally

I eyed the wide-open field, wondering if I could get away with an emergency bathroom break before the torture began. Maybe feign stomach cramps? Food poisoning? Sudden amnesia about agreeing to team training?

Too late. Misato was already jogging toward us, her lime green ponytail swinging with each step, a look on her face that screamed "I will enjoy your suffering today."

"Listen up, Midnight Foxes!" She clapped her hands with unnecessary force. "This field is now your second home. You’ll bleed here. You’ll cry here. You’ll probably throw up here."

Jordan groaned beside me. "Seriously? It’s our first practice."

Misato’s eyes narrowed. "That attitude? That’s why you’re ranked two hundred twenty-eight, Wayne."

"I’m also ranked two hundred twenty-eight because I don’t care," Jordan retorted, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "The ranking system is arbitrary and—"

"Down! Twenty push-ups!" Misato barked.

Jordan stared at her. "Are you for real right now?"

"Thirty push-ups," Misato countered, a terrifying smile spreading across her face.

I leaned toward Jordan. "Maybe just do the push-ups, man."

"Forty push-ups, Wayne! Want to go for fifty?"

Jordan muttered something under his breath but dropped to the ground. I watched in fascinated horror as he struggled through the first ten before collapsing face-first into the grass.

Misato loomed over him. "Pathetic. This is what I’m working with? A genius who can’t do ten proper push-ups?"

Belle piped up, her blue hair tied in a high ponytail that somehow made her look even cuter than usual. "I can’t do many push-ups either, Misato. I’m just a girl, you know?" She added an exaggerated pout and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Then you’ll do modified push-ups, Fox. On your knees until you build strength." Misato’s tone softened considerably. "We’ll work at your pace."

Jordan lifted his face from the grass. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Sixty push-ups, Wayne."

"I didn’t even say anything that time!"

"Seventy."

I bit back a laugh, which was probably a mistake because Misato’s gaze snapped to me next. She stalked over, stopping so close I could smell her perfume—something fresh and citrusy that didn’t belong on someone plotting murder.

"And what about you, Monroe? Dead last in physical assessment. Two hundred forty-one out of two hundred fifty. That’s quite an achievement."

"I prefer to think of myself as number ten from the bottom," I replied. "Glass half full and all that."

Her eyes narrowed. "Plank position. Now."

I dropped down, positioning my forearms on the grass and extending my legs behind me. Not so bad.

"Lower," Misato commanded, squatting down beside me. "Hips down, back flat. You look like a drooping bridge."

From this angle, as Misato squatted next to me, I had a direct view down her tank top. Her sports bra struggled heroically against gravity, revealing the tops of her 38F breasts pressed together in a magnificent display that nearly made me forget the fire building in my core.

A bead of sweat dripped down Misato’s neck, slipping beneath her collar and vanishing into the valley between her breasts. My mouth went dry. The sight pulled my attention away from my screaming abs as I desperately tried to maintain the plank position.

Holy shit, what would her milk taste like? Probably something spicy and intense, like her personality. Silver-tier at minimum. Maybe even Gold. Those tits were practically legendary—they’d probably fill the entire Essence Vault in one session.

And her moans... would they be aggressive like everything else about her? Or would she go soft and vulnerable when pushed to the edge?

"Focus, Monroe!" Misato snapped, catching my wandering eyes. "Eyes on the ground or I double your time."

I dropped my gaze immediately, but the damage was done. Misato Ayame was definitely going on my target list.

Not immediately—she was way too intimidating and suspicious right now—but eventually.

"Sorry," I muttered, forcing my gaze to the grass. "Just... admiring your form."

"Since you feel like admiring so much, why don’t you admire in that position for another three minutes." She stood up, grinning down at me. "Every time your hips drop, we add thirty seconds."

Three minutes in plank? Even with my enhanced stamina from Naomi’s Silver-tier essence, this was going to suck.

"The rest of you!" Misato called out. "Warm-up lap around the field. Go!"

Belle immediately jumped up. "Come on, Naomi! Race you!"

Naomi, bless her, looked back at me sympathetically before jogging after Belle. Jordan crawled to his feet, shooting me a look that clearly said "better you than me," before shuffling after the girls.

Misato stayed right beside me, occasionally poking my belly fat with a stick she’d found.

"Tighten your core."

Poke.

"Shoulders back."

Poke.

"Hips lower."

Stab.

"If you can talk, you’re not working hard enough."

I hadn’t said a word in forty-five seconds, but okay.

My arms trembled. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto the grass. One minute and eighteen seconds in, according to the timer Misato had set on her phone.

"Why—" I gasped, "are you—being so much—harder on me?"

"Because you’re the weak link." She said it without malice, just stating facts. "And in a gate, the weak link gets everyone killed."

She wasn’t wrong. Garrett’s entire lesson had been about how monsters identify and target the weakest member of any hunter group.

"So I’m—toughening you up," she continued. "You have potential, Monroe. Your mana readings were decent. Your body just needs to catch up."

If only she knew about Limit Breaker. My body would catch up faster than anyone expected.

"Plus," she added with a smirk, "you’re obviously checking out my tits, so you deserve extra punishment."

Fuck.

The others returned from their lap, Belle barely winded, Naomi slightly red-faced but breathing evenly, and Jordan looking like he’d just run a marathon through the Sahara.

"What’s next, Satan?" Jordan wheezed, hands on his knees.

"Circuit training," Misato announced. "Stations. Five minutes each, one-minute rest between. We rotate clockwise."

She pointed to different areas of the field where she’d set up basic equipment:

"Station one: High knees and burpees. Station two: Medicine ball throws. Station three: Agility ladder. Station four: Shadow boxing. Station five: Resistance band work."

Jordan looked like he might actually cry.

"I’ll be personally coaching Monroe through the first round," Misato added. "The rest of you, start at the stations I assign you."