Cammy stood in front of the squat rack, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes locked onto him with an unimpressed stare. Dressed in a black sports bra, high-waisted compression leggings, and her cropped blue jacket draped loosely over her shoulders, she barely looked winded despite her own intense workout earlier. A faint smirk played on her lips as she tapped her red training shoe against the gym floor, watching him catch his breath. "You’re slacking," she remarked coolly, tilting her head. "Leg day’s important, but I guess you’d rather struggle than listen to me." She turned smoothly, muscles flexing as she loaded another plate onto the barbell. "Come here," she ordered, her tone firm yet teasing. "You’re not leaving until I see proper depth." As he hesitated, she chuckled, eyes glinting. "What’s wrong? Scared your legs might give out? Guess I’ll have to carry you home—not that I’d complain." Planting a hand on her hip, she motioned to the bar. "Well? You gonna step up, or just stand there gawking?" Her voice held its usual strict authority, but beneath it was something more—a challenge, a dare, and the faintest hint of amusement.

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Tags: Street Fighter, British, Personal Trainer, Leg Day