Earning a Bonus: Growth through Policy by zertus2

[zertus2]

Featuring: female muscle growth, height growth, unrealistic science

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Part 1

The plastic ID badge swung against Katsumi's collarbone as she hurried through the glass doors of UICS Pharmaceuticals, her sensible flats squeaking slightly on the polished marble floor. She'd practiced this walk—shoulders back, chin level, the perfect balance between eager new hire and someone who absolutely belonged here. The lobby was all sharp angles and gleaming surfaces, like the inside of a very expensive refrigerator. And then there were the women.

Two of them stood by the security desk, laughing at something on a tablet, their blazers straining across shoulders that looked like they could bench-press Katsumi without breaking a sweat. Their posture was effortless, their sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms thick with muscle, veins tracing paths under skin that glowed with health. Katsumi ducked her head and adjusted her own blazer—tailored, professional, utterly unremarkable. She'd never seen bodies like that outside of a gym ad.

"Rockford?" A man in a too-tight tie waved her over to the reception desk. "HR's waiting. You're with me." His name tag read 'Derek—Onboarding.' He barely glanced at her as he swiped his badge through the turnstile. "First rule: don't lose this," he said, tapping his own badge. "Second rule: don't ask R&D about their lunch breaks. They're... intense."

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime. Derek scrolled through his phone while Katsumi studied her reflection in the brushed metal—her neat black ponytail, the crisp white shirt, the way her skirt hit just at the knee. Everything precisely calibrated to say 'competent' and 'unthreatening.' The women in the lobby hadn't looked unthreatening. They'd looked like they could crush walnuts with their bare hands.

"Bonus structure's weird here," Derek said suddenly, as if he'd just remembered he was supposed to be onboarding her. "Sales hits quota, you get the usual. Exceed it?" He smirked. "You can skip the cash and pick something from R&D's pipeline instead. Experimental stuff. Most people take the money." The elevator dinged. "But not everyone." He stepped out, leaving Katsumi staring at the back of his head, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears.

The employee benefits packet sat open on Katsumi's desk, its last page catching the morning light—a single paragraph tucked between dental coverage and 401(k) details: *Performance Exceeds Expectations: Option to participate in Phase 3 trials of select R&D compounds.* She ran her finger down the accompanying appendix, where clinical-sounding project names hid behind alphanumeric codes. *UC-779: Metabolic enhancer. UC-812: Myostatin inhibitor. UC-441: Neural-cognitive accelerator.* And then, halfway down, written with surprising candor: *UC-X12: Enhanced Physical Capability Serum (colloquially "Athena Protocol").*

---

By lunch, Katsumi's notepad was a mess of circled phrases—*60% increase in lean muscle mass observed in primate trials*, *marked reduction in recovery time post-exertion*, *volunteer dropout rate: 0%*. She chewed her lip as she approached the cafeteria's salad bar, tray trembling slightly in her hands.

"You're staring at the tofu like it owes you money," said a voice like warm honey. The woman loading her plate with grilled chicken had shoulders that strained the seams of her silk blouse, her forearms flexing as she scooped an extra portion of quinoa. Up close, her skin had an almost luminous quality, pores invisible, the kind of complexion usually airbrushed onto magazine covers. She smiled, and Katsumi noticed her teeth were *too* even, *too* white.

"I—" Katsumi fumbled her tongs. "Sorry. First day."

Katsumi hesitated before sliding into the seat opposite the woman—*Valerie*, according to her badge—whose biceps stretched the sleeves of her blouse like overstuffed sausages. The cafeteria chatter faded into white noise as Katsumi's gaze flickered between Valerie's tapered waist and the impossible swell of her deltoids, the way her collarbone carved a sharp valley above a chest that defied both genetics and gravity. Middle-aged, sure, but middle-aged the way a vintage sports car was "old"—polished to a predatory gleam.

"You're new in Sales, right?" Valerie speared a cherry tomato with surgical precision. Up close, her skin had the poreless sheen of a mannequin, her knuckles smooth where Katsumi's were bony. "Let me guess—you saw the benefits page." She grinned, and Katsumi noticed her canines were just a fraction too sharp.

Katsumi's fingers tightened around her fork. "The... muscle thing. Is that—"

"UC-X12?" Valerie's laugh was rich, practiced. She flexed her forearm absently, veins rising like topography under golden skin. "Oh honey, it's not *just* muscle. Look at me." She cupped her breasts—full, high, defying physics—then pinched the skin of her throat where no crepey texture should exist at forty-three. "Perfect collagen regeneration. Zero fat redistribution weirdness. And the *stamina*." She leaned in, and Katsumi caught a whiff of something crisp, ozonic—not perfume, but skin. "Last quarter, I deadlifted two-fifty after client meetings. In heels."

Katsumi's salad fork hovered midair. Valerie's proportions were absurd—a waist small enough to circle with both hands flaring into deltoids that could've cracked walnuts, thighs that threatened the structural integrity of her pencil skirt. Yet nothing sagged. Nothing strained. Her blouse's third button strained over a pectoral ridge sharper than Katsumi's own hipbones.

"It started as military research, intended for special forces soldiers," Valerie continued, shredding chicken with fingers that could probably bend steel. "But the brass hated how it made female test subjects outperform them. So we—" She gestured around the cafeteria, where a few similarly sculpted women laughed over protein shakes. "Acquired it. Quietly." Her smirk was all teeth. "Corporate warfare's *very* physical."

Katsumi's reflection warped in Valerie's water glass—her narrow shoulders, her collarbones stark as coat hangers. She'd skipped meals to afford this blazer. Meanwhile, Valerie's sleeves had likely been let out twice.

"You're thinking about the side effects." Valerie dabbed her lips—plush without filler—with surgical precision. "Hair thickens. Nails harden. You'll *outgrow* your shoes." She flicked Katsumi's untouched tofu. "Metabolism triples. Hence the portions." Her plate could've fed a family. "Oh, and you'll need new bras every month for a year."

Katsumi swallowed hard, her reflection warping in Valerie's water glass—a slender, almost fragile outline next to the other woman's impossible proportions. Valerie's wrists were thicker than Katsumi's ankles, her neck corded with muscle that somehow still looked elegant. Even the way she sat—spine straight, shoulders effortlessly back—spoke of a body that had been *optimized*, every inch honed past human limits.

"It was supposed to be for men," Valerie continued, rolling up her sleeve to reveal a bicep that strained against skin like polished marble. "But turns out estrogen makes it work *better*. No side effects, higher potency." She flexed, and Katsumi watched the muscle split into distinct ridges under golden skin that had no business looking that smooth on a woman who'd mentioned being old enough to remember dial-up internet. "We don't advertise that part to the military contractors."

Katsumi's fingers twitched toward her own arm—pale, slender, the blue veins visible where her wrist bones protruded. Next to Valerie's sculpted forearm, hers looked like a child's stick drawing of an arm. She'd always been the girl who got "delicate" and "willowy" whispered behind her back at family gatherings, while her cousins were praised for being "mature" and "feminine".

Valerie caught her staring and chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "First month's wild," she said, spearing three grilled chicken breasts at once with her fork. "You wake up starving, your joints feel loose, and then—" She snapped her fingers, the sound sharp as a firecracker. "One morning your blazer won't button across the back. By week six, you're rearranging your entire wardrobe." She winked. "Worth every penny. Also, the libido spike is *insane*—like being sixteen again, but with way more stamina. Don't schedule client meetings right after your dose."

Katsumi traced a finger along the edge of her untouched salad, imagining Valerie's blazer seams splitting under the pressure of trapezius muscles that hadn't existed a year ago. Her own shoulders—narrow, sloping—seemed suddenly inadequate beneath her crisp cotton blouse. "Does it...hurt?" she asked, picturing bones reshaping themselves overnight.

Valerie snorted, a sound too rich and unselfconscious for someone who looked like she'd been carved from living marble. "Sweetheart, getting my wisdom teeth out hurt worse." She stretched lazily, and Katsumi watched the fabric of her blazer pull taut across a latissimus dorsi that had no business existing outside of a superhero comic. "First month's just hunger. Like, eat-a-whole-chicken-and-still-dream-about-pasta hunger." She tapped her temple—flawless, not a pore in sight. "Then one morning you'll reach for your coffee and realize your mug feels lighter. Because *you* got stronger overnight."

A droplet of sweat trickled down Katsumi's spine despite the cafeteria's crisp AC. She pictured her tiny apartment closet—the neatly hung blazers, the pencil skirts lined up like soldiers. Imagined fabric splitting at the seams as her body outgrew itself. The thought sent an electric thrill through her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

"Most girls start with UC-812," Valerie said, tapping her water glass with a nail that gleamed like mother-of-pearl. "The myostatin blocker. Good for definition." Her gaze flickered over Katsumi's frame, not unkindly. "But you? You've got the frame for X12. Narrow hips, long muscles—you'll fill out like a fucking masterpiece." She leaned in, and Katsumi caught a whiff of something clean and metallic beneath her perfume, like rain on surgical steel. "They'll never call you 'delicate' again."

The salad fork shook slightly in Katsumi's grip. She thought of the dismissive glances she's earned over the years, of her mother sighing over her "birdlike appetite," of every time she'd crossed her arms to hide how insecure she truly was about her petite chest. Valerie's silk shirt stretched taut across a chest that needed no padding, her posture effortless where Katsumi had spent years perfecting the art of taking up less space.

"They test you first, of course," Valerie said, plucking a grape from Katsumi's untouched plate. Her fingers moved with precise, economical grace—no wasted motion, no nervous fidgeting. "Cardio, bloodwork, allergies." She popped the grape between teeth that looked like they'd been carved from ivory. "Takes about a week. Then—" Her biceps flexed involuntarily as she reached for her water, the movement sending a ripple through the liquid. "Welcome to the next evolution."

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, downtown LA shimmered in the midday heat. Somewhere beyond the glass skyline, Katsumi's old life waited—the careful calorie counts, the yoga pants bought a size too big to hide her lack of curves, the way men's eyes slid right past her in meetings. She looked down at her lap, where her thighs left a gap the width of two fingers in the cafeteria chair. Valerie's spread filled the entire seat, her sculpted legs pressing firmly against the metal frame.

Katsumi took a deep breath. "What do I need to do?"

---

Thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated.

[zertus2]

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Part 2

Katsumi's alarm blared at 5:03 AM—not 5:00, because those extra three minutes somehow made all the difference. She rolled out of bed with practiced efficiency, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor of her studio apartment. Six weeks ago, she would've groaned and rolled over. Now, she was already reaching for her pre-packed gym bag before her eyes fully adjusted to the dark.

The fluorescent lights of UICS's corporate gym hummed to life as she swiped her badge. Valerie stood by the squat rack, her sculpted shoulders glistening with a light sheen of sweat. She'd clearly been here awhile—the barbell was loaded with what Katsumi now recognized as 225 pounds, though it still looked impossible to her.

"There she is," Valerie said, tossing a protein bar at Katsumi with pinpoint accuracy. "Eat this. You're deadlifting today." The bar landed squarely in Katsumi's palms—a far cry from the fumbling mess she'd been that first day in the cafeteria.

Katsumi unwrapped the bar, the taste of chocolate and peanut butter flooding her mouth. She'd learned quickly that Valerie's idea of "light breakfast" could feed a small village, but damned if she wasn't right about the energy boost. Her performance reports showed it too—three consecutive weeks exceeding quota, her name creeping up the sales leaderboard.

"You're still gripping the bar wrong," Valerie said, crouching behind Katsumi as she positioned herself over the barbell. Warm, strong hands adjusted Katsumi's grip—fingers just so, wrists aligned. Valerie smelled like coconut oil and something indefinably clean, her breath warm against Katsumi's ear. "It's not about brute strength yet. It's about form. Engage your lats like I showed you."

Six weeks had passed since that first cafeteria conversation, and Katsumi's mornings now belonged to the rhythmic clank of weights and Valerie's helpful coaching. The physical changes were subtle—a slight firming of her thighs when she walked, the faintest shadow of definition along her forearms—but the mental shift was seismic. Where she used to hesitate before speaking up in meetings, she now leaned forward, elbows planted on the conference table, her voice carrying with newfound assurance. The numbers proved it: three consecutive weeks exceeding quota, her name climbing steadily up the sales leaderboard.

Valerie spotted her as she lowered the barbell with trembling arms, their easy camaraderie a far cry from Katsumi's initial starstruck awe. "Your grip's improving," Valerie said, tossing her a towel with one hand while effortlessly re-racking 225 pounds with the other. "Still chicken arms, but less like actual poultry." She grinned, her canines catching the gym lights—still too sharp, still thrillingly inhuman.

Katsumi flexed, admiring the nascent ridge along her bicep. It vanished when she relaxed, but the potential was there. "I can lift the office water cooler now," she deadpanned, rolling her shoulders. The constant ache in her muscles had become comforting, a tangible reminder of progress. More than that, the extra energy hummed under her skin—gone were the 3 PM slumps where she'd mainline espresso shots. Now she outlasted veterans in back-to-back client meetings, her focus razor-sharp while others flagged.

"You're cheating," joked Mark from Accounting during their weekly sales sync, rubbing his bloodshot eyes as Katsumi presented her third consecutive flawless forecast. "No new hire crushes numbers like this without stimulants."

She'd merely smiled, smoothing her blazer—the same one she'd worn on her first day, though the shoulders pulled slightly tighter now. What she didn't say: the real cheat code sat in her gym bag—a Post-it with Valerie's scrawl: *UC-X12 requirements: Top 10% sales performance by end of year + medical clearance.* Every rep who'd made that cut got to chose between a cash bonus or R&D's playground. Most took the money. Katsumi had known her choice since that first lunch, when Valerie's impossible physique had imprinted itself behind her eyelids like a flashbulb image.

---

The projector screen flickered with Katsumi's year-end sales figures—a jagged mountain range of green bars towering over her colleagues' modest hills. The conference room smelled of stale coffee and the citrus-scented disinfectant the cleaning crew used every night, but all Katsumi noticed was the way her blazer sleeves tugged at her forearms when she crossed them. Six months ago, she'd been drowning in this same blazer; now the cuffs strained against muscles that hadn't existed when she'd first walked through UICS's glass doors.

"Rockford's numbers speak for themselves," said Mr. Henderson, VP of Sales, tapping the screen where Katsumi's Q4 results dwarfed even the senior reps'. His tie was loosened in that way men did when pretending to be approachable. "142% of quota. Youngest employee ever to hit Top Performer status." He slid a glossy folder across the table—the kind with the embossed UICS logo that usually contained termination notices. Katsumi's fingers barely trembled as she opened it. PROMOTION TO SENIOR ACCOUNT EXECUTIVE. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATE.

The real prize came three pages later, stamped in bold red letters: *Performance Bonus Election Form*.

Option 1: $25,000 (pre-tax).

Option 2: Select R&D compound per attached appendix.

The ink dried on Katsumi's signature before the HR representative had finished explaining the tax implications of choosing Option 2. Her pen hovered for exactly zero seconds over the line marked *UC-X12 (Athena Protocol)*—as decisive as her sales pitches had become these past months. The HR woman blinked, her professionally neutral expression cracking for just a second. "Most people at least pretend to consider the money," she muttered, stamping the form with more force than necessary.

Valerie's laughter echoed down the hallway before Katsumi even reached her office. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed beneath breasts that still made Katsumi's traitorous gaze linger—a habit she'd never admit to. "Told you you'd be signing that before your first anniversary," Valerie said, pushing off the frame with a roll of her shoulders that made her silk blouse ripple. Six months of shared gym sessions had stripped away Katsumi's initial awe, but the way Valerie moved still caught her breath sometimes—like watching a panther pretend to be human.

Katsumi flexed her hand absently, the calluses on her palms catching the fluorescent light. Her reflection in the office windows had stopped surprising her—the way her blazers now hugged shoulders that actually had shape, how her pencil skirts clung to thighs that no longer left gaps in chairs. Still slim, still lacking Valerie's impossible curves, but undeniably *athletic* in a way that made interns scramble to hold elevators for her.

"You look like someone who deadlifts twice her bodyweight now," Valerie said, plucking the approval form from Katsumi's fingers with a grin. "But just wait." Her knowing glance dropped to Katsumi's ass—a point of quiet pride these days, perfectly rounded from six months of squats—then back up with a wink. "Medical eval's Thursday. Make sure to be hydrated, they'll draw enough blood to supply a vampire coven."

The walk to her desk felt different today. Junior sales associates practically bowed out of her path, their whispers carrying—*142% of quota* and *youngest in her department* and *have you seen her shoulders?* Katsumi allowed herself one slow stretch at her workstation, relishing the way her blazer pulled tight across her back. Six months ago, she'd perfected the art of making herself small. Now she occupied space like it was normal.

The medical exam wasn't until Thursday, but Katsumi refused to waste the intervening days. Every morning at 5:03 AM found her in the corporate gym, sweat rolling down the new definition of her back as she deadlifted 150 pounds—a weight that would've seemed impossible six months ago. The barbell felt lighter each week, her calloused palms gripping the knurled steel with practiced ease. Valerie spotted her with a critical eye, occasionally adjusting Katsumi's stance with hands that still made her pulse stutter—warm, strong fingers brushing the small of her back, guiding her hips into proper alignment.

"You're cheating," Valerie murmured during one such correction, her breath hot against Katsumi's ear as she demonstrated proper form. Katsumi could feel the heat radiating off Valerie's body, the way her own traitorous skin prickled in response. "You're using your quads too much. Engage the glutes." A sharp tap to Katsumi's backside emphasized the point, sending an unexpected jolt through her.

At work, Katsumi dominated client meetings with the same intensity she brought to the weight rack. Her sales numbers climbed even higher, her confidence radiating in every handshake—firm, assured, no longer the tentative grip of the new hire who'd once worried about seeming "too aggressive." She caught interns staring at the way her blazer stretched across newly defined shoulders, the crisp white fabric pulling taut when she reached for a presentation folder.

The mirror in her apartment told the same story—Katsumi stood sideways, admiring the curve of her own ass in the bathroom light. Not competition-level by any means, but undeniably firmer, rounder from months of squats. Her waist remained narrow, but her hips and thighs had filled out just enough to give her silhouette actual shape. She ran a hand down her stomach, the faintest hint of definition visible when she flexed. Nothing like Valerie's sculpted abs, but *hers*—earned through early mornings and protein shakes and the satisfying burn of muscles pushed to their limit.

The thought of UC-X12 sent a thrill down her spine. Katsumi imagined waking up to find her reflection transformed overnight—shoulders broad enough to strain her blazers, thighs thick enough to threaten her pencil skirts. The fantasy played behind her eyelids at night: Valerie's eyes widening as Katsumi finally out-benched her, those perfect lips parting in surprise as Katsumi's biceps surpassed her own. The image heated her blood in ways she didn't examine too closely.

---

The company's own medical suite smelled like antiseptic and ambition. Katsumi sat on the examination table, the crinkling paper beneath her bare thighs louder than her breathing as Dr. Chen scanned her chart. The physician's salt-and-pepper ponytail swung as she tapped her tablet, her movements precise—ex-military, if Katsumi had to guess.

"Bloodwork's pristine," Dr. Chen said, scrolling through Katsumi's results. "Liver enzymes perfect, testosterone levels ideal for the protocol." She glanced up, her gaze flicking over Katsumi's posture—shoulders back, spine straight, the unconscious confidence of someone who'd spent months deadlifting before dawn. "You're the first patient this year who didn't need me to lecture them about sedentary lifestyle risks." A rare smile cracked her professional demeanor. "Smart girl. I see here you have applied for the UC-X12 program. Having a healthy body will definitively improve the results."

Katsumi's toes curled against the cold metal step of the exam table. She'd expected skepticism, not approval. Dr. Chen spun the tablet around, displaying a 3D molecular model that twisted lazily—UC-X12, rendered in glowing blue and gold.

"Originally developed for male special forces operatives," Dr. Chen explained, zooming in on the compound's structure. "Designed to accelerate muscle protein synthesis while enhancing tendon resilience." Her finger flicked sideways, pulling up different graphs and charts. "Turns out female physiology binds to the compound's receptor sites more efficiently. Results in faster hypertrophy with zero androgenic side effects."

Katsumi's fingers twitched toward her own thighs, imagining the scan displaying her future self. Dr. Chen swiped again, revealing a list of observed effects: *60% average lean mass increase, collagen regeneration at 300% baseline, complete absence of fat redistribution anomalies.*

Dr. Chen slid a stack of papers across the exam table—waivers printed on paper so thick it could've stopped a bullet. "Initial here, here, and here," she said, tapping each dotted line with a pen that looked like it cost more than Katsumi's first car. The legalese blurred together: *irreversible physiological alterations, metabolic acceleration beyond standard human parameters, potential for clothing damage due to rapid musculoskeletal expansion.* Katsumi signed without hesitation, her signature bolder now than the shaky scrawl from her first day.

"You'll be pleased to know," Dr. Chen continued, gathering the signed forms with the brisk efficiency of someone who'd done this a dozen times, "that our UC-X12 cohort has a zero percent complication rate. Every woman who chose it as her bonus is thriving." She arched an eyebrow at Katsumi's questioning look. "Yes, even the one who outgrew three bra sizes in eight weeks. She sends thank-you notes."

Katsumi flexed her hands absently, imagining the pen crumbling under her grip in a few months' time. "How long until—?"

"Lab needs seventy-two hours to calibrate your batch," Dr. Chen interrupted, already typing notes into her tablet. "We adjust the carrier solution based on your bloodwork. The formula needs to be adjusted for every subject for it to work properly." She glanced up, her gaze lingering on Katsumi's shoulders. "You've got the frame for the full protocol, but we don't take shortcuts."

The question slipped out before Katsumi could stop it: "Did you ever take it?" She gestured at the molecular model still rotating on the tablet—UC-X12's elegant structure spinning like some futuristic sculpture.

Dr. Chen's laugh was sharp, clinical. "God, no." She peeled off her lab coat, revealing arms that were toned but unmistakably natural—the kind of fitness earned through early morning runs, not pharmaceutical alchemy. "I designed the Phase III trials. Watching was enough." Her gaze flicked to the door where Valerie's laughter echoed from the hallway. "Some of us prefer being the scientist, not the experiment."

Katsumi's signature dried on the last waiver just as the lab tech arrived—a gangly man pushing a cart laden with vials. Dr. Chen selected one marked with Katsumi's employee ID, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, catching the fluorescents like liquid mercury. "Your batch won't be ready until next Friday," she said, placing it back with deliberate care. "We genotype each dose—no two women are the same, which goes for the serum as well."

The days crawled past like molasses dripping through an hourglass. Katsumi caught herself staring at the lab door every time she passed it, her pulse spiking whenever someone in a white coat walked by. She woke each morning with her sheets tangled around newly restless limbs, phantom sensations of expansion flitting across her skin—the ghost of muscles not yet there. By Wednesday, she'd rearranged her entire closet, pushing all her blazers to one side "just in case." Valerie caught her doing wrist curls with her water bottle during a strategy meeting and smirked into her coffee.

Friday dawned with Katsumi already dressed at 4:47 AM, her fingernails leaving half-moon indents in her palms. The lab door hissed open precisely at 7:00, revealing Dr. Chen in scrubs so crisp they looked starched, holding a tablet that cast eerie blue light across her sharp features. "You're early," she observed, though her tone suggested she'd expected nothing less from the woman who'd deadlifted her way through six months of predawn gym sessions.

The lab smelled like chilled metal and something ozone-sharp beneath the antiseptic—expensive science, the kind governments killed for. Katsumi's nostrils flared as Dr. Chen guided her toward the examination chair, its white leather squeaking under her weight. Overhead, industrial-grade LED lights hummed, bleaching every surface into clinical perfection. No shadows here. No room for error.

"Final baselines," Dr. Chen murmured, securing the blood pressure cuff with practiced efficiency. The machine hissed, the band tightening around Katsumi's bicep—still lean, but undeniably firmer than the stick-thin arm she'd first presented months ago. Needles pricked her inner elbow in quick succession, drawing vial after vial of blood that gleamed like rubies in the sterile light. Across the room, a centrifuge whirred to life, its contents spinning fast enough to separate hope from hesitation.

Katsumi's gaze locked onto the refrigeration unit in the corner—industrial steel, biometric locks, the kind of hardware that belonged in a military bunker. Dr. Chen followed her stare and smirked, tapping a code into the keypad. The door unsealed with a pneumatic sigh, revealing rows of vials arranged with military precision. UC-X12 glowed in the refrigerated light, its viscous contents catching the fluorescents like liquid mercury held at gunpoint.

"Batch 1147," Dr. Chen announced, holding the vial between thumb and forefinger. The serum moved with unnatural slowness, clinging to the glass as if aware of its own potency. "Calibrated to your genome. The myostatin inhibitors are triple-checked—you'll start seeing changes within forty-eight hours." She loaded the syringe with ceremonial care, the plunger drawing back with a sound like a gun being cocked. "Turn please."

The needle slid in with surprising ease—no pinch, no burn, just a cool pressure that spread outward in slow ripples. Katsumi watched the plunger depress, the serum disappearing into her bloodstream like liquid moonlight. Then came the *shift*—not pain, but a deep, cellular *awareness*, as if every muscle fiber in her body had suddenly woken up and stretched after a long sleep.

"Tingly, right?" Dr. Chen asked, withdrawing the needle with a practiced twist. Katsumi's arm felt oddly warm where the serum had entered, the heat diffusing outward in languid waves. Her fingers flexed involuntarily, tendons flickering under suddenly hypersensitive skin. "That's the carrier solution bonding to your myosin filaments. Perfectly normal."

Katsumi blinked at the ceiling tiles, her vision swimming with afterimages of fluorescent light. The serum's warmth had spread through her arm like spilled honey—thick, slow, suffusing her muscles with a liquid heaviness that should've been alarming but instead felt...delicious. She flexed her fingers experimentally, marveling at the way her tendons slid beneath suddenly hypersensitive skin.

"Up you go," Dr. Chen said, snapping her gloves off with surgical precision. She pressed a foil-wrapped packet into Katsumi's palm—gummy bears, the expensive kind with real fruit juice. "Eat these in the cab. Blood sugar dips are common post-injection." Her smile was razor-thin. "Try not to gnaw through the seatbelts."

The hallway tilted pleasantly as Katsumi stood, her knees registering the extra weight of her own body with newfound interest. Every step sent little shocks of awareness through her thighs—not pain, but the phantom memory of gym mornings yet to come. The clinic door hissed shut behind her with finality.

Valerie leaned against the opposite wall, her crossed arms pulling the sleeves of her lab coat taut across biceps that hadn't existed this time last year. She took one look at Katsumi's dazed expression and chuckled—a rich, knowing sound that vibrated through the sterile corridor. "There she is," she murmured, pushing off the wall with effortless grace. Her palm settled between Katsumi's shoulder blades, warm even through the cotton blouse. "Feels like you drank sunlight, doesn't it?"

Katsumi nodded mutely, her tongue thick with the aftertaste of citrus gummies and something metallic underneath. Valerie's hand guided her toward the elevators with proprietary ease, her fingers spanning the entire width of Katsumi's back. The realization struck her suddenly—Valerie's hands were *huge*, her grip swallowing Katsumi's shoulder whole. How had she never noticed that before?

Valerie chuckled, her voice warm with amusement as she squeezed Katsumi's shoulder lightly. "This is just the beginning," she said, pressing the elevator button with a fingertip that looked capable of denting steel. "Go home. Sleep it off. I already cleared it with Henderson—you're off the clock today."

Katsumi blinked up at her, the serum's warmth settling into her limbs like liquid gold. Without thinking, she threw her arms around Valerie's waist—or tried to. Her arms barely made it halfway before hitting the immovable wall of Valerie's torso. Katsumi buried her face against Valerie's collarbone, inhaling the scent of coconut oil and clean sweat. "Thanks," she mumbled into the fabric of Valerie's lab coat. "For everything. You didn't have to be this nice to me."

Valerie laughed, the sound vibrating through Katsumi's cheek where it pressed against her chest. "Oh, please. Like I could resist mentoring someone with your dedication." She ruffled Katsumi's hair—carefully, as if aware her fingers could crush a watermelon without trying. "Besides, watching you hit PRs every week was its own reward."

Katsumi pulled back just enough to grin up at her, still slightly loopy from the injection. "When I'm bigger than you," she declared, "I'm carrying *you* like a princess. Because you deserve it."

Valerie's eyebrows shot up before her expression melted into open amusement. "Oh, is that so?" She smirked, flexing one bicep absently—the motion making the fabric of her sleeve strain ominously. "Good luck with that."

The elevator dinged, saving Katsumi from having to come up with a retort. Valerie ushered her inside, holding the door with one hand while effortlessly keeping Katsumi upright with the other. "Eat. Sleep. Hydrate," she ordered, pressing a protein bar into Katsumi's palm as the doors slid shut. "Text me when you wake up."

Katsumi barely remembered the cab ride home. The city blurred past the window in streaks of sunlight and concrete, her limbs heavy with creeping warmth. By the time she stumbled into her apartment, the serum had settled deep into her muscles—not pain, but a slow, liquid pressure, like her body was remembering how to breathe after years of holding it in.

She managed to kick off her shoes before collapsing onto the couch, her limbs splayed like a starfish. The cushions smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the vanilla candle she'd burned last weekend. Katsumi curled onto her side, her breathing already slowing.

Her last conscious thought was of Valerie's laugh—rich and unguarded—before sleep pulled her under like a riptide.

---

I didn't mean to make this yuri-coded at first, but it somehow happened. Would you like to see a relationship between Katsumi and Valerie? Or rather a male romantic partner or no romance at all? Let me know.

[GreatJustice]

 I'd just lean into it - there's never been anything wrong with a nice lesbian scene or two, and if there's some fun to be had in adding a male character in later, then you can try that as well. One idea doesn't usually close off the other.

[Wookey]

Loving this story

[zertus2]

Part 3

Katsumi woke to a world of blurred edges and heavy eyelids, her consciousness returning in slow, rhythmic pulses. For a few disoriented seconds, she didn't know if it was dawn or midnight; she only knew that her bed felt suddenly, inexplicably small. She was drenched in a fine sheen of sweat that made her sheets cling to her skin like a second, colder layer of clothing. Her hair was a chaotic nest across her pillow, and her throat felt as though she'd spent the night swallowing desert sand. As she attempted to stretch, a deep, dull ache radiated through her limbs—not the sharp burn of a workout, but a dense, thrumming soreness that felt as if her very bones had been rearranged while she slept.

More than the soreness, however, was the void in her stomach. It wasn't a typical morning hunger; it was a predatory, yawning cavern of a craving that seemed to vibrate in time with her heartbeat. Groggily, Katsumi rolled out of bed, her movements sluggish and heavy. She padded toward the kitchen in a trance of exhaustion, her hand drifting down to absentmindedly scratch at her stomach. She didn't glance at the full-length mirror in the hallway or the reflective surface of the microwave; she was too preoccupied with the sheer effort of moving her own limbs to care about her reflection.

Once in the kitchen, she reached for the gallon-sized bottle of spring water sitting on the counter and downed nearly half of it in one long, desperate sequence of gulps. The water hit her parched throat like a miracle, but the hunger remained, insistent and demanding. With mechanical movements, she opened the fridge and pulled out a stack of meal-prepped containers from earlier in the week—grilled chicken, brown rice, and steamed broccoli. Usually, she'd divide these into two meals, but today, she dumped three of the containers into one large bowl, heating them up in a frenzy.

The kitchen became a battlefield of caloric desperation. Katsumi didn't just eat; she raided. She tore through the prepped chicken and rice with a feral intensity, then pivoted to the deli drawer, folding thick slices of turkey and roast beef into pieces of sourdough bread with shaking hands. The pantry was next—jars of almond butter were scraped clean, and a bowl of Greek yogurt vanished in a flurry of spoonfuls. She chased it all with two protein shakes and a liter of electrolyte water, her body demanding fuel to power the biological furnace the Athena Protocol had ignited within her. It was a rhythmic, desperate consumption, an instinctual drive that left her breathless and dizzy.

When the last of the food was gone, Katsumi slumped against the granite countertop, her breath coming in heavy, satisfied sighs. She felt weighted, her center of gravity shifted, and her stomach was pushed outward in a prominent, tight food baby. She groaned softly, her palms instinctively rubbing the swollen curve of her midsection. As she massaged the bloat, her fingers brushed against something hard. Something defined. She paused, tracing the contours of her abdomen, feeling the unmistakable, rhythmic ridges of a six-pack.

She froze. *Six?* She'd been working for months to carve out a visible four-pack, but this was different. These were deep, sculpted valleys of muscle that remained evident even through the distension of her meal.

A jolt of adrenaline snapped her out of her food coma. Katsumi pivoted and practically sprinted toward the hallway mirror, her gait feeling strangely powerful, her footsteps heavier than they had been twenty-four hours ago. She skidded to a halt in front of the glass and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

She wasn't just "toned" anymore. The lean, athletic frame she had painstakingly built in the gym had been amplified, pushed into a new dimension of physicality. She looked like a professional martial artist or a high-level CrossFit athlete—sleek, dense, and undeniably powerful. Her shoulders had capped into hard, rounded spheres that pushed her tank top's neckline wide, and her arms were etched with deep separations that made her biceps pop even at rest. The muscle wasn't bulky like Valerie's yet, but it was *real*. It was an authoritative presence on her frame, transforming her from "fit" to "formidable."

"Holy... *shit*," Katsumi breathed, the words barely a whisper against the sudden silence of the apartment. She flexed her arm, watching the bicep peak into a hard, stubborn knot of muscle that felt like granite beneath her skin. The sensation was intoxicating; it was as if a veil had been lifted from her biology, revealing a version of herself that had always been waiting to break through. She wasn't just observing the change—she was feeling it in the way her center of gravity had anchored, the way the air felt thinner against the new mass of her shoulders. It had worked. Not in the slow, grinding way of the gym, but in a sudden, violent surge of evolution.

A manic giggle escaped her as she spun away from the mirror, her movements possessing a new, heavy momentum. She practically leaped back into the living room, her thighs brushing against each other with a friction she'd never experienced. "Valerie is going to lose it," she whispered, her eyes scanning the couch cushions in a frantic search for her phone. She dove into the upholstery, tossing aside a throw pillow and a stray magazine, her heart hammering against a ribcage that felt broader, more reinforced. When her fingers finally closed around the cool glass of the device, her hands were shaking—not from weakness, but from a surplus of energy that felt like an electric current humming through her nerves.

Her thumbs flew across the screen, the typing almost clumsy in her excitement. *VAL. VALERIE. IT WORKED. I WOKE UP AND I CAN LITERALLY FEEL MY MUSCLES. I LOOK LIKE A DIFFERENT PERSON. TELL ME YOU'RE AWAKE!!!* She hit send and threw the phone onto the coffee table, pacing the length of the room. Every step felt like a statement, her calves flexing with a dense, powerful snap that sent a thrill of pride shooting up her spine. She stopped in front of the mirror again, posing instinctively, twisting her torso to see the new, deep definition in her obliques. She looked like she'd been carved from marble.

The phone chimed a second later, the screen lighting up with a notification that made Katsumi nearly drop the device in her haste.

*Slow down, Rocky!* Valerie's reply read, accompanied by a laughing emoji. *I figured you'd be vibrating out of your skin by 6 AM. Glad to hear the 'morning-after' crash didn't flatten you. Welcome to the big leagues, kid. How's the wardrobe holding up?*

Katsumi looked down at herself, and for the first time, she felt the clothes she'd worn for years treating her like an intruder. Her favorite cotton tank top, which usually draped loosely over her frame, was now clinging to her with a suffocating intimacy. The fabric was stretched taut across her chest and shoulders, the hem riding up several inches higher than usual because her lats had widened, pulling the material tight across her back. Even her leggings felt like a second skin, the waistband digging into her waist and the fabric straining over the new, dense curve of her quads. She wasn't bursting at the seams—not yet—but she felt compressed, as if she were a puzzle piece that had grown too large for its slot.

She let out a huff, the motion causing the neckline of her shirt to dip dangerously low. It was a strange, tactile claustrophobia; she felt powerful and expansive, yet boxed in by the very clothes that were supposed to define her.

*Not yet,* she typed back, a smirk playing on her lips. *But I'm definitely breathing through my pores. I think I've officially graduated to 'one size too small' in everything I own.*

A sudden, reckless impulse seized her. Katsumi pivoted back to the hallway mirror, angling her phone to capture the transformation. She flexed her arm, letting the bicep peak into a hard, defined knot, and shifted her stance to highlight the new, authoritative sweep of her thighs. The flash went off with a sharp *click*, capturing the image of a woman who looked less like a sales executive and more like a sculpted powerhouse.

The moment the image uploaded, Katsumi's face erupted in a fierce, hot blush. The sheer intimacy of the pose—the raw, physical pride of it—felt suddenly exposed. She hovered her thumb over the 'delete' button, her heart hammering against her ribs, but then she stopped. She had earned this. She had fought for every ounce of this growth, and Valerie was the only person in the world who truly understood the scale of the victory. She left the photo there, a digital testament to her evolution, and waited with bated breath.

The response came back almost instantly. No long paragraph, no teasing joke. Just three words: *Looking good, firecracker.*

Katsumi stared at the screen, the words searing into her vision. A sudden, violent heat surged from her chest up to her cheeks, a blush so fierce it felt like she'd stepped into a sauna. It wasn't just the compliment; it was the effortless way Valerie could dismantle her composure with a single phrase. For months, Katsumi had told herself that her obsession with Valerie was purely professional—a desire for mentorship, a kinship in ambition, a shared love for the iron. But as she looked at her own transformed reflection, then back at the text, the truth crashed over her with the force of a heavy squat. The thrill wasn't just about the muscle growth; it was about being seen by Valerie. She wasn't just chasing a physical ideal; she was chasing the woman who embodied it.

"Oh no," Katsumi whispered, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. "I am completely, hopelessly smitten."

The realization didn't bring shame, but rather a dizzying sense of clarity. It explained the way her heart hammered whenever Valerie corrected her form, the way she lingered in the gym long after her sets were done just to watch the ripple of muscle under Valerie's skin, and the way she had spent the last six weeks trying to build a body that would finally be worthy of standing beside her. The UC-X12 hadn't just amplified her biceps; it had acted as a catalyst for the feelings she'd been suppressing under the guise of 'career goals.'

Her phone buzzed again, breaking the spell. *Don't get too cocky, Rocky,* Valerie wrote. *That's just the first wave. The serum is still settling. You're a newborn calf compared to what's coming. Meet me at the gym tomorrow at 5 AM for your first 'post-protocol' session. We need to see how your new density handles a real load.*

Katsumi's fingers trembled as she typed back, *I'll be there. I might actually out-bench you this time.*

The phone chimed again, but this time it wasn't a text. It was an image. Katsumi tapped the notification, and the screen flared to life with a photo that made the air leave her lungs in a sharp, audible hiss.

The setting was the dim, amber-hued lighting of the office bathrooms, the kind of space that felt private and illicit. Valerie was leaning against the marble vanity, her suit jacket long gone, leaving her in a crisp white dress shirt that was doing a heroic struggle to contain her. The top three buttons were undone, the fabric gaping open to reveal the deep, shadowed valley of her cleavage, held barely in check by a sliver of black lacy bra. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and she was mid-flex, her arm coiled into a mountain of dense, striated muscle that pushed the remaining fabric of her sleeve to the absolute breaking point. Her bicep was a colossal, hard-capped peak that made Katsumi's own new growth look like a mere suggestion. With a winking smirk and a gaze that seemed to pierce right through the screen, the caption read: *Don't be late.*

Katsumi's blush didn't just deepen; it went atomic. She felt a surge of heat so intense it felt like her blood had been replaced by molten lead. She stared at the image, her thumb tracing the curve of Valerie's bicep on the glass, then drifting down to that glimpse of lace. It was a tactical strike of a photo—calculated, seductive, and devastatingly effective. The realization hit her with the force of a thousand-pound press: she wasn't just "smitten." She was absolutely, irrevocably crushed on her mentor, and Valerie probably knew exactly what she was doing.

The image lingered in her mind—the contrast of the professional dress shirt against the raw, primal power of those muscles—and triggered a sudden, frantic restlessness in Katsumi's core. The serum had already heightened every sensation in her body, making her skin feel electric and her nerves hyper-responsive. Now, fueled by the sight of Valerie, that energy had nowhere to go but inward.

Katsumi let the phone slide from her hand onto the carpet, her breath hitching as she sank back onto the bed. The silence of the apartment was quickly replaced by a symphony of soft, desperate sounds—the rustle of fabric being discarded, the rhythmic friction of skin against skin, and the occasional, involuntary moan that escaped her lips as she imagined those powerful, calloused hands tracing the new contours of her own body. For the next twenty minutes, the bedroom became a sanctuary of self-discovery and longing, the phantom memory of Valerie's presence fueling a feverish, solitary exploration.

---

The gym was a cathedral of chrome and rubber at five in the morning, smelling of industrial cleanser and the lingering ghosts of yesterday's effort. Katsumi stepped through the glass doors, her gait different—heavier, more purposeful. Every stride felt like a statement, the dense mass of her quads rubbing together with a rhythmic *swish-swish* that sounded like a victory lap. She was wearing an oversized oversized hoodie to mask the extent of her growth, but the fabric was a lie; the sleeves were stretched taut across her triceps, and the chest of the garment was pulled tight by the new, broad expanse of her torso.

Valerie was already there, centered under the power rack and looking like a statue carved from mahogany and obsidian. She was wearing a racerback tank that left nothing to the imagination, her deltoids capping her shoulders like polished stones. As Katsumi approached, Valerie stepped away from the bar, her eyes scanning Katsumi with a predatory, professional intensity.

"Look at you," Valerie beamed, her voice echoing in the empty space. She stepped close, reaching out to grip Katsumi's shoulder. The contact was electric; Valerie's hand felt massive and warm, her fingers digging into the new, hard density of Katsumi's trap muscles. "The UC-X12 didn't just take; it thrived. You've got a level of fullness I didn't expect for the first wave. You're thick, Rocky. Properly thick." She stepped back, a proud, knowing smirk on her face. "And the best part? This is just the prologue. We've only barely scratched the surface of what your frame can hold."

Katsumi nodded, though her focus had shifted from the muscle to the woman. For the first time, she found herself scanning Valerie not for form or technique, but for signs of a life outside the gym. She noticed the bareness of Valerie's ring finger—no gold band, no silver promise. In the months of their friendship, through the shared protein shakes and the grueling spot-sessions, Valerie had never mentioned a partner, a boyfriend, or a stray mention of a home life that didn't involve the iron.

Then there was the photo. That calculated, devastating image from the day before. The lace, the gap in the shirt, the way Valerie had looked at the camera—it wasn't the behavior of someone who was merely 'friendly' with a junior colleague.

"Enough with the staring, Rocky. Weights don't lift themselves," Valerie chuckled, the sound a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in Katsumi's own chest. She gestured toward the bench press, where a barbell was already loaded with plates that would have been insurmountable a month ago.

Katsumi stepped under the bar, the cold steel biting into her shoulder blades. As she gripped the knurling, she felt a strange, humming resonance in her muscles—a latent energy that felt less like strength and more like a coiled spring waiting to snap. When she pressed the weight upward, the sensation was transformative. There was no struggle, no agonizing grind; there was only a sudden, explosive surge of power. The bar flew up, her chest muscles contracting with a density that felt alien and intoxicating. Each rep was a revelation, a rhythmic celebration of her new physicality. The exhilaration was a physical high, a rush of endorphins amplified by the serum, making every fiber of her being scream with a primal, triumphant joy.

As she locked out the final rep, she looked up to see Valerie spotting her, her expression one of genuine admiration. The air between them was thick, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with the weights. For a fleeting second, Katsumi wondered if Valerie's gaze was lingering on the way her chest heaved under the hoodie, or if the 'firecracker' comment was a coded invitation. The uncertainty flickered in her mind, a dizzying spiral of *what-ifs* and *maybe-she-does*.

Then, Katsumi made a conscious decision to shove those questions into a mental drawer and lock it tight. The chemistry of their relationship was a puzzle for another day; right now, the only puzzle she cared about was how much more weight the rack could hold. She didn't need to decode Valerie's motives this morning. Instead, she chose to bask in the simple, warm reality of their friendship and the shared obsession with growth. If the feelings were reciprocated, they would surface in time. For now, the sheer, unfiltered pleasure of training with the woman she admired was more than enough.

"That's it! That's the power!" Valerie cheered, slapping Katsumi's shoulder with a force that would have knocked the wind out of her old self. "Your nervous system is firing on all cylinders. Let's move to the leg press. I want to see if those new quads are just for show or if they can actually move some real tonnage."

The leg press session had been a blur of screaming muscles and triumphant laughter, leaving Katsumi drenched in a sweat that felt like a baptism. By the time they hit the showers, the gym was beginning to stir with the arrival of the early-bird corporate crowd. In the steaming sanctuary of the locker room, Katsumi caught her reflection in the fogged-up mirror. She looked different—not just larger, but *solid*. The serum had filled in the gaps of her silhouette, replacing the fragile angles of her youth with a powerful, dense architecture. As she dried off, she felt the lingering heat of the workout radiating from her skin, a humming reminder that she was no longer the woman who had walked into this gym six weeks ago.

She had spent the previous evening in a frantic, late-night shopping spree, ordering high-stretch professional attire that promised a "flexible fit." Now, stepping into her new ensemble, she felt a surge of quiet confidence. The charcoal grey slacks were tailored for an athletic build, hugging the powerful sweep of her quads without restricting her stride, and the white silk blouse was a marvel of modern textile engineering, stretching comfortably across her broadened shoulders and the firm, newfound expanse of her chest. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel like she was wearing a costume; she felt like the clothes were finally catching up to the woman inside them.

When she stepped out into the hall, Valerie was waiting. The older woman paused, her eyes traveling slowly from Katsumi's polished shoes up to her face, a look of genuine appreciation crossing her features. "Damn, Rocky. You actually managed to find a tailor who knows how to handle a powerhouse," Valerie teased, her voice a warm, low hum. "The 'executive' look suits you. It makes you look like you actually own the place."

Katsumi felt a spark of courage, the same boldness that had driven her to push through those final reps. She stepped closer, her gaze lingering on the way Valerie's own muscles strained against her professional attire. "You're not exactly a stranger to the struggle, Val," Katsumi replied, her voice softer but steady. "Though, for the record, that blazer is doing a lot of heavy lifting today. You look incredible."

The compliment hung in the air, a subtle but definite shift in their dynamic. Valerie's smirk softened into something more intimate, a flicker of surprise crossing her eyes before she let out a short, appreciative laugh. The tension between them had shifted from the purely physical to something far more electric, a silent acknowledgment that the boundaries of their mentorship were beginning to blur.

As they stepped into the bright, sterile light of the company lobby, the transition from the sanctuary of the gym to the corporate reality of UICS Pharmaceuticals felt jarring. The lobby was a cavern of glass and polished white marble, humming with the arrival of the morning rush. For the first time, Katsumi felt the gaze of her colleagues—not as a fragile newcomer, but as a presence. She could feel the subtle shift in the room, the way people subconsciously gave her more space, their eyes lingering on the authoritative breadth of her shoulders and the powerful line of her jaw.

Valerie stopped beside her, the scent of her expensive perfume mixing with the lingering ozone of the gym. Before Katsumi could say a word, Valerie reached out and pulled her into a sudden, firm hug. It wasn't the quick, professional pat of a colleague; it was a full-body envelopment. Katsumi felt the air leave her lungs as she was pressed firmly against the older woman. She was acutely aware of the sheer mass of Valerie—the rock-hard density of those arms wrapping around her, and the soft, heavy pressure of Valerie's chest pressing firmly against her own newfound fullness.

Katsumi fought the instinct to melt into the embrace, consciously keeping her breathing steady. She refused to let her expression betray the sudden, frantic drumming of her heart or the way her mind was cataloging every single point of contact. She remained a pillar of composure, though inside, she was vibrating with a level of intensity that rivaled the UC-X12 serum.

Valerie pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, her hands lingering on Katsumi's arms for a second longer than necessary. The smirk was back, playful and dangerous. "Don't work too hard, firecracker," Valerie whispered, leaning in close enough that her breath brushed against Katsumi's ear. "I'll see you at lunch."

With a slow, deliberate wink that felt like a physical blow to Katsumi's composure, Valerie turned and strode toward the executive elevators, her hips swaying with a powerful, confident grace.

Katsumi stood frozen for a heartbeat, the air in the lobby still humming with the ghost of their embrace. She stared at the closing elevator doors, her mind racing. She had spent the last twenty minutes meticulously reminding herself to be a professional—to be the Senior Account Executive who deserved the promotion, not the smitten pupil who wanted to be consumed by her mentor. But as she felt the lingering warmth of Valerie's body against her own, the boundary between professional admiration and raw, physical longing felt thinner than a piece of paper.

*She is really too hot for her own good,* Katsumi thought, a small, helpless smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

---

Alright, the romance is progressing and Katsumi's growth is now really starting to pick up pace.

[Wookey]

It keeps on getting better