Think about driving. In the beginning every action is deliberate. Check the mirror. Find the gear. Remember the indicator. Judge the gap. You are working through a checklist, and the checklist is using all of your attention.
Then at some point — no day you could name — the checklist disappears. You are not running through the steps faster. You have stopped running through them at all.
That transition is the same one separating a person who knows a language from a person who speaks it. And there is nothing language-specific about it. It is what happens to any skill built from many small components, each acquired at its own rate and forgotten at its own rate, once they have been practised in the right order and at the right spacing.
Language is the largest and least forgiving example. It is not the only one.
Two more are being built. Music, covering sight reading and instrumental technique. And chess, where the components are positional patterns rather than words, and where the distance between knowing a principle and playing it under a clock is exactly the distance this system exists to close.
Both arrive inside the same subscription, at no additional cost, held to everything written above. If you are subscribed while they are being built, you are the reason they are being built.