Charles sat on his bed, heart still racing from the shout that had jolted him awake.
The floor mattress creaked under his weight, and the black sheet was tangled at his feet.
"What the hell's going on?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
The echo of the shout—"Training, now!"—still rang in his head, joined by the sound of doors opening in the hallway.
'This must be the Aspirant training,' he thought, recalling that, while no longer a servant, he was likely slotted into the clan's lowest rank.
Charles stood, still half-asleep, running a hand through his messy hair.
His black tunic was rumpled, and his new boots lay tossed in a corner.
Before he could decide what to do, he heard firm footsteps approaching. He cracked the door open, peeking out, and saw a tall, burly man in a black tunic with faintly white-trimmed edges.
The guy's expression was stern, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he was hunting for someone to chew out.
The man sized Charles up, frowning at his disheveled tunic and wild hair.
"Name?" he asked, his tone leaving no room for jokes.
Charles blinked, still processing.
"Rian…" he said, scratching his neck.
The man raised his voice, addressing all the Aspirants spilling out of their rooms.
"Courtesy of Rian, everyone's doing 50 push-ups!" he barked with authority.
The boys and girls in black tunics, who looked way younger than Charles, lining up in the hall, turned to glare at him.
Some muttered curses under their breath, and a girl with tied-back hair shot him a death stare.
Charles sighed, shrugging.
'Guess I'm not winning any popularity contests here either,' he thought, getting into push-up position.
The stone floor was cold under his hands, and his body still ached from yesterday's training.
'This is gonna suck,' he thought, bracing himself as he started a few push-ups.
The instructor, who Charles now figured was some kind of supervisor, raised an eyebrow.
"Good initiative, Rian," he said, his tone more mocking than praising. "But I haven't given the order yet. You'll go at my pace. Got it?"
Charles grunted, heat creeping up his neck.
"Yeah, got it," he said dryly, though inside he was fuming.
The instructor began counting:
"One!"
Everyone dropped to the floor. Charles, who'd already gone down and up on reflex, caught a scorching glare from the instructor.
"Rian! Didn't you hear? At my pace!" the man shouted, pointing at him.
The other Aspirants snickered, clearly enjoying his screw-up.
'Yup, just a bunch of kids…' Charles thought, gritting his teeth.
"System," he muttered, so low no one else heard, "handle this for me. I don't wanna keep messing up."
A blue panel appeared:
[Auto-Control Activated: Executing push-ups at specified pace.]
Suddenly, his body moved on its own, like it was on autopilot.
His arms lowered and raised in perfect sync with the instructor's count:
"Two!"
"Three!"
Each move was precise, no shaking or slipping.
Charles felt instant relief, though his muscles started to burn from the effort.
'Didn't expect this thing to be good at gym class too,' he thought, smirking inwardly.
But he noticed that, while the system controlled him, the physical strain was still his.
His arms were on fire, and sweat dripped down his forehead.
The instructor kept counting, his voice booming through the hall.
"Twenty! Twenty-one!"
Charles, or rather the system, held the rhythm flawlessly.
Some Aspirants were panting, and the girl who'd glared at him was visibly struggling to keep up.
Charles, despite the fatigue, felt a twinge of pride.
'At least I'm not looking like a wimp,' he thought.
At push-up 49, the instructor locked eyes with Charles.
"How'd you get here, Rian?" he asked, not breaking the count. "Fifty!"
Charles, still system-controlled, answered without hesitation:
"Through Lira Cole."
His voice came out steadier than he'd expected, though inside he was nervous.
The instructor frowned, then barked:
"Up, everyone!"
Charles stood in sync with the others, his movement perfectly coordinated with several peers.
The instructor fixed him with a stern look.
"Don't let it go to your head, Rian," he said coldly. "No special treatment here, no matter who got you in."
"Understood," Charles said, though internally he was annoyed.
"You've got one minute to make your beds and get ready!" the instructor shouted, pointing at the rooms. "Rian, that tunic looks like a drunk's! Fix it!"
Charles sighed, rushing into his room.
The sheet was a mess, and his tunic was askew.
"System, make this quick," he muttered.
The panel appeared:
[Auto-Control Activated: Making bed and adjusting tunic.]
In under 15 seconds, the system moved his body like a machine.
His hands folded the sheet with military precision, leaving the bed pristine.
Then, in two seconds, he smoothed and adjusted the tunic, ensuring it hung perfectly.
Charles eyed the result, impressed.
"Damn, system, you're a freaking genius," he said, chuckling to himself.
He stepped into the hall just as the instructor shouted again.
"Time's up! Line up!"
The Aspirants formed ranks, some still buttoning tunics or fixing hair.
The instructor glanced at Charles, clearly surprised by his speed, but instead of praise, he scowled.
"Because of some people's tardiness…" he said, eyeing a boy still tying his boots, "you'll have less time to eat. Move to the dining hall, now!"
Charles followed the group, feeling the other Aspirants' glares boring into him.
'Great, now I'm everyone's punching bag,' he thought, sighing.
The instructor led them through the halls to the dining hall, a large space with long wooden tables and benches.
Plates were already set: a simple breakfast of bread, a boiled egg, and a cup of tea.
It wasn't a feast, but after yesterday's training and the push-ups, Charles was starving.
The instructor stood at the entrance, arms crossed.
"Eat fast," he said. "I'll be waiting at the training field. The last one there gets a penalty."
Charles sat at a table, grabbing his plate eagerly.
But before he could take a bite, he felt a grip on his arm.
One of the Aspirants, a young guy with short hair and a hard stare, had grabbed him.
"What're you doing?" the kid said, low but firm. "You're not waiting for your superiors, old man?"
Charles blinked, confused.
Was he seriously getting hassled by a bunch of kids?