Lucen was shirtless in the training yard, sweat running down his chest, the sun beating down on pale skin that was finally starting to show a little tone.
When he'd started, just weeks ago, he could barely hold himself in a proper push-up. His body had been weak—thin arms, narrow shoulders, barely any muscle on his chest or stomach. All that time spent sick in bed, half-dead, had left him looking almost delicate.
But he was stubborn.
And now, after nonstop training—sword drills, footwork, core exercises, sprinting, and just as much recovery thanks to the "carnal restoration" from fucking Arwen—he could see the difference.
His body was still lean, not built for strength, but for speed and control. He was never going to look like some beastkin warrior or musclebound knight, but that wasn't the goal. He wanted to move well, move fast, and not get tossed around like a doll the next time a fight broke out.
A mage didn't need to be big, just quick, sharp, and hard to put down.
He stretched, feeling the faint soreness in his arms, the new tightness in his shoulders and back. His chest was firmer, his waist less soft. He was still a pretty boy—still slim, still looked delicate if you glanced too fast—but there was an edge now, a subtle definition beneath the skin.
He knew he'd never be a wall of muscle. That wasn't him.
But with the right balance of stamina, speed, and power, he wouldn't look like a helpless twink either.
He went back to his drills, light sword flashing in his hand, body moving with more confidence each day.
Every swing, every block, every push-up, every lap around the yard—one step closer to the body and skill he wanted.
————————————————————————————
The next day, it was the same routine.
Wake up. Check the door—no Arwen. No gentle knock, no soft body slipping into his bed, no warm hands or magic lips to restore his stamina or drain his cock.
Lucen sighed, rolling his neck as he headed out to the training yard again.
He missed her, sure, but he knew better than to chase her down and risk making things worse.
For now, all he had was sweat and repetition.
He worked through push-ups, sword drills, footwork, then core work until his arms shook and his lungs burned. The sun climbed, sweat rolling down his chest, every muscle aching with effort.
'Training fucking sucks', he grumbled inside, wiping his brow, 'but if I want to survive the Academy, I can't slack off just because my mother's giving me the cold shoulder.'
Without Arwen's body—without the carnal restoration skill active—he felt the difference right away. His recovery wasn't supernatural. His stamina drained faster. The aches lingered longer, muscles not mending instantly like before.
It was humbling. And honestly? A little miserable.
But he kept going. Because he had to.
He looked up at the empty mansion windows, hoping for a glimpse of Arwen—hoping maybe tonight, she'd forgive him, slip under his covers, and everything would be right again.
Until then, it was just him, the training ground.
Lucen finished another round of drills, sweat running down his back as he leaned over, hands braced on his knees, catching his breath. The sun was high, the air thick and hot, and he was about ready to call it a day—until he heard soft footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him.
He looked up, wiping sweat from his brow.
Lumi stood a few paces away, holding a fresh towel and a jug of cold water. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, a few strands falling around her face, making her look even softer than usual. Her maid uniform was neat but practical, skirt a little shorter today, sleeves rolled up, cheeks already pink just from being near him.
She hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her apron.
"Young Master… I, um, brought you something," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Lucen couldn't help but smile, letting his gaze run over her figure—petite, slim, but with just enough curve to draw the eye, especially when she fidgeted nervously like that.
Lumi's face turned redder as she caught him looking.
She offered the towel, her eyes darting away, then back up at him.
"You looked like you could use a break…"
Lucen took it, their fingers brushing—a tiny shock of contact, enough to make her blush even harder.
"Thanks, Lumi," he said, taking the towel and draping it around his neck. He took the water, too, drinking deep, letting the cold run down his throat, sweat still glistening on his chest.
She watched, lips parted, unable to hide her admiration for his bare torso, the slight muscles, the new lines he'd worked so hard to earn.
Lucen caught her staring, a little smirk tugging at his lips.
"Something on your mind?" he teased, voice low.
Lumi blinked, then shook her head quickly, face bright red.
"N-no! I just—um… you've been working so hard lately, Young Master. I… I'm glad you're feeling better."
She wrung her hands, glancing down, then back at him—eyes wide, sweet, full of that nervous affection that made her so easy to tease.
Lucen took a step closer, close enough that she could smell the sweat and sun on his skin, close enough that her breath caught.
"Worried about me, Lumi?"
She nodded, biting her lip, her voice almost a whisper.
"Always…"
Lucen leaned in a little closer, watching Lumi's ears turn red as he let the silence drag. Her fingers twisted into her apron, her eyes fixed on his bare chest before darting guiltily away.
He smirked.
"You're not staring, are you?" he teased, voice low, smooth. "I know I'm not built like some knight, but still…"
"I-I haven't! I mean—not like this! Not for this long—!" she stammered, flustered, trying to shrink into herself.
He raised an eyebrow. "Always, huh?"
She nodded quickly.
He chuckled and ruffled her hair, letting his fingers tangle in the soft strands. "You're too easy, Lumi."
"I'm not easy—!" she started, but her voice caught the moment his hand brushed behind her ear, and she went quiet, lip caught between her teeth.
Lucen took another slow sip of water, then his voice shifted—still soft, but no longer teasing.
"Hey, Lumi…"
She blinked up at him, surprised by the tone.
"When I get into Astrea Academy," he said, wiping sweat from his neck with the towel she brought, "I want you to come with me."
Her breath caught. "W-what?"
He continued. "Each noble student's allowed one personal servant. Most people bring someone they can trust to handle their stuff, keep them grounded… someone who's loyal."
Her eyes widened, stunned. "But, Young Master… you could ask anyone. Someone stronger, someone from the house guard, or—or one of the other trained retainers…"
He shook his head.
"I'm asking you."
She stared at him, lips parted, completely frozen.
"I'm not forcing you," he added, more quietly. "You don't have to say yes. But if you want to… I'd like it. It's not just about who's qualified. It's about who I trust."
He looked at her straight.
"You've always been there. And I think I'd rather have someone beside me who actually gives a damn about me."
Lumi's eyes shimmered, just slightly. She looked like she might cry—but the good kind. Her hands clenched against her apron, and she nodded once, quickly, trying to hold it together.
"I… I'd be honored, Young Master."
Lumi nodded shyly, a hopeful little smile clinging to her lips before she excused herself, scurrying back toward the manor with a bounce in her step. Lucen watched her go, feeling a rare flicker of warmth in his chest, but it didn't last long.
He tossed the towel aside and turned back to the training yard. He was behind—way behind. Every push-up, every mana cycle, every sword form drilled into his muscles reminded him just how far he had to go.
Kaine was a monster by now.
The main character, the "chosen one," had awakened all seven affinities, and by the time the academy arc began, he'd already reached fourth rank as an aura user. The guy could switch between elements like changing gloves—light, fire, wind, you name it.
Not just Kaine.
The imperial princess—his own cousin, thanks to Arwen's royal blood—was a freak in her own right. There were at least a dozen other new elites, all coming from backgrounds that practically printed talent and power.
And here was Lucen, barely keeping up, crawling his way to the third circle right at the cutoff. All those years sick in bed left him so far behind it was laughable.
He let out a deep sigh, jaw tight, eyes narrowing as he forced himself through another set of drills.
This is going to be hell, he thought. I'm not the protagonist, and I don't have a dozen affinities. But fuck it—if I want to survive, I have to make every day count.
He kept pushing. Muscles aching, mind focused, sweat rolling down his skin as the sun burned overhead. No time for self-pity. No time for shortcuts. Just grind. Just work.
Because in a world where the main character and the elites came swinging with cheat-level power…
…he'd need to be smarter.