Chapter 25: Training Grounds (1)
The bell rang out clear and strong across the academy halls, its chime bouncing off the high stone ceilings and down the long corridors like a wake-up call nobody wanted. It was that deep, brassy sound that meant the end of sitting and listening, the start of doing—sharp enough to cut through the low hum of kids shifting in their seats and whispering about lunch or who looked cute in the front row.
The professor's voice followed right after, steady and a bit tired, like he'd said this a hundred times before. "Alright, that wraps up today's lecture. For your next activity, everyone head to the Training Grounds. Practical assessment starts right away. You'll need to find a training partner before we begin the stamina laps."
The classroom came alive quick—chairs scraping back on the wood floor, bags zipping up, voices jumping from quiet mumbles to full talk. Some kids sounded pumped, slapping hands and saying stuff like "Finally, something real—let's crush this," while others groaned loud, wiping sweat from their foreheads already. "Laps? In this heat? Come on, man..." The air filled with that mix of energy you get when school's not just books anymore—nerves and laughs all tangled up, kids pairing off fast: friends grabbing friends, some shy ones sticking with who they knew from the train ride in.
Lucian sat still for a beat, pulling on his gloves slow—one finger at a time, the leather creaking soft—before standing up easy. His moves were calm, almost lazy compared to the rush around him, like he was in no hurry to join the crowd. He glanced out the window quick, where the courtyard baked under the midday sun—light pouring down hot and bright, turning the grass a deep green and the paths white-hot.
'So, it's this day again,' he thought, eyes going flat, that empty look settling in like it always did when fate dropped something familiar.
'The first stamina test. I still remember how weak I was in my second life… barely made it past ten laps before I collapsed and threw up my breakfast. The academy laughed for days. Haah. This time… let's aim for twenty. Twenty's good enough.'
His mouth curved just a bit—not a real smile, more like the ghost of one, tired and knowing. He tugged his collar straight, smoothed the front of his uniform—the navy jacket with its gold lines running clean—and stepped out of his row, bag slung over one shoulder light.
As he headed for the door, he looked around the room quick—not staring, just scanning like checking a map. Pairs were snapping together everywhere: a couple of loud guys high-fiving over by the board, a girl pulling her quiet friend along with a grin, some kids negotiating like it was a deal—"You spot me on the push-ups, I'll run extra laps?" Normal stuff, the kind of easy bonds that made school feel less like a grind.
He frowned a touch, just enough to crease his brow. 'Right… I need a partner. You can't start without one.'
Lucian's eyes moved over the faces until they landed on the guy he had in mind—a tall kid built solid, with short dark blond hair cropped close and a face that looked like it was made for focus, all sharp lines and no-nonsense. He sat alone for now, tying his shoes tight, muscles showing under his sleeves like he'd spent summers hauling logs or something.
Christopher Davenson.
Son of the Royal Army's top commander. A side guy in the first game—crazy about training, pushing his body like it was his job, treating workouts like church.
Lucian remembered him clear as day. In his first transmigration, Christopher was the one who'd ended up training with Johnathan, turning into one of his solid buddies later on—always there for the tough fights, never backing down.
'A training nut,' Lucian figured. 'Perfect. He's exactly who I need. Not just for company—but because he gets pain, sticking it out, and keeping a good beat. I can pick up how this world's fight moves mix with mana boosts.'
He nodded to himself small, like sealing a plan.
'Yeah. I'll choose him.'
He started that way, weaving through the kids grabbing spots, but right as he turned for the door—
"Lucian!"
He stopped cold. Turned his head slow.
Celestia Silveria Van Lumina stood by the side of his desk, holding her books tight against her chest like they could keep her steady. Her long white hair caught the light from the window, shining soft like it was made of silk, and her silver-gray eyes had that little spark of hope in them—the kind that made Lucian's chest tighten quick, like a hand squeezing too hard for a second.
"Would you..." she stopped, her voice soft but holding on, "would you be my training partner for today?"
The room got quieter fast at her words. A few kids turned, eyes going wide, whispers starting up behind hands. The princess of Lumina asking him—the Blackstar guy everyone talked about like he was trouble—to team up? That was the kind of thing that started rumors before lunch.
Lucian blinked once, then let out a quiet breath, like he'd been holding it.
'I should've expected this. The regression must've affected her memories too… she's trying to approach me again. Just like before.'
His voice came out even, kind even—no bite, no edge, nothing like the sharp words the old Lucian would've thrown. "Maybe next time, Princess," he said, looking at her straight for a beat. "I was planning to train with Christopher Davenson today. He's a training specialist, and I wanted to learn a few things from him—mainly stamina and body enhancement techniques. You know… the kind of training you can't really do with a magic-user like yourself."
Celestia's mouth opened a little, and for a quick moment, something broke across her face—hurt, like she'd hoped different, a small ache showing in her eyes.
But she pulled it back fast, putting on a thin smile and nodding. "I… I understand. I didn't mean to interrupt your plans, Lucian. Then perhaps next time."
Lucian gave her a small nod back. "Yeah, maybe next time."
With that, he turned and headed out, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click that felt like the end of something.
Celestia stood there, watching him go, the soft fall of his white hair catching the light one last time as he walked away. She wanted to reach out—to stop him, say something real—but her voice stuck in her throat, words dying before they started.
There was no meanness in how he said it. No anger pushing her off. No hate in his look.
Just space. Like a clear wall between them—you could see through, but you couldn't touch.
And yet, even that little change gave her a tiny bit of hope.
Because once, in their past life, he would've snapped. He would've said something mean, made fun of her, shoved her away with words that cut deep.
But now, he just said no—gentle, like it was no big deal.
Maybe... maybe that meant something.
She let out a breath slow, whispering to herself, "Even if it's just next time… I'll wait, Lucian."
Outside, Lucian walked down the marble hallway, face even, hands in his pockets loose. His thoughts, though, weren't so calm.
'She still tried to reach out,' he figured. 'She's persistent as ever. But this time, I can't afford attachments. Every bond leads to pain. Every warmth turns to ash. I'll train. I'll observe. And that's it.'
He stepped into the sunlight of the courtyard, the Training Grounds opening up wide ahead—big open field with dirt paths marked for laps, wooden dummies for hitting, spots for magic practice where the ground was scorched from old spells. Kids were already there, some stretching, others pairing up and jogging light to warm up, the air full of that mix of sweat and excitement you get when it's time to move.
Lucian looked up at the clear sky and breathed deep. "Alright," he said low, to no one but the wind. "Time to suffer again."
Then, with a small smile that hardly counted, he muttered under his breath— "Twenty laps. Just twenty. Let's see if I can at least beat my past self."