Chapter 28: Training Grounds (End)
The sun dipped low toward the horizon, dragging long shadows across the training field like tired hands reaching for rest. The sky burned in streaks of gold and orange fire, turning the air thick and hazy, the heat of the day finally starting to let up but leaving everything sticky and worn. The big open stretch of grass and dirt paths looked beat—scuffed from feet pounding all afternoon, patches of brown where kids had stopped to catch their breath or collapsed right there, the wooden dummies at the edges looking like they'd taken a beating too, splinters sticking out from old hits. The faint blue glow of the mana lines under the track had dimmed with the light, humming soft now like a song winding down.
The last echoes of running feet faded slow across the field as the final two guys came to a stop, breaths heavy but even, chests rising and falling like they'd just climbed a hill together.
Lucian slowed first, his boots kicking up one last puff of dust before planting firm on the dirt. His breathing stayed steady—no gasping or huffing, just that deep, controlled pull in and out, like his body knew better than to waste air. Sweat ran down his face in steady lines, dripping from his chin to soak into his collar, leaving dark spots on the white shirt underneath his uniform jacket. His ashen white hair stuck damp to his forehead and neck, messy in a way that made him look more real than usual, and his deep black eyes—dark and still as deep water—held that quiet focus, not tired or beat, just done.
Across from him, Christopher dropped to the ground with a thud, landing on his butt in the dirt, face twisted between wiped-out and grinning like an idiot. "Damn… haah… Lucian, you literally beat me at my own game."
He coughed once, holding his side like it burned good, then managed a real laugh, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand—smearing dirt and sweat across his skin. "Beating kids in laps was my best talent, you know. Forty three's been my record for two years straight. Thought I had it locked."
Lucian wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, the fabric coming away dark. His voice came out calm, even, like talking about the weather after a storm. "You'll beat it next time. I only did what I said I would—forty-five laps."
Christopher looked up at him from the dirt, still grinning wide, chest heaving but eyes bright. "Haah… seriously, damn it… congrats, Lucian."
He stuck out a hand, palm up and dirty, offering a shake like it was the end of a good fight. Lucian stared at it for a second—just long enough to see the calluses and the red from pushing too hard—then took it without thinking twice. His grip was solid, fingers wrapping firm, pulling Chris up with a steady tug when the guy leaned into it.
For a heartbeat, they just stood there—hands still clasped loose, breaths syncing up in the quiet after the run, the wind picking up faint to cool the sweat on their skin. No big words, no slapping backs. Just that simple thing you get after going through something hard together—the nod that says "we did it," without needing to spell it out. The field around them had gone mostly empty now, other kids heading off in clumps, voices carrying back about water or shade, but here it felt apart, like a small pocket of real.
Then, a big laugh broke the moment—loud and rough, rolling across the field like thunder chasing rain.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Kids nearby jumped a bit, turning heads, as Professor Randy stomped their way, his huge frame cutting through the leftover dust like a ship through fog. His face split in a grin ear to ear, eyes crinkled up, looking more like a proud dad than the yelling beast from earlier. "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, YOU BRATS!" he bellowed, voice carrying far enough to make a few stragglers look back. "YOU JUST BEAT MY DAMN REQUIREMENT! BOTH OF YOU!"
He slapped Christopher on the shoulder hard—hard enough the guy staggered a step, rubbing it with a wince and a laugh—then swung around to Lucian, practically beaming, his mustache twitching with the force of it. "AND YOU, LUCIAN—GOOD WORK! DIDN'T THINK I'D SEE THE DAY YOU'D OUTRUN THE TRAINING FREAK HIMSELF!"
Lucian gave a small nod, wiping his hands on his pants. "Thank you, Professor."
"THANK ME? HELL, I SHOULD THANK YOU!" Randy barked back, eyes shining with that rough pride you see in coaches after a win. "FINALLY, I'VE GOT STUDENTS WORTH SHOWING OFF! I'M GIVING BOTH OF YOU PLUS ONE HUNDRED POINTS ON YOUR GRADE! HAHAHAHA!"
He threw his arms up wide, laughing so hard his whole body shook, the sound booming out like he was celebrating a holiday. A couple kids nearby exchanged looks—tired grins or eye rolls—but even they couldn't help smiling a bit, Randy's energy pulling it out of them. "I CAN FINALLY RUB IT IN THE OTHER PROFESSORS' FACES THAT NO ONE CAN BEAT ME WHEN IT COMES TO TEACHING!"
Lucian let out a small breath, closing his eyes for a quick second against the sun's leftover glare.
'Still noisy as ever, Professor…' he thought, a tiny bit of fun in it. 'But… I'm thankful.'
His eyes opened soft, the hard lines on his face easing just a touch. 'In my second life—when everyone turned their backs on me—you were the only one who helped me. The only reason I pushed forward, the reason I passed your class and stood tall again.'
He looked up at the sky, the fading light catching his pale hair and turning it warm for a moment. 'Yeah… I owe you a lot, Professor Randy.'
And for the first time since coming back to this world, a small, quick smile touched his lips—there and gone, like a light flickering on in a dark room.
The field emptied slow after that—kids heading off in groups, voices carrying back about cold drinks or sore legs, the sun sinking lower and pulling the heat down with it. Lucian stood there a beat longer, feeling the dirt under his feet and the ache in his muscles good and real, Chris clapping his shoulder one last time with a "See you tomorrow, man" before wandering off.
The professor yelled one more thing about "rest up, you earned it," his laugh fading into the distance.
And Lucian, with the day winding down around him, turned toward the dorms—heart a little less heavy, if only for now.