The wind that drifted through the training grounds carried the faint scent of dust and sweat—an ordinary afternoon, calm, quiet, unremarkable.
Until a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Dean…the pervert ?!"
Einar's eyes widened as if he were seeing a ghost.
Standing in front of him was the man who'd been absent for three whole months: Dean—his teacher, mentor, and relentless tormentor—still slim, still sharp-eyed, still wearing that irritatingly confident smile.
His hazel eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Come now, brat. Three months without seeing me, and that's your greeting? Honestly…"
His expression softened, just slightly. "But I'm relieved. Looks like you didn't get lazy while I was gone. Good. Very good."
A spark of joy rose in Einar's chest—he hated to admit it, but he had missed the man.
But the moment that joy hit him—
His legs trembled.
His vision swam.
A heavy wave of fatigue flooded his body.
"—Damn…"
His knees gave out. Everything tilted. The ground rushed toward him—
Before he could hit it, strong arms caught him mid-fall.
"Tch." Dean clicked his tongue. "Every damn time."
Why do I always come back to find him half-dead like this? he thought as he hoisted Einar up effortlessly and carried him toward the hammock. The teen groaned faintly as Dean laid him down and began examining him with practiced hands.
Bruises. Scratches. A swollen left eye.
But nothing severe.
Dean frowned.
"These marks aren't enough to make you collapse… so what are you hiding, huh?"
He pressed lightly along Einar's arms and torso. The muscles twitched under his fingers—
And then Dean's expression changed completely.
"…Ah. I see."
Torn muscle fibers. Deep ones. Internal strain from overtraining. The kind that only appeared when someone pushed past their real limits, not their perceived ones.
And then—GWOOORRRGH—Einar's stomach growled like an angry beast.
Dean blinked.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
This idiot was training on an empty stomach… while exhausted… in the heat…
Of course he collapsed! Of course!
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling deeply.
"Unbelievable…"
Dean stood, pulled out his phone, and ordered food from the nearest grill shop. Heavy protein. Big portions. Something that would bring life back into a reckless fool like Einar.
⸻
Thirty minutes later, the food arrived.
Before Dean could set the bags down—
Einar's eyes snapped open.
Instantly.
As if awakened by divine intervention.
Dean froze. Then—
"Hah… HAHAHAHA! I can't believe it! You wake up the moment you smell meat!"
Einar weakly tilted his head toward the aroma. His expression? Pure instinct. Pure hunger.
Dean wiped tears from his eyes from laughing. "C-come on, brat. Eat before you die on me."
Einar accepted the plate, then devoured everything like a starved wolf. He didn't just finish his own food—he reached over and stole from Dean's.
"Hey—! That was mine— oh forget it," Dean muttered, unable to hold back a grin.
"Mmm… thank you, sensei. This is delicious," Einar said between mouthfuls.
Dean casually tossed something toward him.
Einar caught it without thinking.
His wallet.
"You paid for it," Dean said smugly. "I only made the call."
Einar's heart dropped.
His eyes widened.
His face flushed with rage.
He opened the wallet—empty. Only two dinars left.
"You… YOU BASTARD! That was my last money! And instead of paying like a civilized adult, you used MY cash?! You old leech!"
Dean shrugged carelessly.
"Long time no see, brat. I assumed you'd treat me sooner or later. When I saw you looking like you crawled out of a trash can, I simply… sped things up."
Einar lunged toward him, but his sore muscles protested, forcing him back into the hammock.
"Hmph… whatever." He exhaled, glaring at the ceiling. "Those idiots came here wanting the training grounds for themselves. I refused. Politely."
He paused.
"Well, mostly politely."
"And then?" Dean asked, arms crossed.
"One of them sucker-punched me. So I beat them up and taught them a lesson they'll remember forever."
Dean smirked.
"Oh, sure. That explains why your eye is swollen. Must have been one hell of a lesson."
Einar sputtered, red again.
"You—you're doing it on purpose!"
Dean clicked his tongue, then clapped his hands once.
"Alright, since you so generously bought me lunch—"
Einar growled in disbelief.
"—I'm returning the favor by taking you to the resort. Your muscles need healing before they tear completely."
Einar narrowed his eyes.
"You're still a pervert, sensei."
"HEY! Don't call me that! You arrogant brat— I swear, I'll show you what being your teacher truly means!"
Einar broke into loud laughter.
There it was—that familiar ridiculous chemistry between them.
Annoying. Comfortable. Home.
He stood with effort, walked over to his teacher, and patted his shoulder.
"Let's go then, pervert teacher. My body needs the hot springs."
Dean clenched his fists.
He didn't reply.
He simply grabbed Einar by the arm, dragged him outside, and pushed him into the car.
The engine started.
And together, they headed toward the resort—
teacher and student, as chaotic as ever.