I opened my eyes to a ceiling I was starting to know far too well.
Gray stone, same as yesterday, same as the day before. The mana-lamps on the walls were dimmed to their morning setting, casting a soft glow across the room.
For a moment I just lay there, blinking, trying to remember why my entire body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder and then reassembled by someone who didn't quite know how bones fit together.
Then the memories came rushing back—the spar, Kael, that final exchange, the world tilting as consciousness slipped away. Lyra catching me before I hit the ground.
...Right. That happened.
I tried to sit up and immediately regretted every decision I'd ever made in my entire existence.
Everything hurt.
My ribs screamed with every breath. My face throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat. My right hand, wrapped in bandages, pulsed with pain all the way to my shoulder. Even my legs, which had somehow survived yesterday's running, decided to join the rebellion.
Huff...
I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, letting my body slowly adjust to the reality of being conscious. The ceiling didn't change. Neither did the pain. But gradually, the fog in my mind began to clear.
I need to get up.
[You need to rest.] Nova's voice was quieter than usual, like even he recognized how rough I looked. [Your body is in no condition for training.]
Doesn't matter. I can't afford to miss a day.
[But your body—]
I said it doesn't matter, buddy.
I pushed myself up again, slower this time, using my good hand to brace against the headboard. Every movement sent sharp, stabbing protests through my chest.
But I sat up.
Huff... huff...
I leaned against the headboard, breathing hard, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Everything looked the same as yesterday. Everything except me.
...I lost.
The thought settled in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold. After bleeding and sweating and collapsing—I still lost. Kael stood over me at the end. I was the one on the ground.
I clenched my teeth.
I lost the spar. I knew I couldn't compare to him—he was a veteran, experienced, someone who'd fought more than me, probably even killed monsters. But still... I felt like shit.
[You landed hits. You lasted the full round. You got back up every time he knocked you down. The old Leo would have stayed down.]
But I still lost.
[Losing isn't the same as being weak.]
I wanted to believe that. Wanted to hold onto his words and let them mean something. But the weight in my chest didn't lighten.
Click!
The door slid open.
Lyra stepped in, carrying a tray. When she saw me sitting up, her eyes widened for just a moment before she composed herself.
"Young Master. You're awake."
I nodded. Winced. Nodding hurt more than I expected.
She crossed the room quickly, setting the tray on the desk—water, bread, some kind of steaming broth that smelled amazing despite my roiling stomach—and then turned to face me. Her eyes scanned my face, my bandaged hand, the way I was holding my ribs like I expected them to fall out at any moment.
"How do you feel?" she asked softly.
I thought about lying. Thought about saying I was fine, just tired, nothing to worry about. But one look at her face told me she'd see through it immediately.
Lyra always saw through it.
I gave her a small smile. "Like I got hit by a car. Then the car backed up and hit me again just to be sure."
Her lips twitched. "That bad?"
"Worse." I shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, and immediately regretted it.
"Everything hurts, Lyra. Everything. My ribs feel like someone used them for drum practice. My face is one massive bruise. And my hand..." I looked down at the bandages. "I don't even want to think about my hand."
She moved closer, pulling the chair from the desk to sit beside my bed. "You pushed yourself too hard yesterday."
"...I know."
"Everyone was talking about it." Her voice was gentle, almost admiring. "The way you kept getting up. The way you kept fighting. Even when you were bleeding, even when anyone else would have stayed down... you didn't."
I looked at her, searching for something in her expression—pity, maybe, or that careful kindness people use when they're trying to soften bad news. But all I saw was genuine warmth. She meant what she said.
Lyra reached out and touched my arm gently, her fingers warm against my bruised skin.
"You did well, Young Master. Everyone saw it. The way you got back up after every hit. The way you kept fighting even when you were clearly exhausted, even when your body was screaming at you to stop. Even Vex—he didn't say anything, but I could tell."
I looked at her.. "He didn't say anything?"
"He never does. But he watched you the whole time. And when you landed that punch at the end..." She smiled, small and warm. "His expression changed. Just for a second. He was impressed."
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to let those words fill the hollow space in my chest where confidence used to live. But the loss still stung, sharp and deep and impossible to ignore.
"Young Master." Her voice turned serious, pulling my attention back to her face. "You don't have to go to training today. After a spar like that, recruits are usually given a day to recover. Everyone will understand."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Young Master—"
"I said no." I met her eyes, letting her see the determination I was clinging to like a lifeline. "I didn't come here to take days off, Lyra. I came here to change. To get stronger. To become someone who doesn't lose."
I paused, gathering my thoughts, letting the words find their shape.
"I've spent my whole life running. Running from expectations. Running from responsibility. Running from myself. Every time things got hard, I found a way to escape—drinking, fighting, pushing people away until there was no one left to disappoint."
My voice dropped, quiet and raw. "I'm done running. Even if it kills me—I'm done."
She stared at me for a long moment, her emerald eyes searching my face like she was looking for something she'd almost given up hope of finding. Then, slowly, her eyes glistened. Just a little.
"You really have changed, Young Master."
I almost laughed. "I'm trying."
"You are." She nodded slowly, a single tear escaping to trace a path down her cheek. "And that's what matters."
I forced myself out of bed.
Every step was agony. My legs shook, threatening to buckle. My ribs complained with every breath. But I made it to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror.
I looked like hell.
Split lip, bruised cheek, swollen eye. Bandages wrapped around my right hand. Dark circles that hadn't faded in days. My hair was a disaster.
I changed into my training clothes—slowly, painfully, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through my battered body—and headed for the door.
Lyra was still there, standing by the desk, watching me with worried eyes that held none of her usual composure.
"Young Master. At least eat something first."
I grabbed a piece of bread from the tray. Took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. The food sat heavy in my stomach, but at least it was something.
"...Happy?"
She sighed, a sound full of resignation and affection in equal measure. "No. But I know better than to argue with you when you're like this."
I almost smile.
The walk to the training yard took twice as long as usual.
Every step hurt. Every breath hurt. The cold air didn't help—it cut into my lungs like knives, making me cough, making my ribs scream with each spasm. Soldiers passed me in the corridors, some glancing at my battered face with barely concealed curiosity, others quickly looking away like they were afraid of getting involved.
I kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the stares, ignoring the voice in my head that kept whispering you should have stayed in bed, you're not ready, you're going to make it worse.
When I finally reached the yard, the recruits were already lined up. Twenty-eight of them, standing at attention in the snow, breath misting in the cold morning air. Vex stood at the front, arms crossed, watching me approach with that unreadable expression he always wore.
Everyone turned to look.
I walked to the line. Took my spot at the end. My body screamed, but I stood straight. Or as straight as I could manage without falling over.
Vex stared at me for a long moment. His eyes moved over my face, my bandaged hand, the way I was holding myself like I expected to shatter at any moment. Then his gaze moved past me.
"Kael."
I turned. Kael was walking toward the line too. Split lip, bruised cheek, but compared to me, he looked practically untouched.
He took his spot beside me.
Vex looked at both of us.
"You're late. Both of you."
Kael opened his mouth to respond but Vex cut him off with a single look.
"Five extra laps. After training. No arguments."
Kael shut his mouth and stared straight ahead.
I just nodded.
Vex turned to the rest of the group. "Today's the same as yesterday. Running first. Then exercises. Then more running. You know the drill. Move."
_
The morning was brutal.
Running with my injuries was worse than I'd expected—and I'd expected pretty damn bad. Every step sent pain through my ribs, sharp and stabbing. Every breath burned. By the third lap, I was gasping, my vision blurring at the edges, the world narrowing to a tunnel of snow and agony.
Huff... huff... huff...
But I kept going. One foot in front of the other. Lap after lap. Ignoring the way my body screamed at me to stop, to rest, to give up and collapse in the snow like I desperately wanted to.
You lost. You lost and now you're here anyway. What's wrong with you?
I didn't have an answer. Didn't need one. I just kept running.
By the time we finished, I was ready to collapse. My legs were shaking, my lungs were burning, and I was pretty sure I'd left a trail of blood from my split lip somewhere on the track. But there was no time to rest—Vex moved us straight into exercises. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Pull-ups. Everything hurt, but I kept going.
Kael was always near me. Not talking, just... there. Matching my pace. Watching. Like he was making sure I didn't fall too far behind, didn't give up, didn't prove him right about nobles being weak.
During a break—a real break, five minutes of sitting in the snow and gasping like drowning men—he sat down beside me.
"You look like shit Noble," he said.
I glanced at him, too tired to muster any real annoyance. "You don't look much better."
He clicked his tongue.
We sat in silence for a moment, both of us breathing hard, both of us hurting. The cold seeped through my clothes, but I was too exhausted to care.
"That was a good hit yesterday," he said finally. "At the end."
I blinked, surprised. "What?"
"The punch. The one that caught my face." He wasn't looking at me, staring out at the training yard instead, watching the other recruits stretch and drink water. "Good form. Good timing. Didn't expect it from someone like you."
I didn't know what to say. Of all the things I'd expected him to bring up, praise for the hit that didn't even win me the match wasn't anywhere on the list.
"I've been training here for two years," he continued, his voice quieter now. "Came from nothing. No family. No name. No connections. Just... this." He gestured vaguely at the yard, at the fortress, at everything around us. "Had to fight for every scrap. Every opportunity. Every time someone looked at me like I didn't belong."
I looked at him. Without the smirk, without the attitude, he just looked... tired. Like me. Like someone who'd been fighting so long they'd forgotten what it felt like to stop.
"...Why do you hate nobles?" I asked.
He was quiet for a long moment, watching the snow.
"Because they get everything handed to them. Names. Money. Opportunities. Respect they haven't earned." He glanced at me, and there was something raw in his eyes. "People like you don't know what it's like to struggle. To fight for every little thing. To have everyone assume you're nothing before you even open your mouth."
I thought about that. About Leo's life—the original Leo. About how he'd been born into wealth and power and thrown it all away because he couldn't handle the pressure. About how different my own life on Earth had been, grinding away at nothing, always running, always hiding.
"You're right," I said. "Some nobles are like that." I paused, gathering my thoughts, letting the words find their shape.
"But I'm not here because things were handed to me. I'm here because I screwed up. Because I spent years running from everything that mattered, and now I'm trying to fix it. To fix myself."
Kael looked at me. Really looked, like he was seeing me for the first time, like I'd finally said something that cut through whatever wall he'd built between us.
"Huh." He turned back to the yard, but something in his posture had shifted. Relaxed, maybe. Or just... different. "Maybe you're not completely useless."
I snorted. "High praise."
A smile appeared on his face.
The afternoon was harder.
More running. More exercises. More pain. My body screamed constantly, a non-stop chorus of agony that never quite faded. But I kept going. Kept moving. Kept refusing to quit.
Kael stayed near me, matching my pace, pushing me when I slowed. He didn't say much—that wasn't his style—but his presence was enough. A reminder that I wasn't alone in this, that someone else understood what it cost to keep going.
By the time we finished the extra laps—five more, just like Vex ordered—I was done. Completely, utterly, absolutely done. I collapsed in the snow and didn't move for a long time, just lay there staring at the gray sky, letting the cold seep into my overheated skin.
Kael sat down beside me. Passed me a water canteen.
I took it. Drank. The water was cold, almost freezing, but it felt amazing going down—the best thing I'd tasted all day.
"You're not as bad as I thought," he said.
"Of course. I'm the most humble and handsome person you'll ever meet," I replied back.
He clicked his tongue. "Tsk. I take back what I said. You're still annoying."
We sat there in silence, watching the sun set over the fortress. The sky turned orange, then pink, then purple, a beautiful display that felt almost wasted on two exhausted idiots sitting in the snow. The cold deepened as the light faded, but neither of us moved.
After a while, Kael stood up.
"Same time tomorrow?"
I looked up at him, at his battered face and tired eyes, at the challenge lurking underneath all that gruff exterior. He wasn't asking because he wanted to train with me. He was asking because he wanted to see if I'd show up. If I'd prove that today wasn't a fluke.
"Yeah." I met his gaze and held it. "Same time."
He nodded once and walked away, his limp slightly more pronounced than before.
I lay there for a few more minutes, staring at the darkening sky, letting the events of the day wash over me.
_
Dinner was quiet.
I sat at the table with the twins, Aunt Seraphina, and Lyra, too exhausted to do much more than put food in my mouth and chew mechanically. The twins chattered about their day—something about a snowball fight, someone falling into a drift, someone else getting revenge in a way that involved a lot of giggling. I listened, nodded, ate.
Aunt Seraphina watched me with knowing eyes, the kind of look that saw past the surface and straight into the exhaustion underneath. "Rough day?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
She smiled gently, warm and understanding. "Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow will be harder."
...Great.
After dinner, I made my way back to my room. Slowly. Painfully. Each step a reminder that I was still alive, still here, still fighting. The corridors were quiet, most of the household already settled for the night, and I was grateful for the solitude.
When I finally reached my room, I collapsed on the bed and just lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. My body screamed, but I was too tired to listen anymore.
Then I remembered. My Mana-Phone.
I pulled it out of my pocket, wincing as the movement jostled my ribs. Dozens of missed messages. Most from Mia. Some from Mom. Each one a small stab of guilt.
"Leo! Are you okay?!"
"Leo, answer me!"
"Mia's worried. I'm worried. Please call when you can."
"LEO! SIR HOPS-A-LOT SAYS YOU NEED TO ANSWER!"
I sighed, guilt twisting in my chest. I'd been so focused on training, on pushing myself, on not losing sight of my goal—and I'd forgotten about them. About the people who actually cared whether I lived or died.
I dialed.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then—
"LEOOO!"
Mia's voice. Loud. Worried. Angry. All at once, crashing through the speaker like a tiny hurricane.
"You didn't answer! I called so many times! Mama said you were training but I was scared! Why didn't you answer?!"
I closed my eyes, letting her voice wash over me. Letting it fill the empty spaces.
"Sorry, Mia. I was... busy. Training was hard today."
"But you're okay?" Her voice got smaller, softer, the anger draining away to leave something more fragile underneath. "You're not hurt?"
I looked at my bandaged hand. My bruised face. My aching ribs. The evidence of my failure written all over my body.
I lost, Mia. I tried so hard and I still lost.
"I'm okay," I said instead. "Just tired."
"You sure ?"
I paused. Then—
"...Yeah."
Mom's voice came on the line, warm and worried. "Leo. Are you really alright?"
I hesitated, searching for the right words. "Yeah, Mom. I'm alright. Just... adjusting."
She was quiet for a moment, and I could picture her expression—that mix of love and worry she always wore when it came to me. "You sound tired."
"Yeah. I am tired."
"I see... take care of yourself, Leo. Don't push yourself too hard."
A smile appeared on my face. "Yes, Mom. Don't worry."
We talked for a while longer. About nothing, really. About home. About Mia's frog and his latest adventures. About how Father was handling things in my absence. Normal stuff. Comforting stuff. The kind of conversation that reminded me why I was doing this in the first place.
By the time we hung up, I felt... lighter. Still hurting. Still tired. Still carrying the weight of yesterday's loss like a stone in my chest. But lighter.
I set the phone down and lay back on the bed. Stared at the ceiling.
I didn't realize when exhaustion took me. I just slept.