Another morning came, and with it, sunlight poured through Raiden's curtains like a judgmental spotlight.

Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, betraying the utter stillness of the room — the calm before yet another storm named training.

Kent Goldheart stood by the bedside, arms crossed, staring down at the lump under the blanket. His younger brother hadn't so much as twitched. The boy was sprawled across the bed diagonally, half of one boot still on, the other missing entirely.

Kent sighed. "You slept in your training clothes."

Raiden made a noise that might have been a grunt… or the word 'so?' It was hard to tell.

Kent pinched the bridge of his nose. "You reek of sweat and defeat."

"Mmph," Raiden replied, face buried in the pillow. "Smells like effort."

Kent stared at him for a long moment before giving up. "Fine. Just get up. Wash up. We're training soon."

Raiden lifted his head an inch. "Is Leonard here already?"

"No."

"Then I'm fine."

He immediately rolled back into the mattress.

Kent exhaled through his nose, patience wearing thin. He leaned closer. "Whoever finishes first comes to drag the other, deal?"

"Uh-huh," came the muffled response. "Go finish first, then."

Kent sighed and left the room to go get dressed up and ready for training and in less than twenty minutes, he was back.

"I did finish," Kent said evenly. "I came back for you."

Raiden peeked through one eye. "Oh. That was fast."

"Raiden."

"…Five more minutes?"

Kent stared at him silently, jaw tightening.

Raiden groaned and sat up, hair sticking out like wild straw. "Fine, fine. I'm up." He stumbled toward the bathroom, muttering, "See? Obedient. Responsible. Model son."

Kent arched a brow as the bathroom door clicked shut. Then he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Twenty-five minutes later, Kent was still waiting outside the bathroom, hands on his hips, expression tightening with each passing second. The house servants passed occasionally, giving him sympathetic looks.

At the thirty-minute mark, Kent knocked. "Raiden?"

Silence.

"Don't tell me…"

He knocked again. Louder. "Raiden, you're not sleeping again, are you?"

Still no answer.

Kent's jaw twitched. "Unbelievable."

He turned the handle, pushing the door open — and stopped.

There, in the middle of the lavish marble bathroom, Raiden Goldheart was asleep in the bathtub. Not soaking. Not bathing. Just curled up inside it, head resting on his arm, snoring softly.

Kent stared for a long, incredulous moment before muttering, "You've got to be kidding me."

Raiden shifted slightly, mumbling something about mana cores and rewards in his sleep.

Kent rubbed his temples. "You're hopeless."

Kent filled a small bowl with water. His expression was calm — too calm — as he stood beside the tub, peering down at his sleeping brother.

"You know," he said conversationally, "if Sir Leonard saw this, he'd make you run fifty laps."

Raiden mumbled something unintelligible.

Kent sighed. "Guess I'll have to wake you myself, then."

He raised the bowl.

"Three… two…"

He didn't get to one.

Because the bathroom door opened quietly behind him, and a familiar deep voice said, "I'll take it from here."

Kent froze. Slowly, he turned. Sir Leonard stood there, as composed and immaculate as always — not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in sight. His expression was perfectly polite… but his eyes said everything.

Kent stepped aside immediately. "Good morning, Sir Leonard."

"Good morning, young master Kent," Leonard replied. "You may proceed to breakfast."

Kent nodded, retreating with all the haste of a man avoiding crossfire.

Leonard approached the bathtub, gazing down at the slumbering Raiden like a general regarding a disobedient soldier. For a few long seconds, he said nothing. Then, in a voice both calm and commanding:

"Master Raiden."

Raiden stirred faintly.

"Master Raiden," Leonard repeated, slightly louder.

Raiden mumbled, "Five more minutes, Kent…"

"Wrong answer," Leonard said flatly.

There was the faint sound of running water — then the splash of cold as a small bucket tipped.

Raiden shot up with a startled gasp, eyes wide, hair dripping. "Wha—who—?!"

Leonard's calm face entered his vision.

Raiden froze. "Sir Leonard."

"Good morning," the man said smoothly.

Raiden blinked. "...Is it?"

"Not for you," Leonard replied. "Training begins in ten minutes."

Raiden looked down at himself — still wearing yesterday's wrinkled tunic, half-soaked now. "I was just about to start washing, actually," he said quickly.

"See that you do," Leonard said, turning away. "You have nine minutes remaining."

The moment the door closed, Raiden sagged in the tub, muttering, "I swear, he has the timing of a cursed clock."

Still, fear of the man's monotone authority was stronger than exhaustion. He tore off his clothes and began scrubbing with a determination that came only from panic.

Inside, he wept. Not out of emotion — but from sheer, spiritual defeat.

He could already smell the breakfast he wouldn't be having.

Ten minutes later, a freshly dressed Raiden trudged out of his room like a condemned prisoner, hair still damp, eyes hollow. Leonard stood waiting in the corridor, arms folded neatly behind his back.

"Ready?" the man asked.

"No," Raiden said truthfully.

"Excellent," Leonard replied. "You'll build discipline faster that way."

Raiden groaned softly as he followed the head guard down the hall. Every step felt like betrayal — not by his legs, but by fate itself. His stomach growled loudly.

"Sir Leonard?" he ventured weakly.

"Yes, Master Raiden?"

"Do you believe in mercy?"

"I believe in results."

"...I thought so."

They passed the dining hall, where Raiden caught sight of his family through the open doorway. His father was mid-conversation with Lady Elise, smiling faintly. Kent sat quietly eating, looking annoyingly refreshed.

Raiden slowed his pace, giving them all the most wounded glare he could muster.

Lady Elise waved with a small smile. "Good morning, dear."

"Morning," he muttered.

Lord Cedric nodded approvingly. "Early start. Good."

"Not by choice," Raiden muttered darkly, but Leonard's hand on his shoulder guided him forward before he could say more.

The training courtyard was alive with sound. The clang of steel from distant guards, the hum of morning mana across the air. The dummies stood in perfect rows — silent witnesses to his suffering.

Raiden stared at them with dull resignation. "We meet again, my wooden nemeses."

Leonard stood beside him, posture perfect. "Today," he said, "we focus on form endurance and directional control."

"That sounds painful," Raiden said.

"It is."

"Wonderful."

"Start with fifty swings," Leonard ordered. "Then footwork drills."

"Fifty? Yesterday was four hundred!"

"Today is fifty," Leonard said evenly, "repeated eight times."

Raiden's mouth fell open. "That's... Sir Leonard, that's four hundred again!"

"Your arithmetic is improving," Leonard said. "Begin."

Raiden let out a long, theatrical sigh that echoed through the courtyard. "If I survive this, I'm suing destiny."

From the far end of the courtyard, Kent practiced his own sparring drills with Captain Baren. But between parries, he couldn't help glancing toward his brother.

Raiden was a disaster — his swings uneven, his form collapsing halfway through each repetition — yet, somehow, he kept going. The boy's stamina was very questionable, but his stubbornness? Legendary.

Baren caught Kent's distracted glance and chuckled. "Your brother's… spirited."

"That's one word for it," Kent replied with a faint smile.

"He'll learn," Baren said. "Pain is an efficient teacher."

Kent nodded. "Yes. But I think he's attending advanced classes."

Hours passed under the burning sun. Raiden's swings slowed but didn't stop. His arms felt like jelly, his lungs begged for mercy. Yet Leonard's steady voice guided him on.

"Again. Lower the shoulder. Adjust your wrist."

By the final set, Raiden's body moved almost on instinct. For once, the sword didn't slip, his footing didn't falter, and when the blade cut through the air, it sang cleanly.

Leonard's gaze lingered a moment. Then he said quietly, "Better."

Raiden blinked through the sweat. "You—wait—did you just—praise me?"

"Acknowledgment," Leonard corrected.

"I'll take it."

When the final swing came to an end, Raiden dropped his sword and collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving. The clouds above him looked like floating pillows, mocking him gently.

"I miss breakfast," he muttered to the sky. "I miss food. I miss freedom."

Leonard's shadow fell over him. "Tomorrow, we begin earlier."

Raiden turned his head slowly. "Sir Leonard?"

"Yes?"

"Do you… ever rest?"

Leonard blinked once. "Of course."

"When?"

"When my students stop failing."

Raiden groaned. "So… never. Good thing you don't any student."

Leonard simply turned and walked away, leaving Raiden flat on his back, staring at the endless blue sky.

The faint laughter of guards drifted from the distance. Somewhere beyond the trees, Kent's voice called out encouragement, but Raiden barely heard it. His body was sore, his spirit drained, and yet...

There was a strange satisfaction in the ache.

Maybe, just maybe, he was getting better.

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