Akira barely stood.
His legs shook as he turned away from the training grounds. He took a step—and nearly fell. Catching himself at the last moment, he stumbled forward, breath still uneven.
Each step toward the castle felt heavier than the last.
He stumbled up the stone steps, gripping the railing for balance, then dragged himself through the halls. His feet scraped against the floor, his body swaying as he walked.
More than once, he had to stop and steady himself against the wall.
By the time he reached his room, his hands were trembling. He fumbled with the door, missed the handle once, then finally pushed it open.
He stumbled inside and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to move again.
Training was over.
For today.
Akira woke with a sharp gasp.
Cold water splashed across his face and chest, soaking his clothes and sending a jolt through his body.
"Get up!" a rough voice barked.
Akira sucked in air, coughing as he tried to wipe the water from his eyes. His arms felt heavy, his muscles stiff and aching as if they'd been beaten all over again.
Another splash hit him.
"This isn't an inn," the knight snapped. "On your feet."
Akira groaned and rolled onto his side, pushing himself up slowly. His head throbbed, and every movement pulled pain through his limbs.
He blinked the sleep from his eyes and finally focused.
A knight stood over him, bucket in hand, armor clanking softly as he shifted his weight.
"Morning training waits for no one," the knight said flatly. "Move."
Akira staggered forward, legs unsteady, and followed the knight out.
The morning air was cold, biting against his damp clothes. Each step sent a dull ache through his body, but he kept moving, jaw clenched, eyes half-lidded.
The training grounds were already alive.
Dozens of knights stood in neat rows, armor gleaming faintly in the early light. Their postures were straight, disciplined—nothing like Akira's swaying stance.
He slowed when he reached them.
A few heads turned.
Whispers followed.
"That's him."
"He's still standing?"
"After yesterday?"
Akira ignored them and moved to the end of the line. He straightened his back and stood attendatively.
He breathed in slowly.
In.
Out.
The line settled into silence.
Akira stood among them now.
A heavy boot struck the stone, cutting through the low murmurs.
"Listen up!"
The same knight who had woken Akira earlier stepped forward, his voice loud and sharp. He scanned the line with a hard glare.
"You're being divided into pairs by me," he said. "Move when I call you. Don't think. Don't complain."
The knights straightened immediately.
He began pointing down the line.
"You. With him."
"Swap."
"Next two—pair."
Armor clinked as knights shifted places, forming pairs with quick, practiced motions.
Akira stood still at the end of the line, eyes forward.
The knight's gaze landed on him.
He paused for half a second—long enough for a few knights to notice.
Then he pointed.
"You," he said, finger aimed straight at Akira. "Step forward."
Akira did.
The knight looked past him, scanning the remaining line, then jabbed a finger at another figure.
"And you. Newly promoted."
A tall knight stepped out. Up close, he looked a few years older than him. Sharp jaw, straight nose, and short brown hair kept neatly trimmed to regulation length. His face still held a certain freshness—no deep scars, no hardened lines—just a faint crease between his brows that suggested nerves more than experience.
His eyes flicked over Akira once, quick and assessing.
"I'm Ronan," he said, . "Ronan Hale, Newly promoted. Knight Second Class."
"Akira," Akira replied. No title. No rank. Just his name.
Ronan nodded once, as if committing it to memory.
"So," he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that only Akira could hear, "you must be the hero."
Akira stiffened.
The word sat wrong in his chest.
"…Yeah," he answered after a moment.
The knight in charge stepped forward again, voice carrying easily.
"Now that pairs have been made," he announced, "you'll be competing against your assigned partner."
A ripple of interest ran through the lines.
"Various exercises," the knight continued, pacing slowly in front of them, "strength, speed, coordination, and spar. You win, you get to rest. You lose—"
He stopped, letting the pause stretch.
"—you suffer."