Noct was stretching his body in the garden.
Calling it a garden was honestly an insult to actual gardens.
It was nothing grand—just a small pond sitting at the center, its surface slightly murky, yet still alive with movement. Dozens of koi fish swam lazily beneath, their scales flashing orange, white, gold, and black whenever sunlight managed to slip through the mess above.
Around the pond were uneven stone slabs, some cracked, some half-sunken into the damp soil. Moss clung to their edges, spreading like a quiet invasion.
Wild plants had taken over everything.
Tall grass brushed against his legs. Thorny bushes crawled over the sides. Vines wrapped around broken wooden posts and twisted themselves along the ground like snakes. Weeds grew in every possible direction, choking what little structure the place once had.
It didn't look maintained; it looked abandoned—like a forgotten ruin slowly being reclaimed by nature.
He glanced around, his face going flat.
"...This place looks more like a jungle than a garden."
He knew exactly why it was like this—carelessness, neglect.
But instead of thinking further, he simply continued stretching, raising his arms, rotating his shoulders, loosening his stiff body.
No distractions. No hesitation. Just movement. He exhaled slowly.
"I really need to clean this place… when I have some time."
A pause.
"But for now…"
He continued stretching, his body slowly warming up, muscles tightening and relaxing in rhythm."I don't have enough time."
His expression hardened slightly.
"I don't know when I'll face Judgement."
"I need to prepare before it happens… or I'll die."He knew it.
With this body—this fragile, weak, pathetic body that had never engaged in any real physical work its entire life, nothing that could even be considered true physical exertion.
He'd be crushed like a cockroach within minutes. No—even a cockroach had a better build than him; at least those things could survive getting stepped on. He? He'd probably snap in half.
His current condition was like a man on a ventilator—someone who didn't even know if he'd live to see the next day.
But there was one thing that made him different.One crucial difference.
He could change his fate with his own hands. His eyes narrowed slightly as he remembered his old body.
That perfectly built frame, those six packs—earned through blood, sweat, and relentless discipline; not talent, not luck, just pure effort, the result of intense hard work and refined technique—he was proud of it, more than proud.
It was enough to attract women of high status, enough to make other men grind their teeth in jealousy, enough to let him look down on those fat, rusty, broken bodies they carried around.
But now? All of it was gone, reduced to nothing, reset to zero. He clicked his tongue—"Tch." But strangely… he wasn't that bothered.
After spending a month in this new body, he had realized something: this body had far greater potential than his old one—far greater.
A faint grin appeared on his face.
"To survive in the Night World… and become a strong Exorcist…"
He pushed his body harder, stretching deeper this time, his muscles trembling slightly as he raised one finger. "One must have—a strong body." A brief pause followed before he added, "A body with a solid foundation."
Without it, enduring the environment of the Night World was impossible.
That place was filled with malice, with pressure, with things that could crush a human just by existing.
"And without a proper body… you can't even use higher techniques."
He raised another finger. "—a strong soul." His voice lowered slightly as he added, "A will that can't be shattered."
Without it—even a simple illusion, a whisper, a fear-inducing presence would be enough to break someone completely, turn them into a trembling mess… or worse—a puppet.
"And finally…" he raised a third finger. "—a sharp mind." A faint, dangerous grin spread across his face as he added, "A mind that can make the right decision in an instant." Because in that world, one wrong choice, one second of hesitation—meant death.
He lowered his hand. "I have no problem with the mind." His experience alone was enough to handle that.
"And the body…" he stretched his arms again, his joints cracking slightly, "I can train it." Even if it was trash right now—he'd force it to become useful.
"But…" his expression darkened. "There's still one problem." His hand slowly moved to his chest.
"My soul…" It felt off—damaged, weak, unstable. "Even minor attacks that target the soul or mind…" a brief pause, "…could kill me." That was bad. Very bad. For a moment, silence lingered.
Then—"Phew…" he let out a deep breath, stopping his stretches. "I'll deal with that later."
There were more immediate problems—more urgent ones. His gaze sharpened. "First…" he clenched his fist tightly, "let's fix this piece of shit body of mine." His grip tightened further, veins slightly bulging.
"I'll turn this useless trash…" A small, dangerous smile formed. "…into something at least worth using."
---
BRRRRRT!!!
BRRRRRT!!!
BRRRRRT!!!
The sharp sound of an alarm rang from his phone—the first thing he heard in the morning. It was different from his past life, where he was used to waking up to someone trying to mess with him or the sounds of war breaking out.
He glanced at the time—4:10 AM.
"WHAT!? It's already 4:10!?"
"I'm late—!"
He jumped off the bed in a hurry, moving like he had just missed a train.
How the hell did I sleep like that…?
At that moment, he was already comparing himself to a lazy pig—just because he woke up a little later than scheduled. It bothered him. His perfectly planned day… could get ruined because of this.
"Tch." He quickly threw on his clothes, slipping into his shoes without wasting a second.
BANG!!
He smashed the door open in a rush and stepped out. The hallway was quiet. Somehow, his master was still fast asleep—like a lazy cat.
…But who could blame her? She worked overtime just to feed both of them.For a brief second, his gaze softened.
Then it hardened again as he stepped outside into the darkness; the sun hadn't risen yet, and at this hour, most people were still deep in sleep.
But for Noct—this was the perfect time to train. He had woken up this early for one reason only: to push this body to its limits.
He stretched lightly, rolling his shoulders and loosening his joints. "Let's start with… 10 km." A confident smile appeared on his face—…maybe a little too confident.
---
"Huff… huff…" his breathing turned rough far too quickly. "Okay… I overestimated this body…"
After just 500 meters, his legs were already burning, his lungs screaming for air. This pathetic body couldn't keep up. He had expected far more than what it could handle.
That—was a mistake. A big one. And he would pay the price for it.
"…This should be enough…" his vision blurred slightly, the world tilting as if it might collapse along with him, his body feeling like it would give out at any second.
And yet—he kept moving. Step. Step. Step. Each one heavier than the last.
He forced himself forward, dragging his own weight like a burden—another 100 meters, another 50, another—he lost count. Still, he didn't stop, not yet, not until—finally—he staggered into a nearby park.
He slowed down, then stopped completely. "Haa… haa…" his chest rose and fell violently, his breath ragged and uneven, sweat dripping down his face and sliding along his jaw before falling to the ground; his legs trembled, his arms felt numb—everything hurt.
"…Pathetic…" he muttered under his breath. But—a faint smile appeared, not of satisfaction, not yet… but something close to it.
"Good…" at least now—he knew exactly where he stood.
He sat on a nearby bench for a few minutes before getting up again—but this time, not for running anymore.
He checked his phone. It was already 5:00 AM.
"Damn… it's already time," he murmured under his breath as he quickly got up, ready to leave.
He took a path—but it wasn't the one he had come from.
It led somewhere else.