By the time the others joined, my body had already become familiar with the routine.
That was the first thing I realized as we stood lined up in the training yard, the morning air still cold enough to bite at bare skin. My stance was steady, feet planted where Roosevelt had drilled them to be for months now. I didn't need to think about posture anymore; my back straightened itself, and my shoulders settled into place as naturally as breathing.
The others, on the other hand, were struggling.
Valkyrie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly resisting the urge to fidget. Krystoff stood beside her, wooden sword in hand, trying far too hard to look composed. John stared ahead quietly, as always, eyes unfocused in a way that suggested he was already somewhere else.
Across the yard, separated by a low stone divider, the magic group gathered with far less discipline. Jucelis was already speaking animatedly, gesturing with his hands as if he were explaining something complicated. Nibbo sat cross-legged on the ground, arms folded, unimpressed. Supremo lay on his back, staring at the sky like this was a picnic rather than training. Joen stood a little apart, fingers fidgeting nervously as he watched mana swirl faintly around the instructor's hands.
Roosevelt walked past us slowly, boots crunching against gravel.
"Don't confuse familiarity with mastery," he said, stopping in front of me. "Especially you, young lord."
I met his gaze without flinching.
"Yes, sir."
His eyes lingered on me longer than on the others. I could feel the unspoken expectation. I wasn't being trained like them. I was being refined.
When the drills began, the difference became obvious almost immediately.
Valkyrie winced as her arms trembled under the weight of repetition. Krystoff gritted his teeth, stubbornly refusing to lower his sword even when his form faltered. John followed instructions flawlessly, but his movements lacked strength, like he was memorizing shapes rather than understanding intent.
And me?
Roosevelt corrected me less, but when he did, it was harsher.
"Again."
I swung.
"Lower your center."
Again.
"Too slow."
Again.
Each strike sent a dull ache through my shoulders, a familiar burn spreading through muscles that had already learned this pain. Not the pain of injurybut of change. Of fibers tearing just enough to rebuild stronger. My body understood now, even if my mind still protested.
I remembered Roosevelt's words from weeks ago.
The pain is your body learning the rules of survival.
On the magic side, things were no easier.
A burst of fire flared too wide, forcing Jucelis to stumble back. Water pooled at Nibbo's feet instead of forming the sphere he intended, earning him a sharp click of the tongue. Wind slipped out of Joen's control entirely, knocking Supremo flat on his face.
Supremo laughed.
"Worth it."
By midday, everyone was exhausted.
We collapsed under the shade of the outer wall, sweat-soaked and aching. Someone… probably Valkyrie… started the argument.
"So," she said, crossing her arms, "who do you think wins in a real fight? Swords or magic?"
Krystoff scoffed. "You're joking, right?"
Nibbo raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy whose weapon can be slapped out of his hands."
"That's why you don't let it get slapped out," Krystoff shot back.
Supremo rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one arm. "Power decides everything."
Jucelis tilted his head. "That's vague."
Supremo grinned. "Give a man power, and only then you'll see who he truly is."
There was a pause.
Joen blinked. "What does that mean?"
Supremo hesitated. "…I don't know. It just sounded cool."
Laughter broke out, light and genuine, cutting through the exhaustion like sunlight. Even Nibbo cracked a reluctant smile.
I laughed too before realizing how rare that felt.
Roosevelt appeared behind us like a shadow.
"This," he said flatly, "was meant to be punishment."
We froze.
He stared at us for a long moment, then sighed. "Get up. We're eating."
The inn smelled like warmth and bread and something simmering with herbs. Krystoff and Valkyrie's stepmother greeted us with a knowing smile, already setting plates down as if she'd expected us.
Stories followed. Old pranks. Near disasters. Things that almost went wrong.
Roosevelt listened, arms crossed, expression unreadable, until he snorted.
"Maybe," he said, "I should've made the punishment harsher."
That only made the laughter louder.
As I sat there, listening, something settled quietly in my chest.
In my previous life, I had friends. Two, to be exact. But moments like this, shared exhaustion, careless laughter, warmth earned rather than given, I'd never really had them.
I thought of home. Of what I'd lost.
And of what I had now.
This world was cruel. Complicated. Filled with power that could twist people into monsters if they weren't careful. I didn't know what awaited me, what secrets, what wars, what choices.
But I knew this much.
I wanted to be strong.
Strong enough to protect this.
Strong enough not to lose it.
As the noise of the inn faded into comfortable chaos, I wondered quietly, honestly, what the future had prepared for me.