Three weeks later.
The morning air nipped at his skin as sweat trickled down his jaw. Lyonel let out a heavy breath, finishing his last set of push-ups before collapsing onto the cold floorboards.
His heart raced, but this time it was different there was a rhythm, a sense of control. Each beat felt more steady, more powerful.
He pushed himself up and wiped his face with a towel, his breathing calm. No gasping, no collapsing, no shaky arms. Just a satisfying kind of exhaustion.
Standing up, he made his way to the mirror in the corner of the room. For a long moment, he simply gazed at the reflection looking back at him.
The boy in the mirror was no longer the fragile kid he used to be. His arms weren't huge, but there was definition now subtle lines where softness once was. His shoulders appeared broader, and his posture was more confident.
His eyes, once dull and distant, now sparkled with a hint of focus.
A small smile began to form on his lips.
"Even if it's just small changes…" he murmured, brushing his white hair back. "It's still something."
He rolled his shoulders, feeling a light crack echo through his bones.
There was a warmth spreading through his limbs not just the physical heat from training, but something deeper. A pulse. A rhythm beneath his skin that responded to his will.
A gentle knock broke the peaceful flow of his thoughts.
Lyonel turned to the door, still catching his breath from his training session. "Come in," he called out.
The door swung open, and Tario stepped in, carrying a glass tray with a chilled cup sparkling in the morning light. "Good morning, Young Master," he said, his voice polite yet a bit distant. "Here's the juice mixture you asked for."
Lyonel nodded slightly in appreciation as he reached for his shirt, pulling it over his still-damp skin. "Perfect timing, Tario."
He took a sip from the glass sweet, with a hint of citrus and a touch of bitterness. Just the way he liked it.
But before he could set it down, Tario spoke again. "Someone returned today."
Lyonel paused mid-sip, raising an eyebrow. "Someone?" he asked, curiosity piqued. "Who?"
Before Tario could respond, the door opened once more. A young maid, possibly his age or a bit younger, stepped in with a bright smile that lit up the dim room.
Her auburn hair was neatly tied back, and her uniform looked freshly pressed, though the way she clutched her apron suggested a mix of excitement and nerves.
"Good morning, Young Master!" she greeted cheerfully, giving a slight bow.
Lyonel blinked, tilting his head. "...And you are?"
Tario's eyes widened in surprise. "Young Master, that's a bit rude," he said quickly, glancing at the girl. "This is Estie Steyn. She used to serve you before she left. She went home for a while due to a family matter."
Estie chuckled softly, waving her hand as if to dismiss the awkwardness. "It's alright, Tario. I was gone for quite some time it's understandable he doesn't remember me."
Lyonel studied her for a moment. Her smile was warm, her eyes bright—a refreshing sight in this mansion often filled with cold formality. "Estie Steyn…" he repeated quietly, as if savoring the name. "I see. Welcome back, then."
Her smile grew a little wider. "Thank you, Young Master. It's wonderful to be back."
Meanwhile, Tario crossed his arms, watching the exchange with a mix of disbelief and amusement.
Lyonel sank back into his chair, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion settle into his muscles. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting delicate stripes of gold across the floor.
"Tario, Estie," he said, his voice steady yet authoritative. "You can head out for now. I'll call you when I need you."
They both nodded slightly before making their exit. The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt thick, almost stifling.
Lyonel let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he gazed at the faint reflection of himself in the window. "Three weeks," he murmured. "Three weeks of this same routine…"
His gaze shifted to the gloves resting on the table. "By now," he continued quietly, "someone should've picked up on it."
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. "If I'm right, every move in this mansion is being watched in one way or another. Especially mine."
A wry smile tugged at his lips. "So if my training hasn't slipped under the radar… it's likely already been reported to him."
The air felt heavier as he spoke the unspoken name that lingered in his thoughts.
"My father," he muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Let's see how long it takes him to make a move."
He leaned back again, a flicker of anticipation crossing his face. Whether it was fear or excitement, even he couldn't quite tell.
Lyonel leaned forward, fingers intertwined as his mind began to churn once more.
"Three weeks of training," he whispered to himself. "And not just the physical stuff."
In those quiet mornings before dawn, he had practiced in secret sword in hand, sweat dripping onto the cold stone floors of the back courtyard. Each swing, each stance was a challenge against himself. But it still wasn't enough.
"Max still can't stand me," he sighed softly. "Can't say I blame him. Hitting him out of instinct probably didn't help my case."
He chuckled quietly, but the sound felt empty. "So no training from him. Looks like I've been my own teacher all along."
His gaze wandered to the sword leaning against the wall, a curious blend of katana and chokutō, its steel glinting softly in the dim light like a quiet promise waiting to be fulfilled.
Then a chilling thought pierced through his mind. "Right… it's almost time."
He shut his eyes, sifting through memories that weren't really his but felt achingly authentic.
"In a month, the first test kicks off. The Aristeo family's so-called trial of worth." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We'll all be thrown into the Forêt d'Argenciennes… the forest they found, claimed, and twisted into their own personal hunting ground."
Images flashed before him beasts slinking through the mist, gnarled trees murmuring in the shadows, the faint metallic scent of blood that lingered even in the daylight.
"Two weeks," he murmured. "Two weeks to kill, survive, or die trying."
A slow smirk crept onto his lips, though his eyes remained icy. "Guess that'll be my real test, won't it?"
He rose, stretching his arms. "Let's find out what kind of monster I'll need to become to make it out of that forest alive."