Lucian woke to the unfamiliar texture of a lumpy pillow. He sat up, groaning as his heavy body protested. The time for relaxation was over.
He moved with a speed that belied his size. A quick wash in the basin, a ruffled comb through his golden hair, and he was tugging on fresh clothes. The fabric still felt too tight across his chest and hips, a constant reminder of the form he inhabited. As he fastened the final button on his shirt, a blue light filled the room.
[Building strength is the priority.]
Lucian froze, his hand hovering over his waist. "You…," he muttered aloud, his voice rough with sleep. He hadn't seen the interface since the mine. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
The system didn't offer an apology. Its response was immediate. [The vessel remains suboptimal. Fat is dead weight. You must eliminate it to proceed.]
Lucian frowned, grabbing his boots from the floor. "Are you getting impatient?" he asked, shoving his foot into the leather. "Is there a deadline I don't know about?"
A pause, then: [Correct. Matters of significance await discussion. However, dialogue is restricted until you unlock the next tier of the interface.]
He yanked the laces tight. "And the key to that tier remain the same?"
[Exact. Meeting the criteria. In this context, the criteria is biological optimization. This body must meet a minimum standard of efficiency.]
Lucian straightened up, "I've been starving myself," he stated, a plan forming as he spoke. "No sugars, no heavy meats. If I keep this up, this fat should be gone by the end of the month. Then, once I'm lean, I can start building actual muscle. Strength from there. That's the path."
The system fell silent.
Lucian didn't wait for further commentary. He walked to the door, the hinges creaking as he pulled it open. The hallway outside was empty, the house quiet save for the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchens. His father was due back today. He had to be ready.
He stepped out of the room, the crack of the door closing behind him marking the start of another day's grim, necessary work.
The courtyard air was crisp, contrasting the stifling atmosphere of the manor's interior. Lucian found Yelena waiting by an old oak tree, her posture rigid and her expression set in its usual mask of indifference. As he approached, her eyes tracked him with precision.
"You're late," she stated, her voice devoid of warmth.
Lucian slowed, "I needed to settle things in my room." He looked her over, noting the absence of any practice weapons. "So, what's on the agenda today? More swordplay? Perhaps some footwork?"
Yelena took a single step forward, closing the distance with a silent movement. "Your previous training was insufficient for your goal. An hour a day is a leisurely stroll through a field of thistles." She crossed her arms, her gaze hardening. "If you truly wish to shed that fat and become something capable of survival, you require proper conditioning. I have taken it upon myself to ensure you receive it."
Lucian's brow furrowed. "Proper conditioning? And what does that entail, exactly?" He gestured to the empty courtyard. "Are we going to run laps? Lift stones perhaps?"
"How hard do you believe it will be?" Yelena asked, her tone deceptively calm.
Before Lucian could answer, a stone the size of a man's fist whistled past his ear, missing him by inches. It slammed into the stone wall of the manor with a crack, the sound echoing off the ancient façade.
Lucian flinched violently, his heart pounding. He stared at the new impact crater in the wall, then slowly turned his gaze back to the maid. She hadn't moved, her hands now free.
"Your father, Master Hildebrand," Yelena announced, her voice dropping to a low, predatory drawl, "is scheduled to return to the manor in five hours. Until that moment, my objective is simple." She tilted her head, a cold light entering her eyes. "I will hunt you through the grounds. If I catch you, I will beat you. It is an exercise in evasion, in survival. Your goal is to not be caught."
Lucian's mouth went dry. "Hunt me? Yelena, we need to discuss this. There has to be a reasonable alternative. We can talk about-"
Yelena exploded into motion. She didn't run; she launched herself at him. Her hand reached for his collar.
Raw Instinct took over as Lucian didn't had time to think. He spun on his heel and ran. His legs pumped, the unfamiliar weight of his body straining against his will as he bolted across the manicured grass, aiming for the cover of the maze-like gardens, the sound of Yelena's pursuing footsteps already right behind him.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
The library offered sanctuary. Lucian leaned his back against the door, chest heaving from his frantic sprint through the overgrown rose garden. His clothes were soaked with sweat and plastered to his skin. For an hour, he had used every ounce of his remaining agility to weave through corridors and vault over low walls, constantly shifting positions to stay ahead of the relentless maid.
He pushed off the door and limped toward a study table, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the earlier chase. His legs trembled with fatigue. If he could just sit for a minute, catch his breath, gather his thoughts, maybe she would lose his trail. He pulled out a sturdy wooden chair, the creak of the seat echoing loudly in the quiet.
As he lowered himself down, a flash of silver streaked past his ear.
Thwack.
A hunting dagger embedded itself into the leather binding of a history book on the shelf directly behind him. The blade quivered, inches from his head. Adrenaline spiked in his veins. Lucian jerked backward, the chair scraping violently across the stone floor as he twisted his body toward the ceiling.
From the shadowed rafters above, Yelena dropped down. She landed on her feet with a silence that defied gravity, her maid's uniform ruffling softly in the disturbance. She didn't pause. The moment her boots touched the floor, she was already lunging, fingers reaching for his collar.
Lucian scrambled away, his back slamming into the bookshelf. He shoved himself off the wood and bolted through the open doorway into the hallway.
"Are you insane?" he shouted, glancing back over his shoulder. "Why are you so motivated?"
Yelena didn't answer. She simply accelerated, her steps silent on the stone. Lucian scrambled up the main staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His lungs burned, but he pushed harder, adrenaline numbing the ache in his thighs. He turned down the hall toward his room, hearing the rapid pace of her pursuit right at his heels.
He slammed the door shut, the frame groaning under the force. The lock clicked home. A second later, he heard a metallic scratching from the other side. She was picking the lock.
A desperate, fleeting idea sparked in his panic. He rushed to the window, shoving the shutters wide open to the cool air of the second floor. A thick ivy trellis ran down the wall. It was risky, but it was a diversion.
He crouched low, positioned himself directly beside the door, and held his breath. The scratching stopped. The lock clicked.
The door swung inward. Yelena stepped into the room, her head turning immediately toward the open window. She took a single step toward it, her posture alert, assessing the potential escape route. The moment her attention was fully on the window, Lucian struck.
He lunged from his hiding spot, wrapping an arm tight around her neck and squeezing, putting all his weight into a clumsy, desperate chokehold. He tried to drag her down to the floor, his legs bracing. For a split second, he felt the firm muscle of her arm, the heat of her body.
Then, the world spun.
She dropped her center of gravity, hooked her heel behind his ankle, and twisted her hips. Lucian's grip shattered. She reversed his momentum, standing up and pulling him with her. Her hands locked onto his arm and shoulder.
Before he could process the failure, she pivoted and threw him. Not a shove, but a controlled, powerful toss. His body flew through the air, clearing the open window with ease. The last thing he saw was her impassive face.
Lucian crashed into the overgrown azalea bushes two floors below, the branches snapping and cushioning his fall. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the blue sky, winded but surprisingly unhurt.