Chapter 44: Pretend Training
Kael lay motionless, the fabric beneath his cheek damp and cool. Water soaked through the pillow, clinging to his skin and hair like the memory of a slap. His thoughts were foggy. "I didn't think she'd actually throw water at me. Can't I just sleep a little more? " A groan slipped from his lips. "I just want to sleep more."
For a moment, the wet pillow tempted him. He could pretend it was dry. Pretend his body wasn't stiff from being yanked out of sleep. Pretend the cold soaking into his scalp wasn't real. But then he sighed and sat upright, slouching at the edge of the bed. His eyes were pale and lifeless, dulled by exhaustion—as if he hadn't slept at all.
He stretched, slowly, pulling the pillow over and pressing it against his hips, curling around it like a child clinging to a dream. Then, abruptly, he stood up again and shook his head, trying to chase away the sleep dragging at his limbs.
"Do I really have to train?" he mumbled to the still air.
Then a memory surfaced—her expression cold, sharp, unforgiving. "Be fresh by the time I finish my strength training," she had said. He hadn't known what she meant by finish. A minute? Ten?
This time, Kael didn't hesitate. He shook his head with a firm exhale, as if brushing away the last thread of weakness, and stood tall. As he walked toward the door, he paused once more and looked back at the bed. "I just want to sleep…" he whispered to himself before stepping out.
---
Meanwhile...
Outside the mansion, the air was still. The earth had not yet warmed. The sky was cloaked in a dim grey-blue, just enough light for shadows to exist. The sun remained a whisper behind the horizon.
Seraphina stood alone.
To the left of the mansion sprawled a vast garden, but its beauty was subdued and practical. A few flowers bloomed in rebellion near the borders, but most of the space had been stripped down to form a training ground. Flat, clean, and vast—designed not for peace, but purpose.
She stood in silence, the breath of morning wind brushing against her.
She wore a shirt-style suit that extended down to her thighs, paired with obsidian-black pants—form-fitting only where it mattered. It was a one-piece tactical combat suit, crafted from high-performance fibers designed for elite warriors. From neck to ankle, it clung with precise intent—snug at the wrists, ankles, and collar, yet slightly looser around the chest, abdomen, and thighs to ensure unrestricted movement. Subtle reinforcements at the shoulders and knees added protection without weight, allowing her speed and fluidity to remain effortlessly unhindered.
Wrist loops secured the ends of her long sleeves as she tugged them into place, locking her arms in a flexible seal before pulling on her black gloves. At her hip hung a sword—longer and heavier than the one she typically carried. The weight was deliberate. This blade wasn't meant for combat. It was a tool for discipline.
She walked, slow and controlled, toward the center of the field.
Then, with a breath, she stopped.
Her right hand wrapped around the hilt, drawing the heavy blade with a hiss of steel. Cold mist hung low to the ground. Wind sighed past her—then died.
She moved.
Feet shifted first—left foot forward, right sliding back. Her body dipped, lowering her stance. Arms rose, the blade held horizontally before her at shoulder level. Muscles coiled and snapped into place like a predator ready to strike.
And then—
Slash!
The blade cut through the air in a wide arc, sharp enough to hum. Her left foot pivoted, her hips followed.
Another Slash! Then another.
Slash! Slash!
She began to turn, each rotation smooth as a wheel of silk. Her steps were a dance. Not a performance, but a ritual. Her movements were precise, practiced. She didn't just swing her sword—she guided it, like a master sculptor tracing the outline of something invisible.
She lunged, twisted, fell low to the ground only to rise again in one breathless motion, the blade spinning in her hand before locking into place. Her body moved like water in a storm—controlled chaos, restrained elegance. The weighted sword did not slow her—it disciplined her. Every misstep would cost control. Every correct motion carved deeper into muscle memory.
A turn. A leap. A slash at shoulder height, followed by a downward arc that kissed the air near her knees.
The training ground rang with the sharp whistle of steel. Her breathing deepened. The sweat began to break across her brow, trailing down her neck into the collar of her suit. But she did not stop.
Time blurred.
Her muscles burned, but her eyes remained calm. Her expression serene. She could feel the wind shift slightly as the sun began to rise, painting a faint golden line across the wall at the far end.
Then—she stopped.
The sword dropped, its tip gently pressing into the earth. Her stance remained upright, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Beads of sweat glistened at her temple, rolling down her jawline.
She sensed him.
Without turning her head, Seraphina knew Kael had arrived. She could feel his hesitant presence standing just outside the training grounds, caught between sleep and expectation.
But she said nothing. She remained still, like a blade at rest—silent, but always ready.
Then Kael stepped out into the morning mist, his body still heavy with sleep, dragging each foot like it weighed a ton. The garden air was cool against his face, a soft breeze brushing past the mansion grounds. The sky had begun to soften with the first hints of morning light, streaks of pale gold brushing against the lingering hues of ash-blue and violet.
"Good morning, honey," he said, stretching both arms wide, then lazily letting one arm dangle over the other behind his head. "Did you miss me while I was sleeping?"
No reply.
He blinked, frowned slightly. "Wow. Not even a glance? That cold shoulder of yours is gonna freeze the sun one day."
Still nothing. She was too focused, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Do I really have to wake up this early?" he muttered, then added, louder, "I mean, I know you want me to become stronger, but maybe I'd get stronger in my dreams, yeah? What do you think?"
Seraphina didn't even turn.
"Shut up." she answered simply, her voice sharp and clipped like a blade pulled halfway from its sheath. "I don't want to hear to your lazy complains. Take this seriously. You have to become stronger. No matter what."
Kael shuffled toward her, dragging his slippers across the grass with melodramatic exaggeration. "Have to, huh?" he repeated. "You know, I wouldn't complain if I could've just stayed curled up under that wet pillow for a few more hours. That would've been a blessing, honey."
"Alright. You can sleep," she replied coldly, still not facing him. Her sword was resting lazily in one hand, the tip gently pressing against the earth. "If you complete your training and pass. Otherwise, dream about rest."
Kael clutched his chest in mock pain. "That's not what I was asking for, honey... That's emotional violence."
Still no reaction. She was like stone—elegant, silent, and unmovable.
Now, he stepped beside her, standing just a bit too close, trying to peek at her expression from the corner of his eye. "So, what should I start with?" He smiled innocently. "Though I must say, the way you train—it looked like a dance. I couldn't even follow your movements. But It was beautiful."
"Of course you couldn't see it, loser." she said without missing a beat. "Your eyes are too slow. If you want to reach there, you'll have to practice much harder."
Kael sighed deeply. "I know. I know. But I'm not some prodigy like you." His tone dropped to a whisper, "I'm just a humble man, burdened with the curse of mediocrity..."
"Spare me the theatrics," she said, eyes finally flickering toward him. "You're awake now. That's enough for today's miracle."
"I exist to impress you, darling." he said, placing a hand over his heart with exaggerated passion. "And perhaps… to annoy you a little."
She didn't argue. Instead, her eyes swept over him, cold and calculating. "Then let's begin your training."
Kael nodded, ready to ask what to do—but her next words caught him completely off guard.
"First, undress."
His eyes widened, and for a moment, his body froze.
"I—what?" he gasped. "What did you just say?"
She stepped to his side, then pivoted gracefully across to face him directly. Her stance was calm, her tone deadly calm.
"Do I have to repeat myself?"
Kael instantly threw his hands over his chest like a scandalized maiden. "No! You can't do this! You can't take advantage of a weak, innocent boy! It's wrong! So wrong! I knew it —You had bad intentions from the start!" A pause. "I thought you were a noble knight, but clearly, you're a wolf in armor! A predator of the morning sun!"
Her response was silence. Then, a sudden flick.
A line of cold steel kissed his neck. Just enough to draw a drop of blood, nothing more.
"Undress," she said again. "And stop embarrassing yourself. It's so disgusting."
Kael swallowed. "You wound me, my Queen. Not just in the neck—but in my heart too."
She stepped back, arms crossed now, eyes like frost over still water. "Now, I am not your wife," she said firmly. "Here, I'm your master. Obey. Or go to hell."
"Yes, ma'am..." he muttered, defeated. Slowly, his hands lowered to the buttons of his shirt, and he began to undo them one by one. His fingers trembled—not from fear, but from sheer, burning embarrassment. "You know, this is probably the most intimate moment of our marriage so far."
"Don't flatter yourself," she replied.
He stole a glance at her, hoping for even a flicker of bashfulness. But she stood there, composed, unaffected. Cold.
"You're not even a little embarrassed?" he asked.
"No," she replied.
Kael frowned, lips pursed. "You've done this kind of thing a lot, haven't you?"
She didn't answer.
"Do you just ask every man to undress in the morning for training?" he teased, voice laced with playfulness—though his fingers betrayed him, clutching the button so tightly it trembled.
Still nothing.
"Seriously," he said, voice softer now, almost uncertain,"Sometimes I wonder if you even want to be with me."
Her eyes shifted—just barely. She looked at him for a moment longer than she should have. Then, as his blush deepened, she quickly looked away.
"...Hurry up," she said, quieter this time. "We don't have all morning."
Kael blinked. Just that tiny hesitation from her—it was enough to make his heart skip.
"Right..." he said, tugging his shirt off the rest of the way and letting it fall to the grass. "I'm ready, Master. But only because your cold indifference is oddly attractive. You have my whole body, now. Do whatever you want, honey?"
She said nothing. But she didn't look away this time.
And Kael couldn't help but think, just maybe, she wasn't as indifferent as she wanted to seem.
Still, she had expected something different—something fragile. Maybe a bony, malnourished figure.
Instead, what she saw was… confusing.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed as she stood silently. Her eyes scanned his medium build. Not too lean, not bulky. He wasn't pale like she expected—just lightly toned, as though kissed by the sun in passing. His stomach was flat but not sculpted. No defined six-pack, yet not soft either. A strange middle ground. His chest wasn't broad, but it held just enough strength to look reliable. His arms were similar—muscles that hinted at work rather than fighting. It was a body that should've been unimpressive. But it wasn't.
"Where are the scars?" she thought, brows knitting ever so slightly. "He fought monsters, didn't he? Or did he just run from them?" Her gaze trailed over his bare torso. "No signs of trauma. No hardened muscles... this isn't the body of an adventurer. This isn't even the body of a man."
And yet—She found herself staring.
The gentle curve of his collarbone. The way his form blended softness and subtle muscle like brushstrokes on a canvas. Not sculpted, not fragile. Just... strange. Balanced. Like his body walked the tightrope between contradiction and beauty.
"T-this isn't right," she whispered under her breath, face heating. "H-he doesn't even have a proper man's body! So why does my stupid heart… ache like this?"
She clenched her fists at her sides. "N-no, no way. It's not like that! I-it must be because this is the first time I've seen a guy's body up close! Yeah, that's all! Just a dumb biological reaction or something! Idiot!"
Kael looked away, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. His arms crossed in front of his chest, more instinct than modesty.
"Stop staring," he muttered with dramatic flair, the grin curling on his lips betraying his amusement. "If you wanted to see me naked, you could've just said so, darling."
Seraphina didn't respond. Not with words, anyway. But her ears twitched. Just barely.
Cold as ice, she said, "I was expecting the body of a child. Thin. Bony. Something I could break with a finger. What I got instead... looks like someone who runs a lot but has never once fought back."
Kael's smirk deepened. Her words should've stung, but they didn't. Not really. "Oh? Are you disappointed? Or impressed?"
"Neither," she answered, voice flat. "Just... confused. You have no real definition. No scars. No manly edge. Yet you're not weak either. Your body—it's like it couldn't decide what to be."
"That's the charm," he said, sweeping into a theatrical bow. "A perfect fifty-fifty. Half strength, half softness. A balance no one can imitate. A body born for mystery."
"You don't even hear yourself," she muttered. "Do you know how pathetic you sound right now?"
"That hurts," he said, unbothered. The grin remained. "So you were hoping to see me shirtless all along."
She rolled her eyes. "Why would I? You don't even have a man's body."
"Oh?" He stepped in, voice low. "And what does your ideal man's body look like?"
She didn't blink. "One that doesn't flinch when I draw a sword." A pause. Then—
"Now shut up and hold your arms out. Straight. Parallel."
"Yes, ma'am." He obeyed with mock sincerity, arms lifting.
She stepped closer. Close enough for her breath to brush against his skin. He could smell faint iron from her gloves, the cool scent of her uniform—like steel left out in the morning air.
He shifted slightly.
"I said don't move," she said, barely above a whisper.
"Yes. Not moving," he said quickly. "Just standing here. Shirtless. With my wife inspecting me like I'm a new sword she's already disappointed in."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she tugged her glove tighter with a single, sharp motion. Then raised her hand—silent, deliberate—and reached for him.
Kael's thoughts spun. "She's touching me. She's actually touching me. Please don't use your actual hands, please don't—thanks, gloves." He flinched—just barely—but held his stance.
Her gloved fingers met his skin. At his waist.
She didn't grip. Just rested there. Then moved. Light pressure. A slow trace across his side, following the shape of him with silent, clinical detachment.
Her fingers paused. Then slid again. Almost thoughtful. "I'm glad I wore these gloves," she thought. Her mouth was dry. "If I had touched him directly, I... no. That would be ridiculous."
Then she circled his waist. Her movements were unhurried, deliberate. Each inch of skin she measured sent information through the thin layer of leather to her fingertips. She moved higher, tracing the faint muscle over his stomach. Then, slowly, she shifted her hand to the opposite side, repeating the path. Her fingers pressed again—this time with just a bit more weight—mapping his form with meticulous precision.
"This muscle tone…" her thoughts spiraled. "It's maddening. No extremes. Not hardened like an adventurer. Not soft like a civilian. It's like… some strange, pure balance. Every time I press, it returns the same resistance. Even his sides. His core… it's stable. Steady. Not perfect for strength. Not perfect for agility. But equally good at both."
Her brows furrowed slightly. "This kind of balanced body shouldn't possible for someone like him."
Kael said nothing now. But his eyes, flicking subtly to the side, sparkled with mischief. "She's touching me like I'm a weapon. Cold. Focused. But if she weren't so cold, I'd think she was for those things."
Her hand drifted up, fingers trailing across his chest. They moved with care—each touch light, each press exact. His chest rose and fell beneath her palm, quiet and calm, but not unaffected.
The breath in Kael's lungs stuttered—just for a second.
"She's touching my chest. Calm down. It's fine. She's just examining me. Like a cold-hearted sword master... who happens to be my wife... who definitely hates me... and definitely shouldn't be this close."
To her, the texture under her gloves was foreign—neither the hard muscle of an adventurer, nor the soft flesh of someone who'd never lifted a blade. It was something in between.
"It's frustrating," she admitted to herself. "His body isn't made for anything. But it could do everything. It's adaptable. Like… it's waiting to be shaped by something greater. Maybe… me?"
Her jaw tightened. Then she cursed under her breath.
Kael couldn't hold it anymore. "Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?"
She froze mid-touch, then snapped her hand back like she'd been burned. Her eyes darted to the side.
"…Your body's a mess," she said sharply. "Inconsistent. Like you."
Kael stretched ever so slightly—just enough to shift the muscle under his skin. The faint movement was teasing, effortless.
"Didn't seem like you minded touching it," he said with a slow grin. "Maybe I should remove the pants too. For better inspection? Though… I didn't wear underwear."
Silence.
A heartbeat.
Then her voice, flat and sharp, pierced the tension. "If you're not wearing underwear, keep them on. I've suffered enough for one day."
Kael chuckled—soft and low. "Aw, come on. What happened to professional training?"
"Stand still," she snapped. Her tone dropped lower, more dangerous. "Next time you move, I'll stab you."
He raised his brows, amused. "Romantic. This is exactly how I imagined married life."
She turned her back to him, shoulders tense—more than she'd like to admit. A flush rose quietly up her neck.
"Why do I feel this way?" she wondered. "He's just a task. Just a responsibility. But his presence… his voice… it's too much. This shouldn't matter. His body shouldn't matter. He shouldn't matter."
But he did.
Then she turned toward him once more and moved behind him. Her footsteps were no more than a whisper against the ground, each step barely disturbing the stillness. A faint breeze stirred, and a stray beam of sunlight slipped through the gaps in the tree canopy, catching in her silver hair. It shimmered as she moved, casting a subtle glow in the quiet space between them. Then the wind swept through, lifting her hair as it caught the sunlight, turning it into strands of light dancing in the air.
Kael's instinct urged him to glance back—to look, to speak, to say something—but before he could move, her voice cut through the air.
"Don't turn," Seraphina said. Cold. Firm. "And don't move either."
He froze.
"…Yes, ma'am," he murmured at last, voice colored with a smile he didn't bother hiding. "You're so loving when you speak like that. Really makes me feel like your husband, you know?"
She didn't respond. Typical.
Then her gloved hands touched his back.
It wasn't sudden. It was measured. Purposeful. Her fingers started at the top of his shoulder blades and flowed downward, brushing with a smoothness that didn't match her cold nature.
He gulped silently.
The feeling was strange—detached yet… oddly precise. Her gloves were thin but tight, and he could still feel the pressure, the shape of her fingers, the rhythm in which she moved.
She swept slowly across his shoulder line. The slope was gentle, neither broad nor slim. A textbook average. His back muscles tensed slightly under her touch—not because of strength, but nerves.
"Stop fidgeting," she muttered.
"I'm not fidgeting. You're just… very cold," he replied. "Physically and emotionally."
Still no reply.
Her hand trailed downward, tracing along his spine now, gloved fingers tapping gently as she felt every line, every dip, every subtle unevenness.
Kael closed his eyes.
"Why does it feel like she's reading me like a book? Just say I'm a 'D-rank build' and be done with it…"
But the thoughts wouldn't stop.
"How would it feel if she wasn't wearing gloves? Would her fingers be soft? Warm? No, wait—what the hell am I thinking?"
He shook his head slightly.
"What the hell is wrong with me? It's her fault. Always glaring, always stabbing, always—touching now? My mind is messed up. I'm messed up."
Meanwhile, Seraphina's mind wasn't silent either.
"This… isn't right. It shouldn't feel this balanced." Her gloved hand slid across his lower back. Not soft. Not rough. No scar tissue. No overdevelopment. No underdevelopment. Just a perfectly inconvenient balance. Half of his back has the muscle tone of someone who runs daily, the other half… like someone who sleeps fourteen hours a day.
She narrowed her eyes.
"It doesn't even make sense. This kind of symmetry—it shouldn't exist. He's not a adventurer. He's not a slacker either. It's like his body refuses to pick a side."
She gently pressed on one side of his back, then the other, comparing.
"How is this real?"
"I feel judged," Kael said with a dramatic groan. "Deeply. Personally. Soulfully."
"You are," she replied coldly.
He smirked. "Well, if your hands were a bit warmer, maybe I wouldn't feel so exposed."
"Shut up."
She pulled her hands away at last and stepped around to face him, folding her arms. "You can wear your shirt now."
Kael exhaled loudly as if he'd been held at swordpoint. "Finally. I can breathe."
He reached for the shirt, slipping it over his head slowly, taking his time just to annoy her. "Was the inspection to your liking, my lady? Or should I do a little twirl next time?"
She didn't answer. Her gaze was distant now.
"Honey?" he said, frowning. "Everything okay?"
Finally, Seraphina looked at him again and asked, slowly and suspiciously, "Now… do you know what kind of attribute you have?"
Kael rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes darting around like a nervous rabbit. He gave her a sheepish smile but said nothing.
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "What? Don't you know?" she asked again, a sharp edge creeping into her tone.
Kael glanced sideways. "My attribute, huh? Well, actually—"
He trailed off, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to scratch his head or sprint for his life.
Seraphina leaned in slightly. "What?" she pressed, her voice calm, but an invisible aura of danger began to seep out around her like fog.
Kael raised a hand defensively, as if to block a slap that hadn't come—yet. "Actually, honey… You won't get mad, right? Promise me."
Seraphina blinked. "Why would I get mad at your attribute? What, don't you have one?" She gave a light laugh. "Even then, I won't be mad. You can tell me."
Kael muttered something under his breath that resembled a prayer and sighed. "It's actually… actually…" He swallowed. "I have to tell her anyway."
Then, with no dramatic flair—just pure resignation—he said, "Healing magic."
Dead silence.
Seraphina blinked once. Then again. Then her entire expression shifted like a snowstorm rolling in.
"Healing magic, huh?" she echoed softly, tasting the words.
Realization clicked in her eyes. Slowly, they sharpened, turning cold enough to freeze fire. She whispered, dangerously, "Hey loser."
"Yes, honey," he replied, voice trembling with a hint of hope and a bucketload of fear.
"Is it actually true that you have healing magic?" she asked, smiling sweetly—a smile that could make the bravest knight cry for his mother.
"Yes, honey. I wanted to tell you but—"
"You scoundrel."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
Kael instinctively stepped back.
Shing!
Her sword appeared—resting lightly against his neck like an affectionate cat that might bite.
"So tell me…" she began, voice flat, "these past three years—every time you came crawling in with bruises, wrapped in bandages, looking like you got mauled by a goblin…"
Kael said nothing. He stared into the distance, as if praying a wyvern might swoop down and rescue—or devour—him.
"You mean to tell me… all of that… was fake?" she continued.
Still no answer.
She clenched her fist. "You bastard."
"Wait, hey, I can explain—"
"Oh no, I'm sure you can explain," she cut in, voice rising now, "Like maybe you'll say: 'I just wanted your attention, honey.' Or, 'Oh, I thought if I healed myself, you'd think I was a wimp.' Or better yet, 'I tripped down the stairs and accidentally wrapped myself in bandages for emotional support!'"
Kael opened his mouth.
"Silence," she snapped. "I can already hear the lies forming. Do you know how many potions I wasted thinking you were dying every other weekend?"
"I appreciate the effort—"
"Do you have any idea how much I was worr—"
She stopped.
"Worried?" her mind echoed. "Was I… worried about him? No. That can't be right."
She shook the thought away. "It's a wife's duty to know if her husband's okay. That's all. Yeah… I did it for him."
Kael cautiously looked at her.
Kael blinked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she snapped. "And stop looking at me like that."
Kael chuckled nervously. "So, uh… we're just going to ignore how violently you reacted to healing magic?"
Seraphina breathed in slowly, eyes still cold. "Whatever. It's pathetic, but fine. You lied. You're a coward. But whatever."
Then she turned back to him and asked, like a viper wrapping around its prey,
"…So. What rank are you?"
Kael went pale. "Ah. That's… a funny story—"
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Please. Make me laugh."
"C-rank?" he offered meekly.
She stared. "They call you an E-rank adventurer for a reason, then."
"Well, I didn't exactly advertise my abilities."
"Clearly. Coward."
"Is it wrong I wanted to sleep in and let people think I was weak?"
She rubbed her temple. "Now it all makes sense. Three years as an adventurer and no progress… Of course. You're just a healer. How could you grow stronger when all you can do is heal? That's your limit."
"So… can I go back to bed now?"
"No. You're a healer, yes — but even so, you have the potential to become stronger than you can imagine. Which means you're going to work even harder."
"Again?" he groaned, dragging his feet in imaginary despair. "Why do you hate sleep so much?"
"Because people who slack off never improve."
"Can I improve in dreaming?"
"No."
"Can I heal in my dreams?"
She turned to him, stone-faced. "You'll be healing bruises. On real people. Not your imaginary injuries anymore."
Kael looked up at the sky and sighed dramatically. "Why me? Why her? Why marriage? Who told her I had potential? I want to find that person… and heal them—straight into a coma. Oh, right. She figured it out herself."
Seraphina watched him for a moment, then quietly thought:
"Average muscles. Balanced frame. No scars. No remarkable strength. Just… a perfectly infuriating mystery. You're something else. I knew you had potential the moment I saw you fight that goblin. I should've paid more attention to you. And I still don't understand—why doesn't he act like a healer? Why hide his class? He's keeping something from me."
"Again," Kael groaned, flopping backward like a deflated balloon. "What should I do first, dear master?"
Seraphina crossed her arms, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as she looked down at him like a queen deciding whether a peasant deserved to breathe.
"Let me think…" she muttered, lifting a finger to her chin with quiet grace. Her gaze drifted up thoughtfully, as if contemplating the stars. But Kael knew—oh, he knew—that this moment of grace was just the calm before the storm.
And the storm came.
"You'll start with five-hundred push-ups," she said calmly, as if reading from a shopping list. "Every morning. No breaks. No mercy."
Kael's jaw dropped open like a trapdoor.
"Wait, five hundred? Five—darling, that's not training! That's a public execution!" He sprang up to his knees dramatically. "Are you trying to kill me in stages?"
"Quiet," she said flatly, not even bothering to look at him. "And after that, you'll run the entire perimeter of this district. Twice."
"Twice?!" he gasped. "That's like… an entire day's worth of cardio. Who even does that? You planning to leave me as a dried husk on the street?!"
She ignored him entirely and continued, calm and cold as moonlight. "Then I'll prepare a large boulder for you to carry during the run. Weight resistance is important."
Kael slapped a hand over his heart. "Boulder?! What, are you trying to recreate some ancient myth?"
"No," she replied, calmly brushing a nonexistent speck from her sleeve. "I just want your body to shift a little."
Kael stood up, dusted off imaginary dirt, and placed a hand dramatically on his hip. "I have a question—have you ever done any of this yourself?"
Seraphina tilted her head and blinked, as if the question confused her. Then she responded in the most infuriating tone imaginable. "No. I didn't need to. My master told me I was perfect from the start."
Kael stared. Just… stared. The silence hung heavy between them. Then—
"Oh, right. I forgot," he muttered, arms falling to his side. "She's a prodigy. A literal ice queen prodigy blessed by the gods, probably born doing push-ups in the womb and slicing monsters before she could crawl."
She raised an eyebrow. "Your sarcasm is noted. Useless, but noted."
Kael clutched his head. "Even so, this stuff—this entire death routine—it's not human. Do I look like a beastkin or an orc to you? Huh? I'm just a humble little C-rank healer with dreams of sleeping in!"
Her expression didn't change, but her tone did—only slightly, only enough that Kael noticed. She turned and walked a few steps away, then looked back over her shoulder. Her tone softened just enough to cut deeper.
"Shut up," she said quietly. "You have to do it. No matter what. No complaining."
"But—"
"No but," she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp enough to freeze lava. "If you want to use a sword properly, you need a strong body. Your current muscles are average. Weak. Undisciplined. If you tried to learn even one of my sword techniques in this state, you'd fail."
She turned to face him fully, her gaze steady and cutting.
"Worse—you might succeed, briefly. But then your own body would betray you. Your bones would crack. Your ribs could shatter from the strain. Because my sword techniques aren't just movements. They're force, control, and precision combined. They demand balance, muscle discipline, flexibility, and resistance. The moment you falter, even slightly, they punish you."
Kael blinked, the drama fading from his face for just a second. "…That actually sounded kind of terrifying."
"It is terrifying," she replied coldly. "But that's why only a few people in the world can use them. And even fewer survive."
Kael rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the confidence boost. So romantic."
She ignored the comment.
"After you build a proper physique, we'll move to sword forms. I'll try to find time to teach you both, but balancing your training and my own duties will be… annoying."
Kael let out a long, dramatic sigh, as if his soul was leaking out through his mouth. "And that… is how it begins. My fake, agonizing, totally unfair 'pretend' training under the command of a wife who definitely hates me."
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(Chapter Ended)