"Young master, at this rate, you'll become a laughing stock!" the butler shouted. "Give it all you've got!"
Trav, whose heaviest daily burden back on Earth was lifting a computer mouse, was already on the verge of collapse. His arms trembled. His lungs burned. But he wasn't going to stop.
The butler swung his wooden sword — gently, clearly holding back. Yet even that was enough to send Trav flying backward like a ragdoll.
Thud!
"Pant... pant... A-Again!" Trav said, pushing himself up despite the dust and bruises.
The butler's eyes widened — not with concern, but with excitement. "That's the spirit!"
"Then here I come, young master!" he roared, dashing forward with impressive speed.
I need to become stronger... Trav thought, gritting his teeth. Think of this like an error in code — with enough time and logic, you can solve it.
His eyes darted around, scanning the training room. And then, an idea struck.
Instead of meeting the attack head-on, Trav turned and sprinted toward the wall. With precise timing, he planted one foot against the surface and kicked off, launching himself diagonally through the air. The maneuver caught the butler completely off guard.
Whoosh!
"Hoh?" The butler's eyes sparkled. "That movement just now... it's comparable to someone with a Feet Singularity!"
Trav landed awkwardly but kept his balance. His breathing was ragged, sweat clinging to his skin — yet his eyes held a burning fire.
I can do this... he thought.
Trav collapsed onto the floor, drenched in sweat, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
"Young master," the butler said, arms crossed and smiling, "that move just now was impressive—comparable to someone with a Feet Singularity."
Trav let out a weak chuckle, still panting. "Even I can't believe what I just pulled off."
"With that, our training ends for today. Meet me here every noon moving forward—we'll continue shaping that fragile body of yours," the butler said with a light grin.
"Got it…" Trav replied, exhausted but motivated.
Patriarch's Room
The butler entered and knelt down respectfully, one hand on the floor. "This butler greets the headmaster."
"Stand," the patriarch said simply.
"Report everything to me."
"Understood. Today I trained the young master in the training hall. He surprised me—executed a maneuver that mimicked someone with a Feet Singularity."
"As fast as a Feet Singularity, huh?" the headmaster muttered, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, Patriarch. However, he still lacks stamina and has a long road ahead of him."
"You're right… it's not enough. But progress is still progress. You may leave."
"Yes, Patriarch."
Many Days Later
Time passed—and so did the quiet days of training. Trav's figure grew leaner and sharper. Muscles now outlined his arms and chest, and his movements carried more confidence. He looked more like a young man destined for leadership—fitting for the future head of the Resonia family.
With only two days left before his admission to the Aidyn School of Singularity, pressure loomed heavy.
"Young master," the butler said, handing him a towel, "you've done well these past days. But don't get cocky. You're still a sheep among wolves at that prestigious school."
"I know…" Trav said, wiping sweat off his brow. "I still need more experience."
"Butler," he continued, frowning, "you've been training only my stamina this whole time. When do I get to use my daggers again?"
"I only gave you the dagger to measure your movement, young master. You still have a long way to go. And besides… that school has fighters far more experienced than me. I'm just a butler—I can't prepare you for everything. Let the elites handle the rest."
Trav sighed. "Fair point… but still…"
"But," the butler interrupted, "there's one last thing I can teach you. Something I've honed over years of serving this family: how to hide your presence. It's a vital technique in case of an assassination attempt."
He stepped forward and leaned in.
"I call it... Sneak Steps."
Trav blinked. "Sneak Steps, huh? What a crappy name."
The butler narrowed his eyes, unfazed. "And yet, it's saved lives."
"Come with me to the mansion's backyard."
A simple sentence, spoken without urgency. Yet, it carried weight, like a whisper from a world that demanded obedience.
"Eh? Why?" Trav asked, confused, but his feet moved anyway, compelled by the calm gravity in the butler's voice. He followed.
The backyard was quiet, eerily so. A soft breeze brushed through the high hedges surrounding the open space, and in the center of it all, like something placed there intentionally by the hands of fate, sat a flat, moss-covered rock.
"Sit on that rock right there," the butler instructed, motioning gently. "Meditate as I explain how this technique works."
Trav blinked. "O-Okay?"
He lowered himself onto the cold stone, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly, the uncertainty weighing on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
"This technique," the butler began, "does not merely hide your presence. It also allows you to detect it—like a hunter becoming prey, and the prey learning to hunt back. You must feel your surroundings as though your life depends on it."
His voice was calm, but every word stabbed with precision.
"You shall not leave this place… until you can tell me what was on the table when we arrived."
Table? Trav's mind reeled.
Now that he mentioned it, there was a table—but what was on it? Why couldn't he remember?
Is he asking me to open my third eye or something? Trav thought bitterly, frowning behind his closed eyelids.
Two hours passed.
The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a sleepy glow across the manicured garden. The only sounds were the distant chirping of birds, the occasional breeze, and the ever-so-soft clink of ceramic.
The butler sat at the table nearby, sipping tea. He didn't speak, didn't rush. He simply watched—like an old master testing his disciple, or perhaps a snake watching a frog try not to drown.
"Come on, focus… I need to focus. Feel your surroundings…" Trav muttered through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his brow. His breathing was shallow, rushed. Frustration crept in.
"Young master," the butler finally spoke, his voice like a balm on a burn. "Take a deep breath. Use your senses. You cannot brute-force enlightenment."
My senses… right. Sight is gone, so what do I have left?
Smell. Hearing. Touch. Taste. The world doesn't disappear just because I can't see it.
Trav's breath steadied. Slowly, he opened himself—not with eyes, but with everything else. The faint aroma of steeped leaves. The gentle clatter of porcelain. The soft scrape of butter on toast. There were two sets of it, not just one.
"Butler," he said, voice steady. "I have my answer."
"Oh?" A hint of amusement curled in the butler's words. "That quick? It's only been two hours, thirty minutes… and fifty-four seconds."
Has he really been counting all this time? What kind of madman… Trav's eye twitched.
"There's nothing on the table," he said.
The butler sipped his tea once more. "And what makes you say that?"
"Your tea. Your plates. Your food. I can hear two cups, two plates. You're using up all the space. If there was anything else, I'd have sensed it. The table's full—because of you. Meaning, there was nothing on it to begin with. You brought it all later."
Silence. Then a chuckle, low and satisfied.
"You are correct. Well done, young master. You may open your eyes now."