The cabin was quiet, steeped in the kind of silence that only comes when every soul inside is lost in sleep. The wooden walls breathed faint creaks as the night wind pressed against them. Somewhere in the rafters, a bird shifted in its nest, restless, then stilled again. Everyone slept.
Everyone but him.
Toki lay on the floor, wrapped in a thin blanket, head heavy against the hard planks. He had been dozing in and out, exhaustion pulling him under only to release him again. Smith had thrown his mattress away earlier, saying flatly that sleeping on the floor "built character." Toki hadn't argued. He knew better than to think Gerald Smith said things for debate.
Just as he sank into something resembling comfort, he felt a sharp tug at his ankle. Before his brain could even register the sensation, his body was dragged violently across the floor.
"What the—?!"
The next thing he knew, his face smashed through the cold night air, and glass shattered around him. His skull cracked against the wooden frame of the window before he was hurled outside. He landed hard in the dirt, the wind knocked out of him, his head spinning.
Pain pulsed at the back of his skull. He groaned, cradling it with one hand. For a moment, all he could do was sit there in the cold soil, confused, hurt, and very much awake.
He tilted his head back. Above him hung the pale disk of the moon, still reigning over the night sky.
"What the hell…" Toki muttered, his voice thick with sleep and irritation.
A shape landed beside him, boots pressing into the dirt. Smoke drifted lazily from a pipe. He didn't need to see the man's face to know. The smoke alone gave him away.
"Smith…" Toki growled, dragging himself to his knees. His voice cut sharp with anger. "What the hell is wrong with you? Throwing me out the damn window at this hour?"
Gerald Smith didn't answer immediately. He raised his silver pocket watch, clicked it open, and held it in front of Toki's bleary eyes.
"It's four in the morning," Smith said with almost cheerful calm. "First day of training.""I put sleeping pills in everyone's tea so we wouldn't be disturbed."
"Four in the—" Toki nearly shouted but caught his breath halfway. He clutched his ribs and hissed, realizing yelling only made his head pound harder.
Smith puffed once on his pipe, his expression unreadable through the faint curl of smoke. "If you'd had the comfort of a bed," he said, "you wouldn't have been awake for this. Consider the floor a kindness."
Toki spat dirt from his mouth. "Kindness, my ass."
Smith motioned, and from the shadows, a set of straps dangled. Long strips of sturdy cloth, each with wide pockets stitched into them like empty holsters. With methodical precision, Smith tied them around Toki's wrists and ankles, cinching them tight until they pinched his skin.
"What the hell are these?" Toki muttered, twisting his arms against the restraints.
The answer came in the form of a dull metallic clatter. Smith dropped a heap of small iron bars into the dirt before him. Each was no longer than a finger, yet the earth thudded heavily as they landed, as though they weighed ten times their size.
Toki reached for one curiously, lifting it with effort. His eyebrows shot up immediately.
"Damn, this thing's heavy!" He struggled to balance it in his palm. It felt as though it were pulling him toward the ground. "What the hell are these made of?"
"Mana," Smith replied casually. "They've been infused. One bar weighs about five kilograms."
Toki blinked. "Five kilos? This tiny thing?"
"You'll strap ten to each arm," Smith continued evenly, as though he were listing groceries. "And fifteen to each leg."
Toki froze mid-breath. "That's—" He calculated quickly, his mind reeling. "That's two hundred and fifty kilos! Added on to my body weight? Are you insane?"
Smith shrugged. "Insane, perhaps. Effective, certainly. Resistance builds endurance, strength, and speed. You'll wear them at all times. Even while you sleep."
Toki's face twisted with disbelief. He wanted to laugh, to tell Smith this was lunacy. But he saw in the man's eyes that there would be no negotiation.
When the bars were secured into the straps, Toki tried to stand. His muscles screamed under the sudden weight, every limb dragged toward the earth. His knees nearly buckled on the spot. Sweat burst across his skin, though the night air was cold.
He clenched his teeth. Gods, this is impossible. I can't even stand. How the hell am I supposed to train like this? How am I supposed to train the kids like this?
He looked up, his face contorted with both effort and anger. "Why me? Why drag me out here alone? Bernard and Ozvold are snoring like corpses inside, and I'm the one bleeding on the dirt. What's the logic in that?"
Smith smiled faintly. "Simple. You and the children train. Bernard, Ozvold, and I only supervise. You'll learn from my methods and shape them into your own for your pupils."
"Pupils," Toki muttered bitterly. He thought of Tora and Kandaki, bright-eyed and waiting, unaware of the misery being prepared for them.
Smith snapped his watch shut with a metallic click. "Now. Follow me."
The older man took off at a brisk pace into the woods. Toki staggered after him, the clank of the weighted bars rattling like a funeral bell swallowed by the trees. Each step felt like wading through wet stone. His body screamed protest, yet he forced himself on, lungs burning, sweat beading his brow.
At last, Smith stopped in a small clearing where a ring of tree stumps sat like ancient sentinels. One stump had an axe lodged deep into it.
Toki eyed the axe, suspicion rising. "Don't tell me you're going to make me chop wood at dawn. The last time Yuki had me do that, it didn't end well."
Smith gave him a look of mock offense. "Don't be ridiculous. I just left that axe there after cutting firewood."
Relief washed through Toki—briefly.
"You," Smith continued, puffing on his pipe, "will uproot these trees."
Toki's head snapped toward him. "Uproot—what?!"
Smith gestured lazily to the nearest tree, a sturdy trunk as wide as two men together. "Yes. Tear them out of the ground. With your hands."
"You're out of your mind," Toki barked. "Those things weigh tons! Even if I could, why would I?!"
"Training," Smith said simply. He approached a tree, pressing his fingers into its bark until deep grooves marked the wood. "This builds your back, grip, and wrists. You'll learn leverage. Suplex the trees. Like wrestling."
"Wrestling? With a tree?" Toki scoffed. "You've completely lost it."
Smith's pipe smoke curled as he moved closer, seized Toki by the arm, and in a blur of motion hurled him over his shoulder. Toki slammed into the ground, the weighted bars clanging like cathedral bells. Pain exploded through his spine.
Groaning, he forced himself upright, glaring murder at Smith.
"You get the point," Smith said flatly.
Toki cursed under his breath and stalked toward a tree. He dug his fingers into the bark, veins bulging across his arms as he pulled with everything he had. His nails split, blood smearing against the wood, but the tree only groaned mockingly, barely shifting.
"Pathetic," Smith muttered.
"Then why don't you do it?!" Toki snapped, his voice breaking with both rage and strain.
"Because," Smith said, exhaling smoke, "I'm not the one who needs training."
Hours passed. The sun clawed its way into the sky, gold piercing through the canopy. Toki's hands were shredded, his body trembling, his mind a fog of pain. He had left scars on bark after bark, but not a single tree had yielded.
Finally, Smith's voice cut the silence. "Enough. You've proven yourself insane—trying the same thing again and again, expecting change. And yet…" His eyes lingered on the trees scarred by Toki's efforts. "…even a tree should've shown some sign of breaking by now. Still, we're out of time. Next exercise."
Toki sagged, barely able to breathe. Yet Smith was already striding away.
They emerged at the base of a mountain. It rose like a monolith, sheer stone glinting under the sunlight, its face smooth and unforgiving.
Toki's jaw fell slack. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Eighteen hundred meters," Smith said casually. "There's a trail to the top. I'll take it. You, however, will climb straight up."
Toki laughed dryly, disbelieving. "You expect me to climb that cliff? With all this weight? You're insane."
"This is for your fingers, your will, your endurance. If you don't reach the top before I do, you fail."
And without waiting for a response, Smith began his leisurely walk up the trail.
Toki stared at the wall of stone before him, his stomach twisting. This is suicide.
He pressed his fingers against the rock and began climbing. Every movement was agony. His nails cracked, his skin split. Blood smeared across the stone as he dragged himself upward. For every ten feet he climbed, he slid back seven. His body screamed, and still he pressed on.
Time bled away. The higher he climbed, the more the earth below seemed to gape, waiting to swallow him. His breath came ragged, vision blurring.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he hauled himself over the lip of the peak. His arms gave out, and he collapsed on the stone.
Smith sat nearby, legs crossed, calmly reading a newspaper.
"You're late," he said without looking up. "Five hours. I made it in two. You made me wait."
Toki wanted to strangle him, but his limbs had no strength left.
Together they descended. At the base, Smith tied a heavy log to a chain and fastened it around Toki's waist.
"You'll drag this back to the cabin," Smith said. "It's noon. You have one hour. Don't keep your students waiting."
Toki stared at the log, rage bubbling inside him. But he had no choice.
He pulled. Muscles tore. His body screamed. The log caught on rocks, on roots, on anything it could. Every step forward was bought with agony. Sweat stung his eyes, his throat burned. Still, he dragged it on.
When at last he stumbled into the cabin yard, it was three in the afternoon. He collapsed to his knees, chains clattering loose. His body shook, covered in dirt, blood, and sweat.
The children were already training. Tora sprinted between trees. Kandaki pummeled bark with his fists.
Bernard and Ozvold looked up from where they prepared lunch. Their eyes widened at the sight of him.
Toki forced a smile for the children, hiding his pain.
Smith sipped his coffee. "Three o'clock. Your students started without you. Not much of a teacher, are you?"
Toki bit his tongue until it bled.
He sat at the table, devouring whatever Ozvold placed before him. Bones cracked between his teeth. He had no room for conversation.
Bernard watched him, anger rising. At last he stormed toward Smith. "Are you trying to kill him?! What the hell did you put him through?"
Ozvold added, voice low but firm, "With all respect… I don't think he can endure this much longer."
Smith's eyes didn't waver. "If he can't endure, he's free to leave. No one is forcing him."
Toki said nothing. He simply ate, each bite a battle, his silence louder than any argument.
The children had gone inside when the sun began to fade. Their laughter and chatter dwindled, swallowed by the warm glow of the cabin as evening drew its curtains across the forest. Tora's quick feet no longer darted between the trees. Kandaki's fists no longer hammered the bark. The clearing lay empty but for the cicadas and the low crack of branches in the distance.
Toki stayed behind, hunched over and drenched in sweat, his body quivering. He had tried to train alongside the children, tried to sprint with Tora, to mimic Kandaki's strikes, to lead by example. But his body betrayed him at every step. The mana-infused bars weighed on him like shackles from another world. Every attempt to sprint ended in a collapse, his face pressed into the dirt. Every demonstration of a punch ended with pain shooting through his bones like fire.
The children had trained well without him, perhaps even better without his stumbling interference. And that realization gnawed at him. He wasn't teaching them anything yet. He wasn't leading them. He was dragging them down.
I can't guide them until I can stand on my own legs… Until I finish my own training.
The thought clung to him as the last embers of daylight died.
That was when Smith called for them.
The older man's voice cut through the stillness: "You, me, Bernard, Ozvold. Into the woods."
There was no arguing. No hesitation. The four of them walked beneath the canopy, the night deepening around them. Shadows stretched like silent watchers between the trunks, and the moon peeked between the branches, pale and unblinking.
At last, Smith stopped in a clearing. His pipe ember glowed faintly before he tapped it out, slipping it into his coat. He turned, his posture straight, his eyes glinting with something cold.
"This is the last part of training today," Smith said. His voice was calm, almost casual. "Bernard. Ozvold. Stand aside."
The two exchanged uneasy looks but obeyed, stepping back.
Smith lowered his stance, feet planted firm in the dirt. His fists rose, his body radiating intent like steel drawn from a sheath.
"Toki," he said, his tone flat but lethal, "the last time we fought, I didn't use my full strength. Tonight, I will fight you with the intent to kill."
The words struck like ice through Toki's chest.
Smith's eyes narrowed. "If you don't fight with the same intent… you will die."
For a moment, Toki couldn't breathe. His mind screamed at the absurdity, at the cruelty. He's serious. This isn't training—this is slaughter.
But then something hardened inside him. He clenched his fists, pain rippling through his arms. "Fine," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "If that's what it takes."
The fight began.
Toki lunged, swinging with everything he had. The weights clanged, slowing him, dragging his body like anchors. His strikes were sluggish, his footwork clumsy. Smith evaded them effortlessly, his movements sharp, precise, brutal.
Then came the counterattack.
Smith's fist slammed into Toki's ribs. The sound cracked like wood splitting. White-hot pain seared his side. Another punch followed—straight to his jaw, rattling his skull. The older man's fists were merciless, each one carrying the weight of iron, each one sinking deeper into bone and flesh.
Toki staggered back, gasping, barely able to stand. I can't… I can't keep up…
Smith pressed forward. His fists blurred. "Iron Fist," he said between blows, and the technique lived up to its name. Every strike landed with crushing finality, as though forged from metal.
Toki raised his arms to block, but the bars dragged him down, slowed him, betrayed him. His bones groaned under the assault. He felt them crack, splinter, surrender.
Still—he swung back. Out of desperation, out of instinct, he threw a punch with everything he had left.
For once, it connected. His fist hurtled toward Smith's chest—
—but the older man clasped his hands together in front of him like a wall.
The impact was catastrophic. A shock traveled up Toki's arm. He heard it before he felt it: the brittle snap of bone. His forearm twisted unnaturally, pain screaming through his body.
Smith's eyes were calm, cold. "That is the supreme defense," he said, voice like steel. "The Iron Gate."
Toki collapsed to his knees, clutching his broken arm. His vision blurred. His breath came in ragged sobs.
Smith didn't stop. His fists rained down again. Toki's body broke beneath them. His legs gave way as fractures spread. His arms hung useless, shattered. His ribs caved with each strike until every breath became agony. His face swelled, unrecognizable, blood clouding his vision.
And still Smith advanced, relentless, until there was nothing left to resist.
Bernard's voice tore through the clearing: "Enough!"
He lunged forward, grabbing Smith's arm. His eyes blazed with fury. "You'll kill him!"
Ozvold was at Toki's side in an instant, his hands already glowing with healing mana. "Stop this madness!"
Smith froze. For a moment, disappointment shadowed his face. His fists lowered, his stance broke. Without another word, he turned his back on them and walked away into the trees, pipe smoke trailing faintly behind him.
Silence returned, broken only by Toki's ragged gasps.
Bernard knelt, his hands trembling as he held Toki's mangled body steady. "Gods… He's broken nearly everything…"
Ozvold concentrated, the glow of mana spilling from his palms. The fractures in Toki's limbs shivered, then slowly knit together. Bruises shrank, swelling ebbed, but the pain lingered like fire etched into his nerves.
Toki's consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind. His swollen eyes rolled upward, catching a glimpse of the moon through the branches.
Utsuki… Tora… Kandaki… His thoughts crawled weakly, each word dripping with sorrow. I don't know if I can do this… I don't know if I'll ever be strong enough…
A broken breath escaped him. I'm sorry.
Then the darkness swallowed him whole.