The days bled together like a slow torture.
Morning always began the same: the sound of Smith's pocket watch snapping shut, the smell of pipe smoke, and the ache of weighted bars chained to Toki's arms and legs. He would stumble through the forest, sweat soaking him before the sun had even risen, claw at tree trunks until his hands split, drag logs until his body screamed. And when the daylight faded, Smith would test him in combat, breaking his bones as effortlessly as one might break twigs. Ozvold and Bernard would put him back together with healing spells, only for the cycle to begin again.
There were no victories, no improvements he could measure. He felt like he was trapped in an endless circle of pain, a wheel designed not to sharpen him but to grind him down into dust. His body recovered each day, but his spirit frayed at the edges. The children trained by themselves, because he was always too broken to guide them.
And every night when the forest fell quiet, Toki would lie awake and ask himself the same question: What good is a teacher who cannot even stand?
It was after one such day—his body bruised, his arms trembling like reeds in the wind—that he stumbled back toward the cabin. The sky glowed with dying light, the last fingers of the sun stretching through the canopy. Smith sat in his usual place outside, his expression one of restrained disappointment, the way it always was. Ozvold and Bernard were near the fire, tending to food. Their eyes followed Toki with something heavier than pity—something close to sorrow.
Toki ignored them. His gaze was drawn to the sharp sound of stone cracking under fists. Kandaki was near the edge of the clearing, pummeling a rock with such desperation that the sight froze Toki's heart. The stone was smeared red, but not a single crack marred its surface. Kandaki's knuckles were torn and swollen, blood dripping freely as he threw one more punch, then another.
"Kandaki…" Toki whispered, his throat tightening.
The boy lifted his head, eyes swimming with tears he had tried to hide. "Master Toki," he said in a trembling voice. "I tried. I tried so hard. But the stone… it doesn't break. No matter what I do."
His small body trembled, his fist still poised against the unyielding rock, as if refusing to admit defeat.
Toki moved forward, his body aching with every step, and gently caught the boy's wrist. He felt it immediately—the bones were fractured, unstable, ruined from reckless strain. His chest seized with guilt. Slowly, he pulled Kandaki close and wrapped his arms around him, pressing the boy's shaking frame to his chest.
"It's alright," Toki murmured, though his own voice cracked. "You've done enough. More than enough."
Kandaki's tears finally spilled. Toki bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. If I'd been there… if I had guided him, he wouldn't have destroyed his hand like this. This is my fault.
Forcing steadiness into his voice, Toki asked softly, "Where's Tora?"
Kandaki sniffled, wiping his face with his bandaged knuckles. "She went running. For stamina. Like always."
Toki glanced toward the horizon. The sun had dipped low, shadows lengthening into night. His stomach knotted. Tora was afraid of the dark. She would never willingly stay out so late.
His heart seized. "Tora…"
He broke into a run, ignoring the screams of his battered muscles. His voice tore through the forest, ragged with panic. "Tora! Tora!"
The forest gave no answer. Branches clawed at him, roots threatened to trip him, but he forced his way deeper, lungs burning. Half an hour passed, maybe more, until finally—
A faint cry.
He stumbled toward the sound, nearly pitching headfirst into a ravine. There, clinging weakly to a tree at the edge, was Tora. Her small body sagged with exhaustion, her face pale in the dim light.
"Tora!"
He scrambled down carefully. She tried to rise to meet him, but her legs buckled, and she fell face-first into the dirt. A shaky laugh escaped her lips. "Didn't… didn't notice the ravine, I guess."
Her sarcasm was brave, but Toki's eyes went straight to her ankle. It was swollen, twisted unnaturally. A sprain, at the least.
"Don't worry," Tora said quickly, forcing a grin. "A little healing mana and it'll be good as new. Just like you, right?"
Her words cut deeper than any wound Smith had given him. She said it like it was obvious—that she would endure, just like he endured. He swallowed hard, unable to answer.
Carefully, he lifted her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, light but unbearably heavy to his spirit. On the way back, she whispered, "It'll be fine. Kandaki and I… we won't give up. Not when you train so hard for us."
Toki's vision blurred. He blinked furiously to hide the tears. If only you knew the truth—that my training is useless. That I can't protect you. That I'm failing you both.
When they returned to the cabin, Kandaki was waiting, both his hands now bound in fresh bandages. He sprang up when he saw them. "Tora!"
Toki set her gently beside kandaki. Bernard and Ozvold hurried over, their hands glowing as they poured healing mana into the children's broken bodies. The light mended bone and tissue, but the pain lingered in Toki's heart.
He turned toward Smith, his voice low but firm. "I'm postponing my training from now on. This happened because I wasn't there to guide them. I can't leave them alone anymore."
For a moment, silence.
Then Smith's voice, cold as iron. "Toki. It has already been a month. And you haven't improved at all."
Toki froze.
Smith rose to his feet, his eyes sharp with disdain. "I'm ending your training. I've had enough of wasting my time and energy on you. I had expectations—foolish expectations. But your potential was nothing more than an illusion. You are weak, and worse, you are a pathetic excuse for a teacher. If you weren't so utterly useless, none of this would have happened."
Each word fell like a hammer, crushing what little strength remained in Toki's chest.
Smith turned his back and sat at the table again, pulling out his pipe as though the matter were finished. "You're dismissed as my apprentice. Do what you want with your time, but don't blame me for your incompetence."
The children shifted, their mouths opening as if to speak, but no words came. Kandaki's hands trembled; Tora's lips quivered. In the end, they slipped inside the cabin without a sound, leaving only silence behind them.
Toki bowed his head. His voice was hoarse. "You're right. I'm sorry for wasting your time, Master Smith."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked into the forest. The shadows swallowed him whole.
Bernard surged forward, rage blazing in his eyes. "I'll go after him—"
But Ozvold's hand gripped his shoulder, firm as steel. "Wait."
Bernard's voice shook with fury. "Not enough that you tortured him every day? That you shattered his body, stripped him of dignity—now you humiliate him in front of his pupils? What is wrong with you, Smith? Why do you hate him so much?"
Ozvold added, his voice colder but steady. "Your so-called training is impossible. You never intended for him to succeed. You wanted him to break. Admit it. You never completed this regimen yourself. You designed it only to force him to surrender. Why?"
Smith stood, pipe smoke curling around his face. His jaw clenched. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, he answered. "Because this training is meant to make him give up."
Bernard's eyes widened in shock. "What?!"
Smith's voice trembled, but his expression remained stern. "Do you think I enjoy breaking his bones every day? Do you think I take pleasure in mocking him, in watching him bleed, in seeing his spirit crushed? I do it because I must. Because Toki is advancing too quickly. I've seen it in his eyes—he has already absorbed his second ritual fully. The Order has noticed. Their gaze is fixed on him. If I don't stop him, he will suffer. They will destroy him."
Bernard's anger faltered. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Ozvold tilted his head, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "And what about you? What do you risk by hiding him like this?"
Smith's eyes burned as tears finally welled and streaked down his face, though his voice never softened. "Everything. If the Order discovers what I'm doing, I will lose more than my status. I will lose my life. But better that than lose him. I care for Toki as if he were my own son. And I will not watch him be consumed by their machinations."
Silence pressed heavy on the cabin. Bernard's fists trembled, his anger unraveling into grief.
At last, he whispered, "So there's no other way? Except to break him yourself?"
Smith wiped his tears harshly, reigniting his pipe. "There is… perhaps. The second purpose of the training was to push him to the brink—to the place between life and death. Toki is gifted. More than he knows. He repeated the Iron Fist the first time he saw me use it. If we can harness his ability to observe, copy, and refine techniques, perhaps he can master what I could not. If he learns the Iron Gate, and if he reaches the Apex Instinct… then maybe, just maybe, we can convince the Order that his power is unique. A once-in-a-millennium talent."
Ozvold's brows furrowed. "Apex Instinct. That's a myth."
Smith shook his head. "Not a myth. A state that awakens only at the edge of death. The body sheds all hesitation. Eyes dilate, veins constrict, the brain shuts out all but survival. A hundred percent of one's potential, unleashed. I've touched it. Briefly. But Toki… with his adaptability, his affinity with the Division of Darkness… he might achieve more. He might wield it as his own."
Bernard's gaze fell to the floor. "And if he does… then perhaps the Order would finally see him as an asset, not a threat."
Smith exhaled, the ember of his pipe glowing faintly in the dark. "But that is a path only he can walk. I can only guide him. Or break him, if it means he survives."
The three men stood in silence, the weight of truth pressing heavy between them.
Meanwhile, Toki sat alone on a stone deep in the forest, the moonlight washing over him. His body trembled, his hands raw, his spirit in tatters. He stared upward, lost in the pale glow.
I couldn't protect them. Kandaki's hands… Tora's ankle… all because I wasn't there. All because I thought I could endure this training. Smith was right. I'm weak. I've wasted everyone's time. Maybe… maybe they'd be better off without me.
The voice cut through the night, low and steady, carrying with it both gentleness and weight.
"You look like a man in need of a friend."
Toki flinched slightly. The silence around him had been so complete that Bernard's words struck almost like a stone cast into a still pond. He did not turn his head at once; instead, he kept staring at the moon, pale and cold above the trees, its light washing his skin in silver. Only when he heard the crunch of boots against the soil did he glance sideways. Bernard lowered himself to the stone beside him, the movement slow, deliberate, as though he feared any sudden action might shatter the fragile moment.
Bernard said nothing at first. His presence was solid, a weight beside Toki, but he seemed to know that words could be weapons if handled without care. He folded his hands over his knees, eyes raised to the sky. The two sat like that for a time—two figures drawn together by circumstance, and by a pain neither wished to voice aloud.
Finally, Bernard broke the silence again, softer now. "Normally, I'd make a joke. That's my way of easing moments like this. But not tonight. Tonight… I'll spare you that." He drew in a breath, chest rising as if he bore something heavy. "You know, you shouldn't let Smith's words burrow so deep. He's harsh, yes, cruel even—but his voice doesn't define your path. You have your own road to walk, Toki. You have to rise and take it."
Toki's lips pressed thin. The moonlight gleamed faintly on the moisture in his eyes, though he blinked it back. His voice, when it came, was raw. "Do you have any idea how I feel? Kandaki, with his fists broken against stone because he thought my example would give him strength. Tora, pushing herself until she nearly slipped into the dark woods just to prove she could be like me. They did it because they pitied me, Bernard. Because they thought if they trained harder than me, at least I'd look like I was leading them." He dragged his hand across his face, smearing the salt of tears. "I'm not sad for myself. I've failed so many times I've lost count. I just didn't want them to know what that feels like."
His breath shuddered. "Do you think I don't know this training is impossible? Every day, every night, my bones screaming, my body broken—of course I know. But I kept going, because I thought maybe I could stand tall enough that they'd see someone worth following. That lie is broken now. What reason is there to keep pushing when all it does is hurt them?"
Bernard turned his head, studying him with eyes deep and dark, the kind that seemed to weigh words before they left his mouth. "I've been going with the current," Toki continued, his tone bitter. "Doing what I were told, chasing goals that weren't mine. I'm tired, Bernard. Tired of hiding from everyone's gaze. I just want… I just want to rest."
Bernard let out a long sigh. He looked away, as if trying to gather his thoughts from the sky itself. Then his gaze came back, firm. "I respect you, Toki. More than you know. Not many would keep walking when they already know the path is impossible. But you did. You endured. That alone… that alone earns respect." He reached out, laying a hand on Toki's shoulder. "You're not weak. Weakness is choosing to lie down and never rise again. You haven't done that. Maybe you didn't advance, but you didn't shatter either. To survive this hell for a month is not nothing—it's admirable."
The words hit Toki like a wave he didn't expect. He felt his throat tighten, and though he tried to swallow it, a sound escaped—half laugh, half sob. He turned his face away, embarrassed by the display, but Bernard pretended not to notice.
Instead, Bernard reached into his coat and drew out a small box, its wood polished but worn at the corners. He held it out, placing it in Toki's palm with gentle insistence. "This came for you. A package from Utsuki. I thought I'd save it for a better day, but…" A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "Better late than never."
Toki stared down at the box. The wood was warm from Bernard's hand. He traced its edge with his thumb, then noticed the folded scrap of parchment tied across it with a thin ribbon. The inked words were plain but pierced his chest all the same:
For Toki, in case of a sad day.
The weight of it made his eyes blur again. He held the box tighter, afraid that if he loosened his grip, it would vanish like smoke. He wanted to open it, to see what comfort lay within—but he was afraid too. Afraid of what it might awaken in him, of what memories Utsuki's careful hand had hidden inside.
Bernard gave him a light pat on the back, his palm firm against Toki's spine. "Don't forget to rest, Toki. Not everything is war. Not everything is duty. Even soldiers need to breathe. Even teachers. Even you." He stood, brushing the dirt from his trousers, and looked down at him with something close to warmth in his expression. "Stay a while longer if you need. The moon's a good listener."
With that, Bernard turned and walked slowly back toward the cabin. His steps faded into the night, swallowed by the forest and the distant hum of crickets. Soon only the faint glow of the cabin lights flickered through the trees, leaving Toki alone again.
Alone—with the box in his hands, and the letter that promised a fragile kind of hope.