The first rays of dawn crept over the academy, painting the training grounds in pale gold. The grass was still wet with dew, and the crisp morning air carried the faint hum of mana from the barriers that surrounded the field.
Trafalgar stood in the center, arms crossed, his usual black training shirt loose around his frame. He glanced toward Barth, who was arranging a neat pile of scrolls beside him — one hundred of them in total — and already sweating despite the cold.
A few meters away, Xavier moved like a blur. The crimson-haired boy's spear sliced through the air with a whistle, each movement sharp and deliberate. The scarf around his neck fluttered with every motion, and faint trails of red mana rippled behind the weapon.
"Warm-up or showing off?" Trafalgar asked lazily.
Xavier grinned without breaking his flow. "Both."
Barth gave a small nervous laugh, kneeling beside the scrolls. "T-this is gonna take all day, isn't it?"
