[Hours Later]
"Huff… huff…"
Heavy, ragged breaths echoed across the vast training grounds, the sound of dozens of feet pounding the dirt in uneven rhythm. The Beta students were running in circles around a field nearly the size of a football stadium.
When the drill began, the order had been five laps—already enough to push some to their limits. But somewhere along the way, the instructors had decided five wasn't enough. Now the target was one hundred laps, no breaks.
"Haa… haa…"
Many were already drenched in sweat, their legs trembling with every step. A few had their jaws clenched in stubborn determination, refusing to slow down. Nobody wanted to be the first to give in.
Among those who were barely hanging on, one face in particular looked like it had been carved out of pure misery—Oliver's.
'This sucks. Why the hell are there so many maids watching…?'
Lining the edges of the track, several women in pristine maid uniforms stood observing the students. According to the official explanation, every summoned hero—no matter how weak—was assigned a personal maid to "attend to their needs" and help them relax after intense training. The stronger ones, naturally, had more than one.
Oliver didn't buy it for a second.
'Yeah, sure… "assist in relaxing." More like a psychological trap.'
It was obvious what was going on. No guy wanted to collapse in front of a group of attractive women—especially not in a group like this, where pride and ego were practically currency. With the maids watching, the boys would push themselves past their limits just to keep up the image of strength. Even the smug idiots who usually slacked off were now running like their lives depended on it.
Even knowing that, Oliver still found himself caught in the same trap.
'Hell, even if everyone knows I'm the dead-last guy here, I can't just keel over in front of them… That'd be way too pathetic.'
He gritted his teeth and forced his legs to keep moving, managing to push out another lap when his body was already screaming for him to stop. His breathing was rough, his chest ached, and each step felt like his knees might give out at any second.
'Whoever came up with this… is either a genius in human psychology… or just really knows how teenage boys think. Either way, screw them.'
As Oliver kept running, his gaze drifted toward the far side of the training ground—and his chest tightened with envy.
'Those guys have it way easier than us…'
After the first day of training, the instructors had divided the class into two groups: the Vanguard Class and the Foundation Class.
The Vanguard Class—what everyone called the "Alpha group" behind their backs—was made up of the most talented and gifted students. People like Daniel, Emily, Jason, Amy… the elite. There were only fifteen of them out of the twenty-five students in total.
The rest, including Oliver, had been dumped into the Foundation Class. Their job? Work on the basics until they were "ready" for more.
'Foundation Class… more like "remedial failures."'
While the Vanguard Class spent their days on advanced techniques, the Foundation Class was stuck with two things: endless physical drills and basic skill application.
They weren't even allowed to learn magic yet.
It burned Oliver to admit it, but with his nonexistent talent in magic, he had no argument to make. Still, watching Daniel hurl a blazing fireball at a training dummy or Emily slicing through one with a sharp wind slash made him clench his fists in frustration. The cheers from the Vanguard students after each flashy move only made it worse.
'I overheard some of the Vanguard guys bragging earlier… they've already started learning magic from Luna. Damn it, how lucky can they be?'
Some in the Foundation Class weren't just jealous because of magic lessons—they were jealous because training under Luna meant spending more time with her. Meanwhile, the Foundation students were stuck taking orders from Samuel, a man whose resting face looked like he was constantly disappointed in you.
'Sigh… it is what it is.'
The thought barely finished before Oliver's legs gave out. His vision spun, sweat stinging his eyes, and the pounding of footsteps around him faded into a dull roar. The last thing he saw was the bright blue sky tilting sideways.
Then darkness.
That's what happens when you push your body past its limit.
[Evening]
When Oliver finally regained consciousness, the sky outside the window was painted in shades of orange. Sunlight streamed in through the open frame, carrying in the faint scent of the palace gardens and the distant chatter from the courtyard.
"Aaghh…"
He tried to sit up, only to hiss in pain. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, from his calves to his shoulders.
'Figures… I fainted again.'
At this point, collapsing during training had become so routine for him that it barely fazed him anymore. If there was a ranking for "most times carried off the training field," Oliver would be undefeated champion.
He would've woken up sooner if anyone had used a healing spell or given him a potion, but those were strictly off-limits after training. The reasoning was simple—potions and external healing magic reset the body's stress, erasing the physical strain that training was meant to build. In other words: no pain, no gain.
If someone relied on healing after every workout, they might as well have skipped the effort entirely.
The only exception was if you had a self-healing skill or magic—those worked differently, letting you recover without losing the benefits of the training. But since almost no one in the class had such an ability, the only realistic recovery method was to rest and endure the soreness.
Oliver, of course, ended up "resting" more than most.
In fact, fainting halfway through drills had practically become his personal trademark—something Samuel, their grumpy instructor, was all too aware of.