The mirror didn't lie. I was weak. Pathetic. Barely able to lift my own weight.
But one thing the system had given me—the truth. And the truth was this:
If I didn't claw my way out of this hole within a month, I'd be slaughtered like the brat I inherited.
I turned, scanning the room. Silk sheets, polished marble floor, golden candelabras. Wealth everywhere, yet it all felt hollow. These luxuries belonged to Kaelen Varcrest, not me.
I clenched my fists. "Then they'll once I earn them."
---
A knock rattled the door. Without waiting, a servant entered—middle-aged, with a sneer carved deep into his face.
"Young master," he said, the words dripping venom. "Your father requests your presence. Try not to reek of wine this time."
The old Kaelen's memories flared—nights of drunken arrogance, of slapping this very man across the face. My gut twisted.
"I'll be there," I answered simply.
The servant blinked, suspicion flashing across his eyes. "...What's this? No tantrum? No bottle to throw?"
I didn't rise to the bait. He muttered something about "a dog playing human" and left.
I exhaled slowly. That was the first battle won—not with strength, but restraint.
---
The walk to the dining hall felt like walking into an execution.
At the long table sat Duke Varcrest, my—no, Kaelen's—father. His presence was suffocating. Broad-shouldered, hair streaked with steel, eyes sharp as a hawk. Around him sat my elder brother, perfectly postured, and my little sister, hiding smirks behind her teacup.
I took my seat.
Father's gaze pinned me. "You're sober."
"Yes," I said carefully.
A pause. His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Because I'm not your son. Because I have one month to escape death. Because the gods decided my life is a joke.
I forced the words down. "...I've been wasting myself. No more."
The table fell silent. My brother snorted. My sister chuckled softly.
Father's voice cut like ice. "Empty words. You've disgraced this house for years. One month from now, you will be going to the Academy to enroll. Failure means no returning here. Do you understand?"
I bowed my head, but inside, fire blazed. Then I'll pass. I'll survive.
---
That night, I returned to my room. My hands ached for movement.
"System," I whispered. "How do I start?"
The chime answered.
[Basic Training Regimen Available]
Endurance Trial: 50 Push-ups, 50 Sit-ups, 5 km Run (daily).
Reward: +1 Strength, +1 Endurance (after consistent 7 days).
Warning: Current body is at risk of collapse.
I laughed bitterly. "Collapse, huh? Guess that's fitting."
I dropped to the floor. The first push-up nearly killed me. My arms trembled, sweat pouring, face pressed to cold marble. By the tenth, I collapsed flat, gasping like a fish.
But I forced myself up again.
This wasn't about comfort. This was about survival.
---
Hours later, bruised and shaking, I fell onto the bed. My muscles screamed in protest, my lungs burned—but my heart thumped with something new.
Not despair.
Hope.
The spoiled brat had been weak, yes. But I wasn't him. Not anymore.
And by the time the Academy gates opened, I swore to myself—I'd walk through them strong enough to spit in fate's face.