Chapter 3 – First Full Training Grind
Zyren's alarm clock screamed like it had a personal vendetta against him. He flopped over, smacking the snooze button with a groan. His legs felt like lead. Even the simple act of sitting up was a test in pain tolerance.
"Ow… that run yesterday… I swear, someone added weights to my bones overnight," he muttered, dragging himself toward the kitchen.
Grandma Margaret was already bustling about, humming softly. The smell of frying eggs and plantains filled the small bungalow. She looked up from the stove and raised an eyebrow.
"You look like a zombie, zyren . Did you wrestle a bull last night?" she asked, trying to hide her amusement.
Zyren groaned. "Yeah… and the bull won most of the time. It was a close match, though."
Grandma Margaret chuckled, shaking her head. "Don't make me laugh, you'll choke on your toast before breakfast."
He managed a small smile, swallowing a piece of bread. It was ridiculous, but her presence had a grounding effect. No matter how humiliating the academy made him feel, no matter how sore his body was, she reminded him why he was doing this.
⸻
Before he could finish his meal, a familiar metallic voice rang in his head.
[GOAT System Active.]
Zyren groaned again, nearly choking on his coffee. "You again?"
[Host detected. Next mission begins immediately: 200 ball touches and 100 wall passes. Failure results in -1 Mentality.]
He swallowed hard. "You have got to be joking."
[No joke detected. Execute mission.]
Zyren leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This system had no sense of mercy. No sense of timing. But deep down, the challenge thrilled him. It was harsh, yes—but fair. And he needed that.
⸻
By the time he reached the pitch, the morning sun had already begun to bake the turf. The academy grounds were empty except for a few early risers jogging laps. Zyren placed his ball at the center of the field and began the first set of touches, tapping, dribbling, flicking, and rolling the ball across the grass.
The first few touches were sloppy. The ball bounced too far. His foot slipped. A sudden misstep sent him sprawling, his elbow scraping against the ground.
[Host performance: suboptimal.]
[Execute correction protocol.]
Zyren groaned. "Correction protocol? Really? Can't you at least give me a soft nudge instead of psychological humiliation?"
[Insufficient improvement detected.]
"Right… thanks for the pep talk, Coach," he muttered, glaring at the invisible system.
With a deep breath, he forced himself up. Round and round he went, tapping the ball repeatedly, trying to force muscle memory into his aching limbs. Sweat poured down his face, dripping into his eyes. Every so often, he swiped it away with the back of his wrist, grimacing as the salt burned.
[Ball touches: 50/200.]
He groaned, dropping onto his knees. "Fifty… and I feel like I've run a marathon while juggling flaming swords."
[Host humor detected. No effect on mission.]
"Of course it has no effect. Of course not," Zyren muttered, gritting his teeth. "Why am I even talking to you?"
[Question detected: rhetorical.]
He ignored the system and kept going. Touch after touch, pass after pass, wall rebound after wall rebound. Each time the ball bounced away unexpectedly, he swore softly—but always returned to it. Every error reminded him of the system's words, of his place at the academy, and of Grandma Margaret waiting for him at home.
[Ball touches: 150/200.]
[Wall passes: 40/100.]
Zyren wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. His legs trembled. He collapsed to one knee, breathing hard. "Forty… forty passes in and I swear these walls hate me personally."
[Host detected sarcasm. Mentality unchanged.]
He shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, thanks for nothing."
⸻
The sun climbed higher, burning mercilessly. Zyren's shirt was soaked, his socks muddy, and his calves screaming. But finally, after what felt like hours, the ball touches clicked over to 200, and the wall passes reached 100. He sank to the ground, panting so hard he thought he might vomit.
[Mission complete. Stat growth applied: +1 Dribbling, +1 Stamina, +1 Mentality.]
Zyren stared at the invisible panel. "Three measly points… but I'll take it. I'll take every point I can get, metal-brain."
[Acknowledged. Next mission will be more challenging.]
He groaned again. "Oh, of course. Next mission… because why would you make it easy?"
[Ease is irrelevant. Growth is mandatory.]
Zyren flopped on the grass, staring up at the sky. His chest heaved, sweat and exhaustion mingling with the feeling of small victory.
Okay… maybe I'm not completely useless.
⸻
By the time he made it home, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the street. Grandma Margaret was sitting on the porch, her knitting forgotten as she noticed him approaching.
"Oh, Zyren boy… you're soaked through. Come inside before you catch a cold," she said, her voice full of warmth.
"I'm fine, Grandma… mostly," he replied, kicking off his boots and rubbing his calves. "Mostly being a key word here."
She smiled knowingly. "I don't need to know the details, but I can see the effort. That's what counts."
Zyren laughed weakly. "You always say that, but it doesn't make my legs stop screaming."
"You'll survive," she said, chuckling softly. "But maybe next time, try not to look like you wrestled a bear on the way home."
He grinned despite himself. "Deal."
He dropped onto the small couch, head in his hands, breathing heavily. I did it. I finished the mission. I didn't quit.
⸻
The GOAT System chimed again, its cold, mechanical voice cutting through the quiet bungalow.
[Warning: tomorrow's mission will include mini-match simulation. Host must complete under pressure.]
Zyren sat up, eyes wide. "Mini-match simulation? Are you kidding me? I can barely lift my legs right now!"
[No humor detected. Mission is mandatory.]
He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "Of course. Of course it is. Of course the metal tyrant has to make me do simulated matches before I can even walk without feeling like a zombie."
[Host sarcasm detected. Mentality unchanged.]
Zyren shook his head, chuckling softly despite his pain. "You know what… fine. Let's see how far this can go. I'm not quitting. Not today, not ever."
Grandma Margaret walked in with a glass of water. She placed it on the small table beside him. "Zyren… you look like you've been through the war. You should rest.
He took the glass, nodding.
Her hands rested briefly on his shoulders. "That's my boy. One step at a time, that's all it takes. Don't let anyone—make you think otherwise."
He smiled, the first genuine smile of the day. "Thanks, Grandma. I… really mean that."
And as he leaned back, sipping water, the glowing panel pulsed faintly in his mind, a silent reminder that tomorrow would be harder, faster, and more demanding.
But Zyren didn't care.
He had survived the first full training grind.
And he would survive whatever came next.