The first practice began at dawn, when most sane people would still be asleep.
Derrick Lawson—Coach D, in a sweat-stained polo that somehow survived interdimensional travel—stood in the palace training yard with his whistle dangling like a weapon of divine authority. The mist still clung to the grass, and the towers of the royal palace loomed over the yard like disapproving referees.
The seven so-called "heroes of prophecy" assembled in front of him in varying states of misery.
Ryker the brute yawned like a bear awakening from hibernation. Aiden Everbright still managed to look polished, even at this ungodly hour, his golden hair glinting like he'd slept in a bottle of hair gel. Selene rubbed her temples, muttering arcane curses under her breath. Kaela clutched her staff as though it might protect her from cardio. Liora was bouncing on the balls of her feet, bright-eyed and ready, clutching her spellbook like a notebook. Jax the rogue looked like he hadn't woken up at all, and Darius—the brooding strategist—simply stared with arms folded, analyzing every movement.
Derrick's whistle shrieked. "Line up!"
The heroes flinched as though struck by lightning. Selene actually did spark a little.
"Today," Derrick barked, pacing in front of them like a drill sergeant in sneakers, "we start with the basics. I don't care what magic, titles, or bloodlines you've got. Out there, when you're facing monsters, none of that matters if you're too out of shape to swing a sword. So—laps. Around the yard. Don't stop until I say."
Aiden scoffed, planting his sword dramatically in the dirt. "Heroes do not run in circles like stable boys. We—"
TWEEET! The whistle screamed.
Aiden jumped like he'd been stabbed. "Wh-what was that?!"
"Motivation," Derrick said flatly. "Now move."
And so, the heroes began to run.
At first, it was comical. Aiden tried to jog with his sword still strapped on, looking like a model in a medieval fashion show. Selene attempted a light jog while maintaining her regal posture, sparks flying each time her robes snagged her boots. Kaela shuffled along, her staff clacking against the ground with every step. Jax casually drifted toward the shade of the wall until the whistle sent him bolting back into line. Ryker charged forward with explosive energy, overtaking everyone in the first thirty seconds.
By the end of the first lap, the comedy had turned to tragedy.
Aiden's golden hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. "This is barbaric!" he gasped.
Selene tripped over her robe and went sprawling into the dirt, cursing in three different languages.
Kaela wheezed, "I… can't… breathe…" and clutched her chest like she might actually keel over.
Ryker, who had sprinted ahead in triumph, stumbled to a halt and promptly vomited in the grass.
Only Liora kept going, cheeks flushed but smiling determinedly as she ran, her book bouncing in her arms.
Derrick blew his whistle again, sharp enough to rattle teeth. "Keep moving! You stop, you die!"
The knights watching from the sidelines burst into laughter. Sir Aldren, commander of the royal guard, leaned against the railing with a sneer. "This is training? Running laps? By the gods, the kingdom is doomed."
Derrick ignored him. His eyes stayed on his players—no, his team. They were clumsy, weak, undisciplined… but under all that, he could see flashes of something. Potential. Raw and messy, but there.
Two more laps and Kaela collapsed outright, face-first into the dirt. Jax tried to fake a limp until Derrick's whistle screamed behind him, sending him sprinting with renewed vigor. Selene's sparks lit a patch of grass on fire, which Ryker promptly stomped out before nearly collapsing again.
Finally, Derrick blew the whistle long and hard. The heroes dropped like felled trees, gasping for air. Sweat soaked their clothes. Armor clattered as it hit the ground.
"That," Derrick said, standing tall over their broken bodies, "was pathetic."
A chorus of groans met his judgment.
"But," he added, pacing, "it's a start. Tomorrow, suicides."
The groans turned into horrified wails.
The next morning came cruelly fast. Derrick's whistle echoed through the palace halls like the call of a banshee.
"Up! All of you! Armor on, yard in five!"
"What ungodly hour is this?!" Aiden shouted from his bedchamber.
"Time to stop sucking," Derrick shot back.
The heroes stumbled into the yard half-awake. Kaela tripped over her boots twice. Jax tried to sneak back inside until Derrick dragged him out by the collar. Ryker somehow put his armor on backward. Liora, bright as ever, skipped in with her book ready, as though this were all some grand adventure.
Derrick tossed a rope into the dirt. "Warm-up drill. Jump it."
The heroes stared blankly.
"You mean… like children?" Darius asked, deadpan.
"Yeah. Funny how children usually last longer than soldiers. Line up."
Selene tried first and immediately whipped the rope into her own ankle, falling flat on her face. Aiden got tangled with his sword belt and went down in a heap. Jax "forgot" how to count turns until Derrick's whistle corrected him. Ryker stomped so hard he snapped the rope clean in half.
Derrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pathetic. New drill. Suicides."
They groaned, but the whistle gave them no choice. Sprint to the line, back. Further line, back. Again and again, until the yard echoed with the sound of boots slapping dirt and gasping breaths.
By the second marker, Aiden was dragging his feet. By the third, Kaela collapsed again. Ryker gave it everything but nearly blacked out by the end. Selene cursed Derrick with each ragged breath. Jax tried to cut corners until Derrick caught him and forced him to restart.
Shockingly, Liora lasted the longest, red-faced but smiling. When she finally collapsed, it was with a proud gasp. "I… did… my best…"
Derrick crouched down just long enough to pat her shoulder. "Good job, kid." Then he stood and barked at the others: "You see that? That's effort. That's heart. The rest of you better start keeping up."
From the balcony above, Aldren sneered. "They won't survive a skirmish. You're wasting the king's resources, coach."
Derrick looked up, meeting his eyes with a wolf's grin. "They'll outlast your knights in a month. Mark it."
Aldren scoffed and stormed off.
By the time the sun rose high, the heroes lay sprawled across the dirt like casualties of war. Derrick blew his whistle one last time, just to watch them jolt in panic.
"Same time tomorrow," he said. "Bring a bucket. Some of you are gonna need it."
The groans that followed were long and loud. But under the misery, Derrick saw it again—the faintest spark of something buried beneath the whining.
Not just resentment.
Respect.