The palace training yard smelled of dew, iron, and fresh hay. Servants had cleared the space for drills, but for once, Derrick didn't blow his whistle right away. The heroes lined up—bleary-eyed, sore, and half-ready for another round of torture—but he let the silence hang.
Kaela nervously fiddled with her staff. Ryker scratched at a dent in his armor. Jax yawned without shame. Aiden, of course, stood tall as if preparing for a portrait.
Derrick's gaze swept over them, and for a moment, he didn't see heroes. He saw his old team.
The sweaty gym back home. Kids slumped on the bleachers, arguing after a loss. The same mix of egos, nerves, and raw potential.
He clenched his jaw. "You think you're tired now?" His voice carried low, almost weary. "You think yesterday was rough? Back home, I had kids who practiced until they puked, then showed up the next day hungry to do it again. They weren't chosen by prophecy. They weren't born with magic blood. They were just kids who wanted to win together. That's what made them strong."
The heroes shifted, uncomfortable.
"Here's the truth," Derrick continued. "Your world doesn't need individuals. It needs a team. That's the only reason I'm here. You seven aren't saviors until you start playing like one."
He blew the whistle, but softer this time, almost like punctuation.
"Now. Obstacle course. Together."
The course was chaos, as expected. But between tumbles and fumbles, Derrick noticed something he hadn't yesterday.
When Kaela tripped, Liora rushed to help her up without hesitation.
When Aiden launched the ball too hard, Ryker leapt to intercept it before it hit anyone.
Even Jax, though he cursed under his breath, doubled back to make sure Selene hadn't dropped her focus.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
Derrick stopped them midway. "Alright, hold it. Break."
The heroes collapsed in a heap, gasping. Derrick walked among them, hands behind his back. "Since you all seem ready to die from a little exercise, let's talk. You want to save the world? Fine. But first, I need to know who I'm working with."
The yard went quiet. Even the knights on the sidelines leaned in.
"Tell me," Derrick said. "What were you before this?"
Aiden answered first, predictably. His chin tilted up, voice ringing with rehearsed nobility. "I am heir to House Everbright, sworn defenders of the realm for ten generations. Since childhood, I trained with blade and code, preparing for destiny. This summoning is my birthright."
Derrick snorted. "So, you've been groomed your whole life and still can't run two laps without looking like a dying fish? Great. Next."
Selene bristled. "I was top apprentice at Stormveil Academy. I mastered lightning at fifteen. No mage of my age has reached my level."
"Cool," Derrick said dryly. "But can you keep your feet while running? Or is your magic only good for blowing up the practice ball?"
Her cheeks flushed with sparks, but she held her tongue.
Ryker rolled his shoulders. "I was a soldier. Fought border skirmishes, guarded caravans. Killed men twice my size."
Derrick's eyes narrowed. "So why can't you pace yourself? You burn out in two minutes."
Ryker scowled but didn't argue.
Kaela spoke timidly, almost whispering. "I… I was a temple acolyte. My family didn't want me to leave, but… when the summoning happened, I thought maybe… maybe I could help."
For once, Derrick's expression softened. "Healing's good. But you can't fix others if you can't stay standing yourself. That changes now."
Liora practically bounced where she sat. "I'm not from a noble house or academy! I was just a farm girl. But I studied every book I could get. When the summoning called me, I knew it was my chance. Heroes don't have to be born. They can be made."
Derrick cracked the faintest smile. "Finally, someone who gets it."
Jax shrugged, tossing his dagger lazily. "Thief. Pickpocket. Alley rat. Summoning must've messed up to drag me in. Don't look at me to be a role model."
"Good," Derrick said. "I don't want role models. I want people who can show up and do their job. Can you?"
Jax smirked. "If it pays."
Darius, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice was calm, sharp. "Second son of a minor lord. Spent most of my life in the study, not the field. I've studied strategy, formation, war history. I know how armies win—or die."
Derrick studied him for a long moment. "So you know the theory. Let's see if you can apply it when you're the one sweating."
When they resumed the course, something had changed.
They still tripped, still fumbled, still cursed. But now, there was a strange weight to their movements. Derrick saw past their fumbling hands to the shadows of who they had been—and who they could become.
A farm girl who wouldn't stop trying.
A noble scion desperate to live up to his name.
A mage with too much pride and too much talent.
A soldier who only knew how to fight alone.
A thief who never trusted anyone.
A healer afraid of her own weakness.
A strategist who'd never been tested outside of books.
Derrick blew his whistle again, sharp and clear. "Not good enough. But better. You're starting to look less like strangers and more like teammates."
From the balcony, Sir Aldren scoffed. "Teammates? They'll never last against demons."
Derrick didn't look up. His eyes stayed on his players, and his voice cut through the yard. "That's what you said about my last team. They lost, they cried, they doubted each other. But they learned. They got stronger. And when the championship came, they stood tall together."
The knights muttered in confusion at words like championship. But the heroes felt it. They weren't sure why, but something in Derrick's voice carried weight—the kind of conviction you couldn't fake.
For a moment, none of them laughed.
That night, reports reached the palace again. Villages burned. A border fort overrun. Survivors spoke of the Demon King's generals—inhuman, tireless, relentless.
As the heroes listened in silence, Derrick sat apart, rubbing the whistle in his palm.
He thought of his old players. Their faces, their triumphs, their failures. And he thought of these new ones—scared, arrogant, untrained.
They're not ready, he admitted to himself.
Then he clenched the whistle tighter.
But they will be