The morning sun was merciless. Einar's muscles ached in ways he didn't know existed, and yet… here he was, standing across from Dean on the training field.
Dean stretched casually, one eyebrow raised. "Ready, brat?"
Einar squinted, glaring at him. "As ready as I'll ever be… which isn't at all. Happy?"
Dean smirked. "Ecstatic. Now don't die before lunch. I'd miss the drama."
⸻
The First Clash
Dean moved first. A feint, a quick jab, a snap of his foot toward Einar's midsection.
Einar barely managed to duck. "Tch! Old man, you're faster than I remember!"
Dean laughed. "Faster, stronger, wiser. And still completely unappreciated by you, apparently."
Einar wiped sweat from his brow, muttering, "And still completely insufferable."
⸻
The Dance of Frustration
They sparred in a rhythm that alternated between intense and painfully sarcastic.
• Dean attacked, Einar dodged.
• Einar countered, Dean blocked.
• Einar landed a lucky jab, Dean chuckled instead of grimacing.
"You call that a punch? I've had stronger slaps from a wet towel," Dean teased, sidestepping another strike.
Einar's jaw tightened. "Oh really? Want to try me again, you sarcastic relic?"
Dean lunged, feinting a kick, then lightly tapped Einar's shoulder. "Relic? I'll have you know I'm a finely tuned relic. A dangerous, cunning relic. And this relic… is still untouchable."
Einar gritted his teeth. "Untouchable, huh? Let's test that theory!"
⸻
Learning Through Pain (and Sarcasm)
Minutes stretched into an hour. Sweat dripped, muscles screamed, and both of them exchanged barbs almost as often as punches.
"Keep your guard up!" Dean barked.
"I AM keeping my guard up!" Einar shouted, swinging wildly.
"No, you're flailing! You look like a confused chicken fighting a shadow!"
Einar laughed despite himself. "I'll remember that insult, old man!"
Dean smirked. "Good. Remember everything I say. Eventually, it'll save your life. Or at least save your dignity. Maybe."
⸻
Progress
By the end of the session, Einar could anticipate Dean's movements better. He blocked more strikes, dodged faster, and even landed a few controlled counters.
Dean leaned on one knee, hands on his thighs, breathing heavier than expected. "Not bad… not bad at all. You're getting stronger. Smarter. Faster. And you're actually thinking during the fight instead of panicking."
Einar wiped his sweat-drenched face and smirked. "So… you're impressed? Not that it matters, of course."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Impressed? I might even… consider not laughing at you for a full minute. Maybe. Don't get used to it."
Einar groaned. "You're impossible."
Dean chuckled. "Yes. Yes, I am. But you're improving. That's what counts. Keep this up for another six months, and maybe you won't get pummeled like a punching bag next time."
Einar rolled his eyes, but inside… he felt the small spark of pride. Six months of sweat, pain, and relentless sarcasm were paying off. He wasn't invincible yet, but he was closer than ever.
⸻
Closing the Session
Dean clapped his hands once. "Alright, brat. Session over. Go drink water, stretch, and try not to collapse in the corner. I need a few minutes to bask in my own brilliance."
Einar laughed, dragging his aching body toward the water trough. "You really are insufferable, you know that?"
Dean raised his hand in mock offense. "Insufferable? I prefer… essential, invaluable, and charmingly ruthless."
Einar muttered under his breath. "Yeah, yeah. Essential pain in the ass."
And as he drank, he silently vowed: no matter how sarcastic, ruthless, or impossible Dean was… he would survive. He would improve. And one day, he would prove that all the sweat, all the pain, and all the insults had been worth it.