Volume 01, Chapter 12

  André’s Training [2]

  "Hah… hah…"

  I collapse onto the grass, utterly spent, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. Sweat clings to every inch of me, and my muscles protest after three hours of exercise.

  It’s done. The 10km run, the push-ups, the squats, the sit-ups—all of it. And like the run, the exercises earned me a point every five minutes, bringing in 72 points—36 for Strength and 36 for Endurance.

  "System…" I gasp, staring up at the sky. "Show me my status."

  I glance at the stats displayed before me, a sense of accomplishment stirring as I see how far I’ve come. My Strength and Endurance have made noticeable jumps, but there’s still room to grow.

  Now, with 100 Stat Points in my possession, it’s time to capitalize on the effort I’ve put in.

  "Add 25 each for Strength, Endurance, Speed, and Agility," I say decisively, aiming for a balanced approach.

  As the System confirms the changes, I feel a slight shift coursing through my body. I felt lighter…

  A satisfied smile spreads across my face.

  This isn’t just progress; it’s preparation for what’s to come.

  -Growl!

  My stomach's complaint snaps me back to the present. While training and focusing on my stats, I have forgotten about breakfast.

  "Dominic, the exercise is done. Rest while I take a shower," André announces, heading toward the house.

  I muster a tired thumbs-up, too exhausted to respond verbally.

  "Hey, Doms," Arthur’s familiar voice draws my attention as he approaches, balancing a tray filled with a fresh baguette, jam, and a small bowl of yogurt on the side.

  "Hey, thanks for the food," I manage, genuinely grateful.

  Arthur’s smile is warm and easy. "No problem. You’ve earned it after that workout."

  I sit up and accept the tray, wasting no time biting the baguette.

  -Munch!

  The food is just as delicious as I hoped—a perfect way to replenish after the morning's punishing exertion.

  Arthur settles beside me, and for a moment, we eat in companionable silence, the quiet that only comes with good company.

  -Munch!

  Of course, my ravenous state makes me eat anything but quietly, but I’m too hungry to care. Arthur doesn’t seem to mind either, leaning back and watching me devour the food with mild amusement.

  "Wow, Doms, you look a bit more muscular." Arthur’s hand touches my arm, catching me off guard. He’s always been naturally touchy, but it still takes some getting used to.

  "When did you start exercising? You looked nothing like this yesterday," he asks, genuine surprise coloring his tone.

  I pause mid-bite, thinking of the best way to answer without revealing the System.

  "Well," I begin, carefully crafting my response. “I’ve been training for about a week and usually wear long sleeves. I guess you just didn’t notice."

  Arthur nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. "I see," he says before extending his arm toward me. "Give me your arm; let’s compare muscles."

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  His request catches me off guard, but there’s no harm. Reluctantly, I offer my arm.

  Side by side, Arthur’s muscles are more defined, as expected. He’s been training longer and more consistently. Still, it’s a bit of a relief to know I’m closing the gap, however slightly.

  "Sheesh, look at you, Doms," Arthur teases, smirking. "Looks like the ladies will start talking to you after this."

  I shake my head quickly, dismissing the idea outright. "Even if they talk to me, I’m not talking back. Right now, I’m focused on training to become a Stargate Raider."

  Arthur studies me for a moment, his gaze intense and unreadable. The scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, and I shift under his stare.

  Then, his expression shifts to a smirk. "Okay, Mr. Serious Training," he quips, clearly amused.

  I groan internally. "So that’s my new nickname, huh?"

  Arthur’s grin only widens. “Yep!” he says.

  "Whatever, Pretty Boy," I shoot back, attempting to match his teasing with mine.

  His smirk turns mischievous as he leans closer, his hand reaching out to tilt my chin upward, bringing our faces dangerously close.

  "Oh, so you’re admitting that I’m pretty?" he challenges, his voice playful but laced with confidence.

  The boldness takes me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting Arthur to have this level of directness. I can’t help but laugh, pushing him away lightly to regain some personal space.

  "Y-you look ridiculous!" I say, still laughing.

  For a moment, there’s silence. Then I hear a soft "Oh…" from Arthur. His voice carries an unexpected note of sadness, catching me off guard.

  I pause, my laughter fading.

  Did I go too far? In my attempt to keep the mood light, I might have accidentally crossed a line.

  "Hey, Arthur," I say quickly, my tone softer. "I was just joking."

  Arthur looks at me, his expression somber. But then, just as suddenly, his face breaks into a sly smirk.

  "You fell for it, Doms!"

  I stare at him, stunned, before the realization dawns. He was messing with me.

  "Seriously?" I groan, throwing a small piece of baguette at him.

  Arthur dodges it, laughing harder. "You should’ve seen your face!"

  “Haiyah…” I shake my head, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips.

  -Beep!

  The sharp sound of a car horn interrupts our banter. My attention shifts toward the source, where a sleek limo with golden accents sits in front of the house. Its polished surface gleams in the sunlight, exuding an air of wealth and formality.

  I can’t help but wonder who owns such a ride.

  "Oh, looks like my butler’s here to pick me up," Arthur says, his voice taking on a sudden, unmistakable note of sadness.

  The shift in his tone is subtle but noticeable. Watching him, I’m reminded of our earlier conversations about his family. His playful, confident exterior is just that—an exterior. Beneath it lies something more complicated, something heavier.

  Arthur stands, brushing himself off as he turns to face me. His expression is subdued, a far cry from the teasing smirk he wore moments ago.

  "See you on Monday, Doms," he says, his voice quiet but weighted with emotion.

  It’s a simple farewell, but its unspoken meaning is loud. It underscores the stark contrasts in our lives—the camaraderie and freedom he finds here versus the expectations and isolation waiting for him at home.

  "See you, Arthur. Take care," I reply, my words imbued with a sincerity I hope he feels.

  Arthur gives a faint smile before heading toward the limo. The butler, dressed immaculately, opens the door for him. For a moment, I watch, a part of me wishing I could do more to lighten his burdens.

  But for now, I can only offer my friendship and the promise to stand by him.

  As Arthur slips into the vehicle, the door closes behind him with a quiet finality. Moments later, the limo pulls away, its departure swift and smooth, leaving nothing but a quiet void.

  “Dominic.”

  I turn and see André approaching, holding a sleek, Aether-powered device resembling a smartphone.

  "Your Commlink kept ringing," André says, handing it to me.

  A Commlink. Dominic—or rather, I—own one is news to me. Unlike regular smartphones, Commlinks are an impressive blend of magic and technology, powered by Aether for longer battery life.

  "Dad, who kept calling me?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

  André shrugs. "Maurice," he replies, passing the device to me.

  Professor Maurice? Why would he call me, and how did he get my number?

  I quickly dial Maurice back on the Commlink, pressing it to my ear as the call connects.

  "Dominic, you finally answered," Maurice’s voice comes through, a mixture of impatience and relief.

  "Sorry for not responding earlier, Profes—"

  Before I finish, André snatches the Commlink from my hand with startling speed.

  "Hey, Maurice, you Twat! I didn’t know someone like you became a teacher!"

  "Wait… that voice. André the Trash? Is that you?"

  I blink, caught completely off guard as their exchange quickly devolves into a barrage of casual insults.

  "You Twat! Why didn’t you tell me you started teaching, let alone that you’re my son’s professor!"

  "You Trash, you never asked, that’s why!"

  "Stop being a smartass, Twat! How come you can call my son’s number but not mine? And how did you even get his number in the first place?"

  "I have access to student records, you Trash. Also, I’m going to train him later at 3 PM!"

  André’s grip tightens on the Commlink. "Training?! Don’t you dare take my son away, you hear me?!"

  Their argument escalates as I stare in disbelief. There’s more history between André and Maurice than I realized. Deciding it’s time to intervene, I snatch the Commlink back from André.

  "Hello, Professor," I say, trying to restore civility to the conversation. "Why did you call me?"

  "Ah, Dominic! Finally, someone who’s well-mannered," Maurice replies, his tone deliberately pointed.

  "Hey! I can hear you, Twat!" André shouts in the background.

  Maurice ignores him. "About the training session later—I want you to bring your guns to the school," he says, his request catching me off guard.

  "Uh… okay?" I agree, though uncertainty lingers in my voice.

  "Great! See you at 3 PM. Bye!" Maurice abruptly ends the call, leaving me holding the device as André fumes beside me.

  "Tch!" André clicks his tongue in annoyance. "That Twat hasn’t called me in years, and now he’s calling my son out of nowhere!"

  His frustration is palpable, his usual composed demeanor replaced by irritation.

  "Dad, how do you know Professor Maurice?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

  "He’s an old friend," André admits, though his tone suggests otherwise. "But we stopped talking years ago after… an incident."

  The mention of an "incident" piques my interest, but I decide not to push. The tension in his voice makes it clear that it’s not a topic he’s ready to revisit.

  "By the way," André says, changing the subject, "why didn’t you tell me you’re training under him?"

  "Well," I begin, scratching the back of my neck, "we were focused on the guns last night."

  "Oh yeah…" André rubs his chin thoughtfully before straightening. "If that’s the case, I’m coming with you."

  "What? Why?"

  "Knowing Maurice, he’ll probably spar with you. And here’s the thing—he doesn’t hold back."

  His warning sends a chill down my spine. André’s concern isn’t misplaced; if Maurice’s reputation is as intense as it sounds, the training will be no joke.

  Then, as if to lighten the mood, André smirks. "By the way, you stink. Take a bath, Stink Dom."

  Before I can respond, he flicks my forehead lightly but firmly.

  Rubbing the spot, I can’t help but smile despite myself. Another nickname—Stink Dom. My collection of monikers is growing rapidly, and none are flattering.

  "Alright, alright, I’ll take a shower," I concede, standing up and heading toward the house.

  As I walk, thoughts of the upcoming session with Maurice swirl in my mind. André’s decision to come with me is both comforting and unnerving. Whatever happens at 3 PM, I know Maurice won’t make it easy.

  But for now, I must focus on the immediate task of getting rid of the "stink." Literally and figuratively, a fresh start feels like the best way to prepare for the challenges ahead.