The morning sun pierced through the clouds, painting the courtyard in gold. Alden was already outside before dawn, stripped to the waist, fists wrapped tight. His movements were sharp, fast — precise.
Strike. Pivot. Dodge. Elbow.
Sweat dripped from his nose. His eyes were locked on an invisible opponent.
Leonhardt, barely awake, walked out into the courtyard, squinting.
He winced when Alden slammed his fist into the padded post hard enough to splinter it.
"HEY!" Leonhardt shouted.
No reaction.
He walked closer, waving his arms.
Still nothing.
Alden was locked in — muscles taut, mind silent. A flow state.
Leonhardt grabbed a stick from the ground and lightly tapped him.
Still nothing.
Then, in desperation, he stepped forward and punched Alden in the side.
It was like punching a brick wall.
Alden's body twisted, nearly reacting on instinct — and Leonhardt only barely stepped back in time before a wild elbow nearly took his head off.
A pause.
"…You okay?" Alden muttered.
Leonhardt clutched his ribs. "Do I look okay? You almost turned me into soup!"
"You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"You were about to dislocate your own shoulder, genius!"
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Leonhardt sighed.
"You've got technique. But if you keep pushing your body like that, it'll break down before the next trial."
Alden grunted.
Leonhardt crossed his arms. "Come on. I'll show you how to train smart. Not just hard."