The first morning at Reinhardt's manor, Roland woke to sunlight that unexpectedly didn't stab him in the eyes like before.
Actual curtains. Thick ones at that. It blocked light like they were designed by someone who understood the sacred nature of sleep.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Clean plaster, no water stains, no suspicious cracks that suggested the roof might collapse during the night.
The bed wasn't a straw mattress that had given up on life; it was an actual mattress with actual support that didn't make his back scream.
"Huh," he muttered, sitting up slowly. His joints still popped, but less aggressively than usual.
"This is... almost nice."
A knock at the door interrupted his moment of appreciation.
"Roland-Ossan?" Elena's voice, muffled through the wood.
"Are you awake? Martha sent breakfast."
Roland grimaced at the honorific but didn't bother correcting her. He'd tried yesterday. She'd ignored him.
"Coming," he called, dragging himself out of bed.
He opened the door to find Elena balancing a tray with surprising competence. Steam rose from a bowl of porridge that actually looked edible, alongside fresh bread and what might have been real honey.
"Martha said you need to eat properly," Elena said, pushing past him into the room with the confidence of someone who'd grown up in a manor and saw nothing weird about invading people's space.
"She said you look half-starved."
"I'm not half-starved. This is my natural state."
"That's what half-starved people always say." She set the tray on the small table by the window.
"Anyway, Father wants to know when we'll start training today."
Roland scratched his stubble, eyeing the food. Real food. With actual nutritional value.
"After I eat this. And after I figure out if this is going to be a regular thing."
"What thing?"
"You. Barging in with food. Making demands."
Elena smiled.
"Yes. It's definitely going to be a regular thing."
Roland sighed, but sat down and pulled the bowl closer. The porridge was good. Suspiciously good. He wasn't used to food that didn't taste like regret and poor life choices.
Elena lingered by the door, fidgeting with her sleeves.
"So... what will we work on today?"
"Basics," Roland said around a mouthful of bread. "Same as yesterday. Same as tomorrow. Basics until you stop screwing them up."
"But I can do [Fireball] now. And [Flame Touch]. Shouldn't we move to more advanced—"
"No." Roland pointed his spoon at her. "That's academy thinking. 'Rush to advanced spells, skip the foundation, wonder why everything breaks.' You want to know why your magic kept failing? Because you built a house on sand."
Elena's expression shifted to that focused look she got when she was actually listening instead of just waiting to argue.
"So we're... rebuilding the foundation?"
"Exactly. Tedious, boring, but necessary. Like code review. Nobody likes it, but skip it and everything crashes later."
She nodded slowly.
"How long will that take?"
Roland shrugged.
"Depends. Could be days. Could be weeks. Could be until you stop asking 'how long will this take' and just do the work."
"That's not a very specific answer."
"It's the only honest one."
They fell into a routine faster than Roland expected.
Mornings started with theory, which Elena initially resisted until Roland made it practical instead of academic.
"Forget what the academy taught you about 'mana pools' and 'spiritual cultivation,'" he said on the third morning, sketching diagrams in the dirt of the training yard.
"That's all abstract nonsense. Think of it like... hydraulics."
Elena blinked.
"Like what?"
"Water pressure. Pipes. Flow rates."
He drew a simple system: source, channel, output.
"Your body generates mana constantly, like a spring filling a reservoir. The reservoir has a maximum capacity – that's your 'mana pool.' But capacity doesn't matter if your pipes are clogged or leaking."
He tapped the channel section.
"This is where most mages fail. They focus on building bigger reservoirs – more raw power – but their channels are a mess. So the mana doesn't flow cleanly. It stutters, leaks, backflows. And the result is spells that fizzle or explode."
Elena studied the diagram, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"So when my [Fireball] kept dying... it wasn't because I didn't have enough mana?"
"Correct. You had plenty. But your channel control was garbage. Like trying to water a garden with a hose full of holes – the water's there, but it's going everywhere except where you need it."
She looked almost offended. "The academy never explained it like that."
"Because the academy teaches theory for theory's sake. They want you to understand the philosophy of magic before the mechanics. Backwards." Roland stood, dusting off his hands. "Philosophy is great once you actually know what you're doing. But starting there is like reading the manual for a machine you haven't built yet. Useless."
"So we focus on... mechanics?"
"We focus on making your magic work. Then we figure out why it works. Then, if you're really bored, we get philosophical about it."
Elena picked up a stick and started copying his diagram in a clear patch of dirt.
"The academy spent three months teaching us mana theory," she said quietly. "Historical development of magical systems. The philosophical foundations of elemental affinities. But when it came time to actually cast spells..." She trailed off.
"You failed because theory doesn't teach you how to feel the flow," Roland finished. "That's muscle memory. Practice. Repetition until it becomes instinct."
He crouched beside her diagram, correcting a line.
"That's why we're drilling basics. Not because they're easy, but because they're foundational. Master these, and advanced magic is just... combining components."
"Like building blocks?"
"Exactly like building blocks. Except the blocks are made of concentrated energy that explodes if you stack them wrong."
Elena laughed.
"You make magic sound so mundane."
Roland shrugged.
"It is mundane. People just mystify it because mysticism sells better than maintenance."
Afternoons were practical applications.
Roland discovered that Elena learned best by doing, not by watching – which meant he had to actually let her fail instead of correcting her constantly.
This was harder than it sounded.
"No, don't—" He caught himself, stepped back, crossed his arms. "Actually, go ahead. Try it your way."
Elena shot him a suspicious look but focused on the candle in front of her. She was attempting to maintain [Flame Touch] while simultaneously performing another task – in this case, reading from a book Roland had given her.
Her flame appeared, steady for about ten seconds, then wavered as she tried to focus on the text. The moment her attention split, the flame guttered and died.
"Damn it," she muttered.
"Again," Roland said.
She tried again. Same result – flame stable when she concentrated, dying the moment she divided her attention.
"This is impossible," Elena said after the fifth attempt. "How am I supposed to read and maintain a spell simultaneously?"
"By making the spell part of your background processing," Roland said. "Right now, you're manually controlling every aspect of the flame. That takes active concentration. You need to automate it."
"How?"
"Practice until your body remembers how to maintain the flow without thinking about it." He held up his own hand, a small flame appearing on his fingertip. "Watch."
He picked up another book, began reading aloud. The flame never wavered, steady as a candle, while his eyes tracked across the page and his mouth formed words.
"See? I'm not thinking about the flame at all. My mana channels are just... doing it. Like breathing. You don't think about every breath, right?"
"But breathing is natural. Magic isn't."
"Magic is natural for mages. You just haven't internalized it yet." He extinguished his flame. "That's what these exercises are for. Repetition until it becomes automatic."
Elena looked at the candle with renewed determination.
"How long did it take you?"
Roland had to think back to his previous life, debugging spell systems until he understood them instinctively.
"Years," he lied. "So don't expect instant results."
But Elena surprised him.
By the end of the week, she could maintain [Flame Touch] for nearly an hour while reading – not perfectly, the flame still flickered when she encountered complex passages, but she was building that automatic control.
"Better," Roland admitted on the seventh day, watching her flame dance steadily while she read about magical theory. "You're starting to get it."
Elena beamed at the praise, nearly losing her concentration before catching herself.
"Does this mean we can move to more advanced—"
"No. Now we add another variable."
Her face fell. "What variable?"
Roland tossed her a ball. "Catch."
She caught it reflexively, and her flame died immediately.
"Damn it!"
"Again. Maintain the flame while I throw things at you."
"That's not fair!"
"Combat isn't fair. You think bandits are going to wait politely while you concentrate?" He picked up another ball. "Flame up. Let's go."
Evenings were Roland's time, supposedly.
He'd retreat to his workshop – the old practice room he'd debugged and reorganized – with the intention of doing his own work. Researching the runic fragment from the raid. Planning defensive upgrades. Anything that wasn't teaching.
But inevitably, someone would find him.
"Roland?" Martha's voice from the doorway. "The kitchen stove is acting up again. I know you fixed it before, but..."
Roland sighed but followed her down.
The heating stone was overcompensating, cycling between too hot and barely warm. Classic feedback loop error – the regulation rune was checking the temperature too frequently and over-correcting each time.
"Your stove has anxiety," Roland muttered, adjusting the rune's timing interval. "There. Should be stable now."
Martha watched him work with the expression of someone witnessing magic they didn't quite understand but deeply appreciated.
"You're a wonder, you know that?"
"I'm a maintenance technician. Big difference."
"Still." She pressed a warm roll into his hands. "For your trouble."
Roland accepted it because arguing with Martha was futile. Besides, the rolls were good.
Back in his workshop, he'd managed maybe twenty minutes of peace before another knock.
"Roland-sensei?"
He closed his eyes. "Elena. It's evening. Training's over."
"I know, but I had a question about today's exercise. When you said to 'automate the flow,' did you mean—"
She was in the room now, curiosity overriding any sense of boundaries.
Roland found himself explaining mana automation theory for the next hour, using diagrams and demonstrations until Elena's questions finally ran dry.
"Thank you," she said, lingering at the door. "I know I'm probably bothering you..."
"You are," Roland confirmed.
"But... thank you anyway. For being patient."
She left before he could respond.
Roland stared at the closed door for a moment, then returned to his work. But the fragment in his hands seemed less urgent now. The manor's immediate problems – Elena's training, system maintenance, the daily rhythm of life here – had somehow become more pressing than the distant conspiracy.
When had that happened?
By the end of the second week, Roland noticed changes in Elena that went beyond technical skill.
She walked differently, straighter, more confident. Not the forced posture of someone trying to look noble, but the natural carriage of someone who actually believed in themselves.
She spoke differently too, less apologizing, less second-guessing. When she asked questions now, they were direct and practical, not seeking permission to speak.
And her magic...
"Maintain the flame," Roland instructed during one afternoon session. "I'm going to try to disrupt your concentration."
Elena's flame appeared on her fingertip, steady and controlled.
Roland started making loud noises. Clapping. Shouting. Throwing things near her (not at her, he wasn't a monster).
The flame wavered but didn't die.
He escalated – used minor wind spells to create gusts that should have extinguished a normal flame.
Elena's flame danced but held, her mana automatically adjusting to compensate for the external pressure.
"Stop," Roland said finally.
Elena released the spell, breathing hard but grinning.
"I did it!"
"You did." Roland nodded slowly. "That's real control. Not perfect, but functional. You could maintain a light source in combat now."
"Really?"
"Really. Congratulations, you've achieved basic competence."
Elena laughed at his deadpan delivery. "That's the best compliment you've ever given me."
"It's the only compliment I've ever given you."
"Exactly."
They moved on to the next exercise – [Water Purification]. Elena had the theory down, but practical application was different.
"Why water?" she asked, kneeling by the fountain in the training yard. "I thought we were focusing on fire magic?"
"Because practical mages need utility spells, not just combat spells," Roland explained. "You get lost in the wilderness, you need water. You need clean water. [Water Purification] keeps you alive longer than [Fireball]."
He demonstrated, drawing a sample of murky water from the fountain's base. His mana seeped into it, not heating or freezing but restructuring – breaking down contaminants, neutralizing bacteria, separating sediment.
The water cleared, becoming clean enough to drink.
"Your turn."
Elena tried, her mana flowing into the water sample. But instead of purifying, it began to heat.
"Damn it," she muttered. "Fire affinity interfering."
"Not interfering," Roland corrected. "Just defaulting to your comfort zone. You need to consciously push your mana into a different mode. Not fire, not heat – just... pure energy restructuring."
"How?"
"Stop thinking about elements. Think about the result you want. Clean water. Your mana will figure out how to achieve that if you give it clear instructions."
Elena frowned in concentration, trying again.
This time, the water didn't heat. But it didn't purify either – it just sat there, her mana swirling uselessly around it.
"Better," Roland said. "You're not forcing fire anymore. But you're not directing clearly either. Imagine you're... debugging the water. Finding the corrupted data and deleting it."
Elena shot him a strange look. "Debugging water?"
"Exactly. There are things in the water that shouldn't be there. Identify them. Remove them. Clean code."
She tried again, and this time something clicked. Her mana stopped swirling aimlessly and began targeting specific impurities, breaking them down systematically.
The water cleared slowly, then all at once.
"I did it!" Elena gasped, staring at the clean sample. "It actually worked!"
"Told you. Just needed to reframe the problem."
She practiced for another hour, purifying sample after sample until it became routine. By the end, she could clean water almost as efficiently as Roland, though her method was more brute-force than elegant.
"Good enough," Roland declared. "You won't die of dysentery. That's survival magic complete."
Elena was flushed with success, practically glowing.
"What's next?"
Roland checked the angle of the sun – late afternoon, almost evening.
"Next is you take a break before you burn yourself out. Rest is part of training."
"But I'm not tired—"
"Now you're not. In an hour, you'll crash. Mana exhaustion is cumulative. You've been pushing hard all day." He stood, stretching. "Go. Eat something. Drink water. Let your channels recover."
Elena looked like she wanted to argue but recognized the sense in his words.
"Fine. But tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow we drill the same things until they're even more automatic. And probably the day after that."
"You're such a slave driver," she muttered, but she was smiling.
That evening, Roland was in his workshop when Reinhardt appeared at the door.
"Got a minute?" the lord asked.
Roland gestured to the spare chair. "What's up?"
Reinhardt sat with the deliberate care of a man whose body remembered too many old injuries.
"I wanted to thank you," he said simply. "For Elena."
Roland waved it off. "Just teaching basics. Nothing special."
"It's more than that." Reinhardt leaned forward. "You've seen how she was when she arrived. Defeated. Afraid. Doubting everything about herself."
"Yeah. Academy did a number on her."
"And now?" Reinhardt's expression softened. "Now she's... herself. Maybe for the first time. Confident without arrogance. Capable without being reckless. That's your doing."
Roland shifted uncomfortably.
"She did the work. I just pointed out the errors in her code."
"You gave her a framework that made sense to her. That's more than any academy instructor managed." Reinhardt was quiet for a moment. "You know, when I hired you, I was desperate. My daughter was failing, and I had no idea how to help her. I took a chance on a strange uncle from a village because I had no other options."
"Great vote of confidence there."
"But well…" Reinhardt smiled. "Now I'm glad I did. You're a better teacher than you admit."
"I'm not a teacher. I'm a debugger."
"You're a teacher who calls himself a debugger. Important distinction."
Roland didn't have a good response to that, so he changed the subject.
"She's got natural talent, you know. Real talent. Especially with fire magic. If she focuses, specializes... she could be formidable."
"Will you teach her that? The specialization?"
Roland considered.
"Depends. How much time do I have before she goes back to the academy?"
Reinhardt's expression grew more serious.
"That's actually why I'm here. A letter arrived today from the Royal Academy. Term starts in two weeks. Elena needs to return."
Something in Roland's chest tightened – not quite disappointment, but close.
"Two weeks," he repeated. "That's... not much time."
"No. It's not." Reinhardt studied him. "I can request an extension if you think she needs more training—"
"No." Roland shook his head. "She needs to go back. Needs to prove to herself – and them – that she's not the failure they thought she was. Besides, academy will teach her things I can't."
"Like what?"
"Politics. Networking. How to work with other mages. I can teach her technical skills, but she needs social skills too. Academy's good for that, assuming she doesn't let them break her confidence again."
"Do you think that's possible? After all this progress?"
Roland thought about Elena's smile earlier, her genuine excitement at purifying water.
"No," he said finally. "She's got a foundation now. Real foundation. They can't shake that unless she lets them."
Reinhardt nodded slowly. "Then we have two weeks to make sure that foundation is unshakeable."
"Agreed."
After Reinhardt left, Roland sat alone in his workshop, turning the runic fragment over in his hands.
Two weeks. Then Elena would leave, and he'd be... what? Back to retirement? The thought should have been appealing. Peace. Quiet. No responsibilities.
Instead, it felt hollow.
He'd gotten used to having a student. Used to the daily rhythm of teaching. Used to Elena's questions and progress and occasional frustrating stubbornness.
"Tch," he muttered to the empty room. "Getting soft in my old age."
But he didn't deny it.
The next morning, when Elena knocked on his door with breakfast, he was already awake and dressed.
"Early," she noted, surprised.
"We've got two weeks," Roland said, taking the tray. "Can't waste time sleeping in."
Elena's eyes widened. "Two weeks until...?"
"Until you go back to the academy. Your father got the notice yesterday."
Her face went through several expressions – surprise, anxiety, determination.
"Then we need to train harder."
"No," Roland corrected. "We need to train smarter. Harder just burns you out. Smarter means focusing on what matters most."
"Which is?"
Roland set down the breakfast tray and looked at her seriously.
"Making sure you never doubt yourself the way you did when you first arrived. That's the real training. Everything else is just details."
Elena swallowed hard, nodded.
"Okay. Then let's begin."
And they did.