Somewhere in Miura, there was a lucky harlot in a skirt enjoying an evening stroll under the moonlight with a soft and chill breeze. Meanwhile, the muses were whispering to me ideas of poetry, where a young flower is trying to sleep, and the sun is a molester. That's all I could think about, standing outside in the relentless heat.
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My introduction to fitness class came with resentment and a thick ball of fire called the sun. It seemed like nothing less than the beginning of the end. I remember the green pasture and fields of amber grain. The realm outside our campus had one gigantic decoration in the form of an old colosseum. Azure ravens soared about the fair palladium. Some eccentric psychopath had the wherewithal to place a big colosseum in the middle of nowhere, or maybe there was something else here in the ages of yore. How would I know? 'Tis—or it was—a thousand-year-old ruin. Now the recreational area for an academy of brats.
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If I could get into the mind of an old city builder…
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But I jumped back to reality. How in Herod's Hell was I going to pass Fitness Class? Maybe, just maybe, the trainer would be lenient in her evaluations. I mean, what could she expect from me? Perhaps, this could be the one easy class?
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Yet when boot heals crashed upon the dirt, I looked up, afraid. The sight of the PE instructor carried me into the claws of doubt. Her autumnal hair was perfectly tied in a bun. What a perfect bun. She was covered head to toe in smooth cotton, a training outfit that hugged her features enough to reveal a finely toned neck strengthened down to her broad shoulders, and a straight curve from her bosom down to those muscular thighs. She was muscle given femininity, a determined human, which meant… There will be blood. In one word, I was royally—
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"Stand to attention, sheep!"
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...Fucked.
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Though a small consolation, I knew I wouldn’t be suffering alone. Among the scared faces, the four students from Maister Calum's extra-curricular lesson just happened to be present. Coincidence? Warren, Goireman, the boy with the bowl head Thane, and that crow-haired girl whose name I never remembered. Most importantly, Warren.
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Some classmates had the physical advantage in this particular course. Upper body strength, legs that could move, and so on. I felt like a stiff and useless observer nudging toward failure. Nothing new. Not to call observation useless, but I was toothless. I couldn’t judge these people; who was I? A nobody.
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"Listen, sheep," Madame Friege continued, "no resting on thy loins in this course! Idleness shall be repayed with vigor. You will endeavor; you will suffer; you will excel. See this?" She pointed to the ancient monument shadowing us. "That is not an arena. It is a pillory to stretch thy mettle, and I intend to find thy breaking point."
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Why did I select a class with a rogue instructor? Despite the oral punishment, my eyes wandered elsewhere.
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In the distant field, the pages labored and drilled for their specialized training. See, prospective knights, pages, followed a separate tree of courses in Cinderfall. Particularly in Baumwolland, knights were the masters of Mandate Theology. And I just remembered there’d be a tournament in less than a fortnight, meaning all the pages would be teleporting to the capital. All the paladins in training were going to be in attendance alongside the noble houses. The arrogance on display was bound to be so grotesque and so terribly saturated that the audience should drown in a plume of ego.
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I gagged.
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Instructor Friege scowled at me. "Something on your mind, little lamb?"
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"No, madame."
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"You were staring at the boys across the field.
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How would you know if you weren't even looking at me?
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"You thought I wasn't looking; didn't you?"
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I whimpered like a puppy dog as she leaned in. Out of the corner of my eye, boys were gawking at her rump.
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"This regimen will be unpleasant, as you shall see firsthand." When she looked me in the eye, I saw an intense warning in those brown eyes. "How's the view, lads?"
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All the boys blushed and jumped to attention.
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The girls also stared, squeezing their cheeks to stifle laughter. Warren was there. Where art thou, little knife. Little prick to stabeth mine heart and temper its hearty drum. Whisk me from this embarrassment and social mockery.
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"Pay attention!"
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"Yes, mum."
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Now, heark thee! To embrace a bountiful year of physical arbitration, we shall commense a foot race around the ruins."
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Well, that doesn't sound too bad, sure I'll be last, but so long as—"
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"Ten times!"
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Are you mad! "Are you..." Oh, no.
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"What are you waiting for? Don thy wargear! Move it! Move it!” She yelled in the ear of every sorry soul who skipped her way. And I wasn’t fast enough to get past her. "MOVE IT!" So, I lost my hearing.
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and then Add to home screen.