Loving.

  Burn never really uood love. Thanks to a childhood filled with more cold shoulders than warm hugs, the cept was about as fn to him as a vacation. The closest thing to affe he ever got was a nod of approval and the occasional "well done" from his te father.

  Reition and respect. That was the full extent.

  Ah, his dear old dad—a great king, a stelr knight, but an absolute disaster in the parenting and spousal departments. Burn had a sneaking suspi that dear old dad wouldn't know love if it bit him in the rear end.

  So, when Burn crossed paths with Belezak Qu Edensworn—a man who was so loving that he practically imbued and o in his Force art—it was nothing short of a revetion. Or, at the very least, an eye-opener.

  "Your father's sword path eculiar. I've never seen anything like it, before or since," Burn remarked to Yvain.

  The boy was on the ground, pushing a boulder on his back while doing push-ups. Because, apparently, Burn thought regur push-ups just weren't challenging enough.

  "Every stroke of his sword reflected his Force style. It matched his Force type so perfectly that I was a bit perplexed when I first saw it," Burn tinued, with a hint of admiration—or was it fusion?

  "Huff—" Yvain struggled to push himself up. "Why am I back at physical training…? Ugh—" he groaned, clearly rethinking all his life choices.

  After that day when Buriohat Yvain should be ready to start Force art training the day, everything ged. Burn didn't just say it; he demonstrated it in a way that Yvain would never fet.

  Buriculously replicated his father's movements. That day, Yvain's eyes widened with amazement at the level of precision Burn achieved.

  He imitated the way Belezak swung his sword, his stance, his timing, his steps, the exact bend of his limbs, his breathing—even his looks. Heck, Burn mao mimic Belezak's posture perfectly, down to the smallest detail.

  For a moment, Yvai as though his father was standing before him again, just from Burn's silhouette.

  Yvain had been too small when Belezak passed away, but he would never fet the way his father stood at the door of his room every night, putting him to bed, making sure he was safe and sound before he drifted off to sleep.

  Then, Burn began to break it down—almost inch by inch, disseg every movement with excruciatiail.

  "W-wait! This is information overload—you 't teaeone like this!"

  That was what Yvain said in protest that day.

  Burn hummed thoughtfully, then casually remarked, "Maybe it's too hard for you, after all."

  Of course it was! Yvain wao yell back at him. Even Man, whnized his potential as a Visienius, still taught him step by step, providing just the right amount of information at a time.

  However, knowing that Burn was a busy man, he eventually relented and listed the main parts Yvain o focus on.

  Yvain thought Burn would teach him the movements like a typical martial arts instructor, but he was wrong. Instead, Burn focused on how much weight Yvain o apply to his body when he moved.

  From that moment on, Burn instructed him to be acutely aware of his movements. Everything mattered: the pt of his foot, the sway of his arms. Burn wanted each motion to be as effective as possible while maintaining full awareness of his surroundings.

  Every sensation, every touch receptor had to be engaged.

  This approach was quite the opposite of how Yvain had trained aated with Vision before. Training Vision required him to be sensitive to his soul, to delve deep into his identity and feelings. But with Force training...

  He o be scious of his body.

  It wasn’t about listening to his soul anymore—it was about listening to his body instead.

  And today, uhe crushing boulder he had to lift with each push-up, Yvain couldn't help but do so!

  Pain!

  It radiated through his entire body, a relentless symphony of agony. His joints screamed in protest with each push-up, the grinding and popping sounds eg in his ears like a cruel orchestra.

  Every fiber of his muscles burhe ctic acid building up to excruciating levels—ahhh, the weight of the boulder pressed down on him, an overwhelming force that made every push-up feel like an epic battle.

  His arms trembled as he pushed against the unyielding mass, his shoulders felt ready to snap, and his back ached as if it were on the verge of breaking. Each breath was a struggle, his lungs w overtime to keep up with the demands of his tortured body.

  "Uggg—"

  Alongside Yvain, another person was embroiled in the same struggle. But unlike him, she didn't have a boulder perched on her back. Her body was light, yet her thin arms still waged a futile war against gravity.

  Man y face-down, palms ft on the ground beside him, utterly defeated, uo muster even a single push-up.

  "M-Master... please don’t force yourself too... hard," Yvain said, knowing full well his master had the physique of a damp noodle.

  "No..." Man replied, dejected but stubborn. "At least today... one push-up... just... one...!"

  Burn gnced down at his two new panions. One was training like his life depended on it, and the other... well, adorably pathetically, was also training like her life depended on it.

  The man squatted beside Man and patted the back of her knees. "Bend your knees and put them on the ground. It's easier."

  "That's pathetic," Man almost shed tears.

  "Your body is the pathetie. Why the sudden urge to work out? Still fighting off muscle atrophy?" Burn asked, eyebrow raised.

  "No," Man sighed. "It's just that... my stamina..."

  The memory of being tossed around helplessly on that damn bed, uo retaliate no matter how many rounds they had, fshed in her mind. Let's just say her petitive nature had been awakened.

  "Master, please rest... for my part too..." Yvain pleaded, feeling lightheaded and knowing full well that Burn would never let him off the hook this early.

  "Don't strain yourself too much," Burn said, a rare hint of in his voice. He remembered going overboard st night—and how she had healed his soul with hers.

  Man yelled, "Stop spoiling me, you two!"

  PUSH!

  One push-up~!

  After pleting just one, Man sprawled ba the ground, utterly defeated. Three ringing bells, K.O.

  Burn was about to pull her up, but Man, tiredly, but sharply said, "Don't help me. I will rise, eventually," as she y face down on the ground. She probably cried silently, arms sore and spirit bruised.

  "49... 50...!"

  Yvain finally finished his set.

  "Good," Burn said, just before Yvain could follow his master’s example and sprawl on the ground. "Hold that position, do a pnk for a minute."

  "Huh?!" Yvain froze, trembling. "When are we going to tihe Force training then—?"

  "While you do that for a minute, listen to your body," Burn instructed.

  "I already did!" Yvain protested.

  "Have you truly listeo your heartbeat? Have you felt the blood rushing through your body? And what about adrenaline? Do you even listen to your owhing?" Burn fired back, each question nding like a hammer blow.

  "But how do you even—?" Yvain stammered, utterly baffled.

  "People have this misception," Burn began, "that simply w hard and training hard will lead to Force mastery. That's not all there is to it."

  Yvain’s eyes widened in fusion.

  "Sure, wherain their bodies enough, they might e to uand it eventually. But it’s easier if they realize it’s not about them; it’s about their body."

  Burn csped his hands, carefully feeling every fiber of muscle he o tense and rex. "How much training does it take until someone taste the air through their fiips, see the slowed-down image of an arrowhead through the back of their head?"

  "How much training does it take until someone and every single cell of their body? How much do they o do to override automatic brain processes and trol their body manually?" Burn asked, his tone dripping with challenge.

  "To manually beat your heart, push your blood when your heart fails, use adrenaline in a trolled manner as a reward for each cell perf well in dangerous situations, and manually absorb air through your lungs, deliver it via your blood, and push every single molecule to its limits."

  "Yvain, if you want to master Force properly, that’s the bare minimum," Burn decred.

  Yvain was bewildered, to say the least. To that level? He could never imagine—

  "There’s no way—every Force art Master do that!" he excimed, utterly unvinced.

  "Of course," Burn replied, a smirk pying on his lips. "Only crazy people master their bodies to that extent. Like me, and your father."

  Yvain’s eyes widened even further.

  Even his father?

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