While Xavier discovered exactly how many push-ups a human body could not comfortably manage in a single sitting, Bruce and Stephan spent their one free day doing what any reasonable person would do with unexpected time off in an unfamiliar magic school: getting thoroughly, hopelessly lost.
"I'm almost certain we've passed this fountain before," Bruce said, eyeing a stone fountain shaped like a rearing horse.
"That's because we have. Three times." Stephan didn't sound remotely bothered by this fact. "I like this fountain. It has character."
They eventually gave up on navigating with any real purpose and instead let themselves be pulled along by whatever looked interesting — a display of enchanted training dummies that shouted increasingly personal insults at whoever struck them, a courtyard where a group of students attempted, with mixed success, to levitate each other, and a small market square selling everything from whetstones to suspiciously glowing candy.
By early afternoon, they wandered back toward the training yards just in time to witness Xavier collapse face-first into the dirt after what appeared to be his three-hundredth push-up, Elrick crouched beside him, grinning like this was the most fun he'd had all month.
"...Should we help him?" Stephan asked.
"No," Bruce said immediately.
"Why not?"
"Because if we go over there, he's going to try to make one of us do it too, out of spite. I've known him for three days in this world and eleven years back home. Trust me."
They gave Xavier a wide, respectful berth for the rest of the day.
***
They found a modest food stall near the market square selling skewered meat that smelled suspiciously delicious for something cooked over an open barrel fire, and settled onto a low stone wall to eat while the afternoon crept by.
"You nervous?" Bruce asked eventually, watching Stephan pick at his food with less enthusiasm than usual.
"Me? Nervous?" Stephan scoffed, though it came out a little too fast, a little too rehearsed. "I fought wolves. I fought bandits. I set a ship on fire. An exam's nothing."
"You also got beaten in an arm wrestle by the first tank-class adventurer you met."
"That's different."
"Is it?"
Stephan went quiet for a moment, turning his skewer over in his hands without eating it. "...Okay. Maybe a little nervous. This is the first time anyone's actually going to judge whether I'm good at this, instead of just getting lucky."
Bruce considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "For what it's worth, I don't think you've been getting lucky. Reckless, sure. Occasionally suicidal. But not lucky."
"...Thanks. I think."
"Don't let it go to your head."
***
Evening fell gently over the school grounds, torches flickering to life along the dormitory walkways as students filtered in from the yards for dinner. Xavier, when he finally reappeared at the visitor's lodge, looked less like a person and more like a rumor of one — hair disheveled, clothes soaked through, moving with the stiff, deliberate gait of someone whose every muscle had personally betrayed him.
"...How many did you get through?" Bruce asked, not unkindly.
"Don't," Xavier said, easing himself down onto a bench like it was made of broken glass. "Don't ask me that. I will cry."
"That bad?"
"I did forty push-ups, and I am fairly sure two of my ribs have filed for divorce from the rest of my body."
Stephan, chewing on a piece of bread, tilted his head. "You've got a week, though, right? Plenty of time."
"A week," Xavier repeated, staring off into the middle distance with the thousand-yard stare of a broken man. "Elrick used the word 'foundation.' I don't think he understands that my foundation is currently made entirely of complaints and regret."
Despite himself, despite the very real and present suffering radiating off of him, there was something underneath it Bruce recognized — a stubbornness that had carried Xavier through a spirit realm siren, a pack of wolves, and worse. He wasn't going to quit. He was just going to be extremely dramatic about not quitting.
They turned in early that night, exhaustion and nerves in roughly equal measure. Stephan, for all his usual bravado, was quieter than usual, running his thumb absently along the hilt of his sword, staring up at the ceiling of the lodge long after the others had drifted off.
***
Dawn broke cold and grey over the east training yard, mist still clinging to the grass in thin, ghostly patches. By the time Xavier and Bruce arrived — Xavier moving like a man twice his age, courtesy of yesterday's forty-push-up massacre — a crowd of nervous, fidgeting candidates had already gathered along the yard's edge, Stephan among them, gladius strapped to his hip and a look of determined, uncharacteristic focus on his face.
There had to be at least thirty of them, Xavier guessed, scanning the crowd from where he and Bruce had claimed a spot along the fence. Some looked barely older than children, clutching weapons clearly borrowed for the occasion. Others had the hardened, weathered look of people who'd already survived plenty out in the world and simply wanted the school's insignia to make it official. One girl near the front was quietly stretching with the calm, mechanical precision of someone who had done this exact routine a hundred times before and expected to do it a hundred more.
"Think he'll do alright?" Bruce asked quietly, nodding toward Stephan.
Xavier watched his friend roll his shoulders, crack his neck, and mutter something to himself that looked suspiciously like a pep talk directed at his own sword. "He fought a bandit crew without armor and won. He'll be fine. Probably. Possibly. I've stopped trying to predict Stephan's odds of survival with any real confidence."
"Comforting."
"I try."
A tall instructor with a voice built for shouting across battlefields strode out to the center of the yard, a scroll of names tucked under one arm, and the murmuring crowd fell quiet almost instantly.
"Candidates! Welcome to your entrance examination. Today, we determine who among you has what it takes to wear this school's insignia... And who goes home."
He unrolled the scroll with a sharp snap.
"First name called steps forward immediately. No hesitation, no excuses. Are you ready?"
A tense, electric silence fell over the yard.
"...Gojo, Stephan."