The sun was barely creeping over the horizon, yet Roy had already been awake for hours.
Training with Geto didn't follow a schedule, at least not one that Roy could understand.
Some days, they would rise with the morning and dive straight into curses, other days, Geto would wait until the heat of noon before testing him.
Today, the air was sharp and biting.
The streets around the abandoned warehouse they were using for training were silent, save for the occasional scuttle of rats or the distant hum of traffic.
Roy's fists itched for action, his body warm from stretching, his threads coiled and ready like tightly wound springs.
Geto appeared suddenly from the shadows, almost as if he had been standing there the whole time.
His robe flared lightly in the morning wind, eyes scanning Roy with the calm precision of a predator.
"Ready?"
Geto asked, voice low and measured.
Roy grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Always. What's today's lesson?"
Geto smirked faintly, and without another word, the first wave of curses was unleashed.
They poured from the corners of the warehouse in writhing, twisted shapes, claws scraping the concrete and teeth snapping hungrily.
They were weak, the kind a new semi grade 2 sorcerer could handle, but enough to challenge Roy's timing, agility, and focus.
Roy didn't hesitate.
Trickster flared first, subtle distortions of light and shadow twisting the air around him, confusing the curse's senses just enough that their strikes passed harmlessly through the space he had just occupied.
Then came Threadstep, a single thread shot from his fingertips anchored to the wall, snapping taut as he propelled himself sideways, narrowly avoiding a snapping claw.
The movements felt almost instinctive now, his body and cursed energy cooperating in a rhythm he was only beginning to recognize.
Curses fell one by one, shredded, skewered, or misdirected into collisions with one another.
And through it all, Geto watched, silent but never leaving his spot. His eyes tracked each illusion, each thread, each slight overextension in Roy's movements.
*
After the wave had been reduced to dust and shadows, Roy exhaled sharply, sweat running in rivulets down his face.
"This is nothing. Bring it on, I can go all day."
Geto shook his head, not unkindly.
"Patience. You're not here to fight endlessly. You're here to survive, adapt, and understand. One wrong decision, one misstep, and even a weak curse can end you."
Roy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and just as he was about to ask another question, a soft noise caught his attention.
From behind a stack of rubble, two small figures emerged.
The little girls Geto had saved long ago peeked out cautiously, eyes wide as they took in the aftermath of the fight.
Roy's attention snapped from the curses to them, and for the first time, he saw a different side of Geto.
The stoic, calculating man who trained him like a weapon softened ever so slightly as the girls approached.
They ran to him without hesitation, clinging to his legs, chattering quietly about breakfast, safety, and the little concerns of children living in a dangerous world.
Roy knelt to meet them, smiling, though his body still throbbed from battle.
"Hey there,"
He said softly.
"You two okay?"
The older girl giggled and nodded.
"We're fine!"
Roy glanced at Geto, who crouched down to their level, brushing a strand of hair from one girl's face.
Even without the harshness of training, there was a calm authority there, a sense of care that Roy had never expected from the man whose reputation he had studied in his other life.
"You're safe,"
Geto said quietly, voice carrying both firmness and comfort.
"And you will remain so."
Roy's eyes lingered on the girls, then back at Geto. He could feel the tension in his own chest shift ever so slightly.
'So this is part of him too… part of the man he is, not just the man who wants to recruit me.'
After a few moments, the girls scampered off toward another corner of the warehouse, leaving Roy alone with Geto once again.
The silence stretched for a heartbeat before Geto spoke.
"Do you see why I push you?"
He asked, voice calm but edged with meaning.
"Power alone doesn't make a sorcerer strong. Understanding, perception, patience, these are what separate the capable from the reckless. You're getting stronger, yes, but strength without judgment is wasted."
Roy nodded, brushing dirt and sweat from his clothes.
"I think I get it… maybe. But sometimes it's hard to stop thinking about just fighting everything in front of me."
Geto's lips curved faintly.
"Good. That fire will keep you alive. But temper it with thought. That's the difference between surviving and thriving. And you will thrive, Roy. That much I can see."
The day stretched on, filled with multiple waves of curse after curse, each more challenging than the last.
Roy fell, stumbled, got cut and bruised, but he adapted.
Trickster and Threadstep became extensions of his body, the illusions flowing seamlessly with his movements, threads snapping taut as if guided by instinct.
By evening, both Roy and Geto were quiet, shadows stretching long across the ground. Roy, sprawled on his back and panting, glanced at his mentor.
"You ever stop pushing?"
He asked with a grin.
Geto shook his head.
"Never. Not for those who want to survive in this world."
And Roy understood, today, tomorrow, every day, the grind was just the beginning.