"Wait, is your name Jirou?" I asked, still frozen in place.
The void-eyed man tilted his head slightly, studying me with those unsettling black orbs.
"Names are constructs," he replied. "But yes, that is what I have been called."
Great. Cryptic answers from the start.
"How do you know me?" I ventured, taking a cautious step forward. "You said I 'found my way here after all.' Were you expecting me?"
Jirou uncrossed his legs and stood in one fluid motion.
Despite appearing ancient, he moved with the effortless grace of someone in their physical prime.
"I expect nothing," he said. "But the Path seldom makes mistakes."
I looked around at the training ground again.
Stone circle carved with faded symbols.
Mist curling around weathered training posts.
Distant mountains that seemed to shift if I stared too long.
"And where exactly is 'here'?" I asked.
"The Veilroot," Jirou answered, walking toward me. "A training realm anchored to the planet's essence flow. Few find their way here. Fewer still remain."
I suppressed an eye-roll.
Of course.
The mysterious ancient training ground hidden from the world, accessible only to the "worthy."
I'd landed in the most clichéd training arc imaginable.
If this were actually a novel instead of my new reality, I'd be skimming ahead to the good parts.
"Let me guess," I said. "You're going to train me in secret ancient techniques that will make me incredibly powerful, but first I have to prove my worth through impossible physical tasks?"
Jirou's expression remained unchanged.
"No," he said flatly.
I blinked. "No?"
"I will teach you nothing of essence manipulation."
Wait, what?
"But I need—"
"Silence," he cut me off, without raising his voice. "Your essence paths are undeveloped. Your physical form is weak. Your mind is undisciplined. You seek power without foundation."
Hearing my deficiencies listed so bluntly stung.
But he wasn't wrong.
"I have roughly a year before I need to enter Lyserra," I said. "I need to get stronger fast."
Jirou circled me slowly, assessing.
"Ah. The Institute," he said with something like disdain. "They teach tricks and flashy manipulations without understanding root principles."
He stopped directly in front of me.
"You will use no essence while training here."
"What?" I protested. "But that's literally what I need to—"
His hand shot out faster than I could track, pressing against my chest.
I felt something shift inside me—like a door closing.
"What did you just do?" I demanded, a spike of panic rising.
"Sealed your essence flow temporarily," Jirou said calmly. "It will return when you leave this place. While here, you train the vessel, not the power."
I tried to access my status window.
Nothing happened.
"This is bullshit," I muttered.
Jirou smiled for the first time—a thin, unsympathetic expression.
"You believe you deserve shortcuts?"
His words hit uncomfortably close to my unspoken hopes.
"I just don't have much time," I explained. "In a year, I need to be strong enough to—"
"To what?" he interrupted. "Impress children at their school games? True strength comes from proper foundations."
I wanted to argue, but the reality of my situation sank in.
I was trapped in a hidden realm with a man who could disable my magic with a touch.
And honestly? I did need the help.
As clichéd as this whole situation was, I'd be an idiot to walk away from personalized training.
Even if it wasn't the quick power-up I'd hoped for.
"Fine," I said reluctantly. "What's first?"
"Take off your shoes," Jirou instructed.
I complied, setting them aside on a stone.
"Now, run."
I looked around, confused. "Run where?"
Jirou pointed to a worn path circling the training ground.
"Until you cannot run anymore."
I stared at him. "That's it? Just... run until I collapse?"
"Unless you wish to leave," he said with that same unsettling smile. "The door remains open."
I glanced back at the spatial fold, still visible behind me.
Then at the path.
"Fine," I said, moving to the starting point. "How many laps?"
"Counting is a distraction," Jirou said, returning to his seated position in the center. "Run until your body fails. Then we will know your current limits."
With a resigned sigh, I began to jog.
The first few laps were easy enough.
The path was about a quarter-mile around, with varying terrain—packed dirt, scattered gravel, and smooth stone sections.
By lap ten, I was breathing harder.
By lap fifteen, sweat soaked my shirt.
By lap twenty, my legs burned and my lungs felt raw.
Jirou sat motionless, watching with those black void eyes.
I kept going.
What else could I do?
I tried to distract myself by thinking about the novel I'd read, about what might be coming for me at Lyserra.
But the physical discomfort kept pulling me back to the present.
After what felt like an eternity, my legs simply gave out.
I collapsed on a stone section of the path, gasping for breath.
"Thirty-two laps," Jirou announced, suddenly standing over me. "Unimpressive."
I wanted to say something sarcastic, but couldn't find the breath.
"Stand," he commanded.
"Give me... a minute," I panted.
"Stand," he repeated, no inflection in his voice.
With tremendous effort, I pushed myself up on shaking legs.
"Now balance," he said, pointing to a series of wooden posts jutting from the ground at various heights.
They looked worn smooth from use, some barely wide enough to stand on.
"You can't be serious," I managed. "I can barely walk."
"That is the point," Jirou said simply. "Control when control seems impossible."
For the next hour, I struggled to maintain balance on progressively narrower posts.
Falling repeatedly.
Getting back up.
My muscles screaming with fatigue.
Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, Jirou directed me to a stone slab.
"Flexibility now," he said, demonstrating a stretch that looked anatomically impossible.
I tried to mimic him and felt like my hamstrings might snap.
"This is torture," I gasped.
"This is foundation," Jirou corrected. "The body must be prepared before the essence can flow properly."
By the time the sun began to set—assuming it was the real sun in this pocket dimension—I was a sweating, trembling mess.
Jirou finally allowed me to collapse on the ground.
"Pathetic," he assessed. "But expected for a first day."
"Thanks," I wheezed sarcastically.
"You rely too much on words," he noted. "On cleverness. The body does not care for wit."
I couldn't argue with that.
Back in my world, I'd gotten by on being smart and sarcastic.
Physical education had been something to endure, not excel in.
Now my survival might depend on it.
"There will be structure to your training," Jirou said, sitting cross-legged beside me. "Each day begins with the rising sun. Physical conditioning first—endurance, strength, balance, flexibility."
"Like today?" I asked weakly.
"Today was merely assessment," he said. "Tomorrow will be harder."
Of course it would.
"Mid-day brings combat forms," he continued. "Your body must learn to move with purpose, even without essence. Evenings are for mental discipline."
"And when do I actually learn to use my essence?" I asked.
Jirou's black eyes revealed nothing.
"When your foundation is ready."
"And when will that be?"
"When it is ready," he repeated.
I sighed. "How long can I even stay here? I have a life out there."
"Time moves differently in the Veilroot," Jirou said. "A day here may be hours outside. Or less. It fluctuates."
Great. Another classic trope.
The time-distortion training realm.
"You may leave whenever you wish," Jirou added. "The path is always open to those who seek it."
I glanced at the spatial fold, still hovering where I'd entered.
It was tempting to just crawl back through and find another way to get stronger.
But what were my alternatives?
Self-study from books?
Fumbling around with essence techniques I didn't understand?
At least here I had guidance, even if it wasn't what I expected.
"I'll stay," I decided. "But I need to check the outside world occasionally. Make sure I'm not missing weeks at a time."
Jirou nodded once. "Reasonable."
He rose to his feet again.
"Rest now. Tomorrow we begin properly."
With that, he walked toward a small structure I hadn't noticed before—a simple wooden hut at the edge of the training ground.
"Wait," I called after him. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"
Jirou paused and pointed to the hard stone ground.
"Another test?" I asked wearily.
"No," he said without turning back. "Just practicality."
As night fell fully, the temperature dropped sharply.
I curled up on the cold stone, using my arms as a pitiful pillow.
Every muscle in my body ached.
This was not what I'd had in mind when I went looking for training.
But maybe that was the point.
The next morning arrived with Jirou standing over me, a wooden bucket in hand.
Before I could react, ice-cold water crashed over my face and body.
I shot upright, gasping and sputtering.
"What the hell?!"
"Sun is rising," Jirou said calmly. "Training begins."
I wiped water from my eyes, shivering.
"A simple 'wake up' would have worked," I muttered.
"Would it?" Jirou asked, already walking away. "Ten perimeter runs. Now."
And so began my second day in the Veilroot.
The routine quickly established itself.
Mornings were pure physical conditioning—running, climbing, swimming in an ice-cold pond that definitely hadn't been there the day before.
My body protested constantly, but Jirou was unmoved by complaints.
"Pain is the body rebuilding," he would say. "Embrace it."
Easy for him to say.
Midday brought combat training, though "training" seemed generous.
Mostly it involved Jirou demonstrating a form once—a sequence of strikes, blocks, or movements—and then watching me fail to replicate it.
"Again," he would say after each attempt. "Your body remembers even when your mind struggles."
Evenings were perhaps the strangest.
Jirou would have me sit in meditation, focusing on a single point of awareness.
"Your mind wanders like an untrained beast," he observed during our third session. "This makes essence control impossible."
"I thought we weren't training essence here," I reminded him.
"We are not," he confirmed. "We are preparing the vessel to hold it properly."
After a week—at least, I thought it was a week—I started to notice changes.
Small ones, but unmistakable.
My balance improved.
The running became marginally less torturous.
I could hold the meditation focus for minutes instead of seconds.
"You adapt quickly," Jirou noted one evening. "But physical improvement is the easy part."
"This is the easy part?" I asked incredulously.
My body was a map of soreness and minor injuries.
"The mind is more stubborn than the body," he said. "You still seek shortcuts. Still believe in tricks and quick power."
I couldn't deny it.
Part of me was still hoping for some magical revelation, some hidden technique that would let me skip ahead.
"Your shadow essence has potential," Jirou continued. "But without proper foundation, it will remain weak."
It was the first time he'd directly mentioned my innate essence.
"You know about shadow essence?" I asked.
Jirou's black eyes seemed to darken further.
"I know all essence paths," he said simply.
Another cryptic non-answer.
I was collecting quite a few of those.
At the end of what I estimated to be two weeks, I decided to check the outside world.
"I need to leave briefly," I told Jirou during our morning run.
"You return or you do not," he said with his typical indifference. "The choice is always yours."
I approached the spatial fold, which had remained open this entire time.
"How will I find my way back?" I asked.
"Those who need the path can find it," Jirou replied.
I stepped through the fold and found myself back in the library, the book still open on the floor.
According to the clock on the wall, only three hours had passed.
Three hours for what felt like two weeks.
The time dilation was even more extreme than I'd thought.
I closed the book, tucked it into my bag, and headed back to my apartment.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror surprised me.
I looked... different.
Not dramatically transformed, but noticeable.
My posture was straighter.
My movements more deliberate.
Even my eyes seemed more focused.
I opened my status window, curious if anything had changed.
Name: Zensalem Holloway
Race: Human
Innate Essence: [Shadow]
Essence Rank: F+
Essence Flow: 15/100
Essence Mark: None
Vein Stability: 98%
Known Techniques: None
Affiliation: None
My essence flow had increased slightly.
Vein stability up by one percent.
Still F+ ranked, but there was change, however minimal.
I spent the night in my actual bed, luxuriating in the comfort after weeks on stone ground.
The next morning, I returned to the library, found the book, and stepped back through the fold.
Jirou was waiting, looking unsurprised by my return.
"Your comfort has been restored," he observed. "Now we continue the real work."
I nodded, oddly eager to resume training.
"Yes," I agreed. "We continue."