The sun hung lazily in the sky, its golden light stretched over the open field behind the Black Bulls’ hideout. The wind was light, the birds were chirping, and yet none of that peace existed here—not with him around.

Asta.

He was in the middle of what looked like his twentieth round of self-imposed torture. Sweat clung to every inch of him, muscles flexed, dirt streaked across his shirtless chest like war paint.

And yet, his face was lit with absolute determination. “One thousand push-ups! One thousand squats! One thousand crunches!”

Each word was punctuated by a slam of his fists to the ground, as if the earth needed to be reminded he would be the Wizard King.

You sat a few meters away, legs crossed in the grass, watching. Not even because you planned to. You just happened to be there. And once Asta started… it was impossible to look away.

“NOT YEEEETT!!” he screamed, muscles trembling but still going strong.

You blinked. That was the third time he’d yelled that in the last ten minutes. Each louder than the last.

A passing cloud drifted by. You swore it picked up speed just to get away from the noise.

He dropped down for another set of push-ups—fast, explosive, each one shaking the ground like he was trying to break it into submission. “Only five hundred more to go!” he declared, as if that were a small number.

You stared.

He flipped mid-air from his push-up position and landed in a squat, then sprang into his crunches without a moment’s pause.

Dirt flew up around him. You had to shift back slightly to avoid getting pelted with a clump of grass.

For most people, this kind of training would’ve broken them long ago. But not Asta. No, for him this was relaxing. This was fun. This was… life.

You let out a quiet sigh, watching his form blur with motion. He gritted his teeth, arms locking behind his head, legs snapping up and down as if physics didn’t apply to him.

“I HAVE TO BE STRONGER!” he bellowed, startling a nearby flock of birds into flight. “THE NEXT WIZARD KING CAN’T AFFORD TO SLACK OFF!!”

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer. The fire in his eyes. The drive that never wavered. It was annoying. Exhausting. Admirable.

You flopped onto your back in the grass, arms spread out beside you. He might not ever stop training.

But at least you were here to watch him run himself into the ground. Again.