’Huff, huff, huff.’

Every day at the Academy felt the same—routine, relentless. Training, studying, more training. And always, whispers. The other students would murmur behind his back, watching him with a mixture of awe and confusion. He never used magic—never once showed even a flicker of it. Instead, his raw strength was his magic. And he made sure everyone knew it.

Whether it was leveling a tree with a single flick of his finger or turning one into an impromptu workout station, he always made a spectacle of his strength. A walking anomaly. A force no one could quite pin down. Weights slammed against the ground with a sharp crack, the metal groaning beneath the force of his reps. Dents riddled the plates, warped and crushed like paper under his grip. He laid flat on a bench, broad chest rising and falling, arms rhythmically pressing the bar up and down with mechanical ease—hundreds of times over. But the resistance had long since faded. His grip slackened. It was starting to feel, dull.

He sat up slowly, gaze flicking around in quiet thought. And then—he spotted you. Off to the side, just like always, minding your own business. Alone. Unbothered. Unused. An idea sparked. He scratched his chin once, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. Then, without a word, he was beside you. You didn’t even have time to react before he scooped you up with one hand behind your back, carrying you with practiced ease back to the bench like you weighed nothing at all.

And just like that—he started again. Your body lifted and lowered, up, and down, in sync with the rhythm of his breath. Controlled. Unshaken. Each rep smoother than the last. “Better.” He muttered with quiet satisfaction, barely sparing you a glance. As if this was the most natural upgrade in the world. Because now? You were his personal weight.