Body Forged Under Pressure
Four days.
That was all that remained before the academy entrance exam.
I stood in the courtyard, morning air still cool against my skin, and checked my status one more time
Strength: 6.4
Endurance: 5.5
Agility: 6.3
Mana: 6.6
Not enough
Even if I passed, I’d be trampled the moment real competition started.
I exhaled slowly.
“I don’t have time to ease into this.”
The moment that thought settled
DING!
A familiar blue screen unfolded before my eyes.
[SYSTEM QUEST]
Quest: Body Forged Under Pressure
Type: Physical Conditioning
Time Limit: 48 Hours
Objectives:
200 Push-ups
(Strict form enforced · Minimum 20 per set)
120 Pull-ups
(Minimum 10 per set · )
600 Sword Slashes
(Using a weighted training sword · Manual handling only)
25 km Walk
(Minimum 5 km per session ·)
•Mana reinforcement prohibited
•Weapon must be wielded manually
•Proper form strictly enforced
Reward:
Strength +1.6
Endurance +0.8
Skill Acquired: Sense (Basic)
failure Penalty:
Strength −0.3
Fatigue Debuff (24 hours)
I stared at the screen.
“…You really don’t hold back, do you?”
Forty-eight hours.
No mana.
No shortcuts.
Just my body.
I clenched my fists.
“Fine.”
Then the screen faded, leaving the quiet courtyard behind.
I didn’t waste time.
I dropped to the ground immediately.
“One.”
My palms slapped against the cold stone.
“Two.”
By twenty, my arms were already trembling. By forty, my breathing was uneven. By sixty, my shoulders felt like they were filled with molten lead.
I forced myself up anyway.
Strict form meant no shortcuts. No collapsing. No resting on the ground longer than allowed
By the time I finished the first three sets, the sun had climbed high into the sky.
I pushed myself up and dragged toward the courtyard bench. I ate the lunch that had been prepared earlier
, I dragged myself to the pull-up bar.
Ten per set.
That number mocked me.
My fingers wrapped around the bar.
I pulled
Once. Twice
By the eighth rep, my grip screamed. By the tenth,
my forearms burned so badly I nearly blacked out.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably.
I laughed breathlessly.
“Still… not done.”
Next was walking.
I left the manor grounds and moved through the outer paths
slow, steady steps. Five kilometers at a time. No stopping unless my legs actually failed
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Lastly sword
The weighted training blade felt heavier than it had any right to be
I raised it, posture straight, feet planted.
Slash.
Again.
Again.
By the hundredth swing, my shoulders protested. By the two-hundredth, every movement felt delayed, like my body was arguing with my mind.
When night finally fell, I collapsed onto the courtyard stones.
My hands were raw. Blisters had formed and burst.
I didn’t even remember when it happened.
Sleep came without dreams.
Morning arrived painfully.
Every muscle screamed as I sat up.
My hands were wrapped in fresh bandages—I didn’t know when that happened,
but I wasn’t about to question it.
I swallowed and called up the
system.
DING!
[SYSTEM QUEST STATUS]
Quest: Body Forged Under Pressure
Push-ups: 100 / 200
Pull-ups: 70 / 120
Walking: 15 km / 25 km
Sword Slashes: 200 / 600
Time Remaining: 26 Hours
I stared at the numbers.
Just over halfway.
My body felt like it was falling and yet, the quest was nowhere near done.
I exhaled slowly, fingers tightening despite the pain.
So this is what you meant by pressure.
I pushed myself to my feet.
There was no turning back now.
Only twenty-six hours left.
I didn’t allow myself to think beyond that.
The second day began with pain so sharp it felt like
my body was punishing me for daring to move. My shoulders barely rotated.
My fingers refused to close properly around the pull-up bar.
Even standing upright took effort.
But the numbers didn’t care
I started with walking again.
Five kilometers. Slow. Relentless
The path blurred as sweat soaked my clothes.
My breathing settled into a painful rhythm—inhale, step, exhale, step.
Every few minutes, my vision dimmed slightly, warning me how close I was to pushing too far.
I finished the next 10 kilometers just before noon.
I barely made it back to the courtyard before my legs gave out
Not long after, I felt a presence.
I looked up and froze.
Lady Seraphina stood at the edge of the courtyard.
Her gaze wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold.
It was… unreadable.
Her eyes moved from my face to my bandaged hands.
Then to the weighted sword resting nearby, chipped and darkened with dried sweat.
“…You’re injuring yourself,” she said.
“It’ll heal.”
A pause.
“This house,” she continued, “does not lack resources.”
I knew what she meant.
Mana. Healers. Shortcuts.
I shook my head. “I can’t use them.”
She studied me for another moment
longer than necessary—then turned away.
“Do as you wish.”
But as she walked off
Its been forty-six hours
My arms no longer hurt.
That was the problem.
The weighted sword slipped from my fingers and struck the ground with a dull clang.
I stared at it, chest heaving, vision swimming.
My hands wouldn’t close.
“Get up,” I muttered.
Nothing happened.
The system timer run cruelly at the edge of my vision. Two hours left. I was short by forty slashes.
.If I stopped now, I’d fail.
If I continued
My body trembled violently as sensation rushed back all at once.
Pain exploded up my arms like fire.
I tried to move.
Nothing.
A familiar sensation burned at the edge of my awareness
the silent pressure that meant I was standing at the edge of failure.
“So this is it…?”
I forced my hand to move.
It twitched.
Footsteps approached.
I barely registered them before something cold was pressed firmly against my palms.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Ice.
Wrapped in cloth.
I turned my head slightly. The butler was kneeling beside me, movements calm and precise,
as if he’d seen this kind of thing before.
“You’ve been tearing muscle fibers repeatedly,” he said quietly. “Micro-injuries. Your grip is failing.”
I let out a fake laugh. Then… it’s working.”
His gaze lingered on my hands, then on my breathing.
You have pushed far enough to injure yourself
he said. “Another collapse would leave permanent damage.
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he adjusted the ice in my palms, ensuring full contact.
“10 minutes,” he said. “No more.”
Fair.
The cold bit deep, numbing the fire in my hands and forearms. My breathing slowly steadied.
The trembling lessened not gone, but restrained.
10 minutes passed.
I peeled the ice away.
Pain surged back immediately—but my fingers closed.
I rolled onto my side and forced myself up, legs shaking violently.
The sword lay where it had fallen
I picked it up.
“One more set,” I muttered.
The butler did not stop me.
He simply stepped back.
When the final slash landed, my vision went white
The pain didn’t vanish—it dulled, like it had been pushed far away. My body felt heavy and numb, wrapped in something thick
Sound faded next. The world grew quiet, not peacefully, but like my ears were stuffed full.
Even my own breathing felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
A quiet thought slipped in—had I failed?
Cool stone touched my cheek. The scent of iron blood and sweat lingered in the air.
My fingers twitched once.
Then nothing.
Warmth spread across my shoulders as something was placed over me.
A cloak, maybe.
Or a blanket.
I didn’t have the strength to care.
All I knew was that my body felt empty.
Like every last drop of strength had been squished out and left behind on the courtyard stones.
Even breathing felt optional, something my body did only because it remembered how.
At the very edge of consciousness, a single thought surfaced.
Two days left.
My breathing slowed.
The courtyard fell silent once more.
And this time, when darkness took me again, it felt deeper.
Heavier.
Like sleep earned the hard way.
When The sword hit the stone with a dull lifeless sound.
The butler was already moving.
He reached Louis’s side before the echoes faded, two fingers pressing lightly against the boy’s neck. The pulse was there—fast, uneven—but dangerously shallow.
“…Collapsed,” he muttered.
Not unconscious from pain.
From overload.
Muscle fibers torn again and again. Grip destroyed. The body had simply chosen to shut down before permanent failure set in.
He wrapped cloth around the ruined hands with practiced precision, packing ice into the folds. The boy didn’t react.
Too far gone.
“You crossed the line,” the butler said quietly, more statement than scolding. “Another few minutes, and you wouldn’t have woken up at all.”
He adjusted Louis’s breathing, steady and controlled.
Only then did he sense her.
Lady Seraphina stood at the edge of the courtyard.
She hadn’t called out.
Hadn’t moved.
Her eyes followed every motion—bandages, ice, the way Louis’s chest barely rose.
“…So that’s how far he went,” she murmured.
No mana. No healers. No help.
Just flesh and will.
For a fleeting moment, she considered intervening.
Then she saw his hands and knew
she was already too late.
Seraphina turned away first.
“He’s foolish,” she said.
Yet her fingers clenched tightly at her side
