The sun had barely risen.
Most of the house was just starting to stir. Servants moved around slowly, yawning as they opened curtains and swept floors.
But Orien was already outside.
He was running.
His feet hit the ground with soft thuds. His breath came out in short bursts. His legs burned, but he didn't stop.
Every few laps, he would do squats. Then push-ups. Then more running.
His body was weak, but each movement made it feel a little stronger. The cold air stung his skin, but he welcomed it.
He wiped the sweat from his face and checked the system.
[System: Health increased +3]
He stared at the screen, breathing heavily.
"…Again?"
His lips pulled into a small smile.
"So just moving... helps me get better?"
His chest still hurt a little, and his arms shook when he pushed too hard. But this was proof. The system worked. Effort worked.
He kept going.
He ran again, slower now. He stopped to stretch. His back cracked a little. He winced, but then laughed softly.
It felt good.
A few servants passed by on their way to chores. They stopped when they saw him.
"Is that… the young master?" one whispered.
"What is he doing?" another asked.
They watched in silence. No one had ever seen Orien do something like this.
He had always slept late, drunk in the afternoon, and yelled for food to be brought to his room.
Now he was sweating outside at dawn.
It didn't make sense.
A maid walked toward the courtyard. The same girl from last night.
She froze when she saw him sprint past.
His clothes were plain. His face was red from effort. But he wasn't angry. He wasn't yelling.
He was focused.
Her eyes followed him.
He didn't notice her at first. He was doing sit-ups now, counting each one out loud in a soft voice.
"Seven… eight… nine…"
He paused for a breath. His arms trembled. His heart beat fast.
But he kept going.
The girl didn't move. Her hands held a small folded towel. She had come to clean the outer windows, but now she just stood there, watching.
After a while, Orien stopped and leaned against a low wall. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked up.
He saw her.
She looked down quickly.
He straightened and gave her a small nod.
"Morning," he said.
She opened her mouth like she wanted to answer, but no sound came out.
She just nodded once and stepped aside.
A butler appeared behind her. He was older, with gray at his temples and a sharp gaze.
He stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"Young Master," he said, "may I ask what you're doing?"
Orien took a deep breath.
"Training," he said. "I want to get stronger."
The butler blinked.
His mouth opened like he was going to say something. Then he closed it again.
"…Very good, sir," he said slowly.
He bowed and walked off, but kept glancing back over his shoulder.
Orien smirked and opened the system again.
Name: Orien Draeven
Class: None
Level: 1
Health: 50/100
Mana: 10/10
Status: Weak
Condition: Slowly Improving
Skills: None
"Halfway there," he muttered.
He sat down on a stone bench and took a deep breath. His whole body ached. But not in a bad way.
It felt like he was taking back control.
The maid's thoughts, from the garden wall…
She had watched him for a long time.
She hadn't meant to.
At first, she thought he was a stranger. A thief maybe. No noble ever went out like that—not to sweat and grunt like a commoner.
But it was him.
Orien.
The same boy who once slapped her for knocking over a cup of tea.
The same boy who used to scream at his tutors, mock the cook, and throw things when he didn't get his way.
She had seen him at his worst.
But today, he was alone. He didn't shout. He didn't demand anything.
He ran.
He moved like someone chasing something far away. Something only he could see.
And when he saw her… he spoke kindly.
Just one word: "Morning."
It shook her more than a slap.
She didn't know how to feel.
Was it a trick?
Was he going to snap back tomorrow?
Or had something really changed?
She stepped away from the window and clutched the towel tighter in her hands.
Her heart felt heavy and light at the same time.
She wanted to believe this version of him was real.
But trust was hard to give… after what he'd been.
Still, something inside her whispered:
Maybe.