I rose from the table with deliberate grace, ignoring the continuing laughter and speculation about the wager. My young body felt stiff from maintaining perfect posture throughout dinner - another reminder of how much work lay ahead.

"Leaving so soon, brother?" Helena's voice carried a note of genuine curiosity. "The evening's entertainment has barely begun."

"Unfortunately," I replied, keeping my voice neutral, "I find I must prepare for tomorrow's training."

More laughter from the table. Marcus, still flush with wine and victory, called out, "Yes, do try to learn some basic ice formation before you become my servant!"

I didn't respond, maintaining perfect posture as I left the hall. Let them laugh. Let them think I was running away. They had no idea what true preparation entailed.

In my past life, I'd spent decades studying not just ice magic theory, but the physical principles behind magical manipulation. The body wasn't just a vessel for power - it was an instrument that needed precise tuning. My current physical state was woefully inadequate for what I planned.

The corridors of the estate were quieter now, the aurora's light casting long shadows through the ice-glass windows. I made my way not to my quarters, but to the eastern wing's lesser-used training halls. In my past life, I'd discovered these rooms years after my exile - perfect for private practice, forgotten by most of the family.

The smallest hall still held basic training equipment - weights, striking posts, and most importantly, mirrors for checking form. I shed my formal dinner robes, leaving just the basic training clothes underneath.

"Twenty-nine days," I muttered, examining my reflection. Sixteen years old again - no muscle definition, no battle scars, none of the physical conditioning I'd developed during my exile. But also no accumulated injuries, no worn joints, no decades of strain.

A clean slate.

I began with basic stretches, remembering the forms I'd learned from an old combat manual in my past life. The body needed to be limber before it could be strong. Each movement revealed new limitations - muscles that weren't ready, joints that hadn't been properly conditioned.

"Magic flows like water," I recited, remembering one of the fundamental texts, "but is contained by vessels of flesh and bone."

The basic exercises came next. Push-ups, squats, core work - nothing magical, nothing fancy. Just the fundamental strengthening my young body needed. In my past life, I'd learned these too late, after my exile. This time, I had a chance to build the proper foundation.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Sweat began to bead on my forehead. Even these simple exercises taxed my current physical state. The power of Absolute Zero hummed beneath my skin, eager to be used, but I held it back. Power without control was worse than useless.

An hour passed. Then two. My arms shook as I forced myself through another set of exercises. This body had never been pushed like this - the pampered third son had never seen the need. But I remembered. I remembered the years of hardship that had forged my older self into something stronger.

"Young Master Isaac?"

I turned to find Agnes in the doorway, concern on her aged face.

"I'm fine," I assured her, grabbing a towel to wipe away the sweat. "Just some extra training."

"You haven't..." she hesitated. "You haven't pushed yourself like this before."

I smiled slightly. "Things change, Agnes. Sometimes we must change with them."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "I'll have hot water sent to your quarters for washing. And perhaps some healing salve? For the morning?"

In my past life, I'd never appreciated the quiet support of the estate's servants. "Thank you, Agnes. That would be most helpful."

After she left, I forced myself through one final set of exercises. My muscles screamed in protest, but I welcomed the pain. This body needed to remember what it meant to be pushed beyond comfortable limits.

Twenty-nine days. Not nearly enough time to build the physical condition I'd had in my past life. But enough time to lay the groundwork, to begin the transformation this young body would need to handle what was coming.

I gathered my formal robes, noting how the fine fabric was now damp with sweat. Tomorrow would bring muscle soreness and snide comments from my family about my "desperation" after the wager. Let them talk.

The corridors were almost empty now, most of the family either still at dinner or retired to their private quarters. Through the windows, I could see fresh snow beginning to fall, each flake carrying traces of magical energy visible to my trained senses.

My quarters felt different when I returned - smaller, somehow, now that I had memories of other places, other rooms, other lives. A servant had already prepared the hot water and left a jar of healing salve by the washbasin.

As I cleaned away the sweat and grime, I mentally reviewed my plans. Physical conditioning every night, hidden away in the forgotten training halls. Careful study of the founder's technique during the day, masked as desperate research. And most importantly, careful control of my power, letting only the smallest hints show as the ceremony approached.

My muscles already ached, promising greater pain by morning. But pain was an old friend, one I'd known well in my past life. This young body would learn to embrace it too.

Twenty-nine days to prepare. Twenty-nine days to rebuild what decades had taught me. Twenty-nine days to ready myself for the moment when everything would change.

I applied the healing salve to muscles that would definitely feel worse by morning, then settled at my desk. One final task before sleep - detailed notes on proper physical conditioning, written in the cipher I'd developed in my past life. Every advantage had to be documented, every weakness addressed.

The aurora's light faded, leaving only the eternal starlight reflecting off the snow outside. Somewhere in the estate, my family would still be laughing about my wager, plotting their own moves for the ceremony, never suspecting what was truly coming.

Let them laugh. Let them plot.

I had work to do.