For the next forty minutes, Mirac repeatedly performed every movement he had learned—the fundamentals of the thrust and the parry—while Leonard watched him closely, correcting every minor mistake.

But the instructor, visibly satisfied and amazed, hardly had to intervene, noticing the rapid progress of the young Prince.

"Great job!" exclaimed Leonard enthusiastically. "I'd say we're done for today."

Mirac, completely exhausted and sweating, collapsed on the ground, desperately trying to catch his breath.

But just as he thought it was over, Leonard added:

"Oh, I almost forgot... Before we finish, do 50 push-ups, 50 sit-ups, 50 squats, and finally, 20 laps around the fence."

Mirac barely lifted his head, staring at the instructor with wide, incredulous eyes.

"W-What? D-Did I hear that right?" he asked, vainly hoping that his exhaustion had played a cruel trick on him.

"Exactly, young Prince! It is essential to train the body, making it strong, agile, and resilient, in order to face longer and more intense battles. It wouldn't make much sense to improve sword technique with poor physical condition, would it?"

"Y-You're not wrong..." Mirac admitted through clenched teeth, trying to suppress his discomfort.

'But my body is falling apart!' he thought bitterly, but held back the words.

He didn't want to seem like a spoiled child, and the idea of complaining on the first lesson seemed just as inappropriate.

He had no choice: he couldn't refuse the Grand Knight's orders.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Mirac began the exercises, facing each push-up and sit-up as if they were another battle. Every muscle in his body protested, but the young Prince didn't stop, driven by the desire not to appear weak.

* * *

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to him—although, in reality, only an hour and a half had passed since the start of the training—Mirac was able to rest.

With slow, heavy steps, he dragged himself toward a tree that stood near the training field, where he collapsed at its base with a groan of relief.

He was alone, surrounded only by the silent nature.

The soft, fresh green grass seemed to welcome him like a blanket, gently enveloping him, while a warm breeze made its way through his hair, causing it to move in the same direction as the leaves.

"Damn, I'm completely worn out!"

Mirac's body was destroyed: every muscle, tense and contracted, burned with an exhaustion never felt before. His arms were as heavy as lead, while his legs, trembling and out of control, seemed to refuse to support him for another minute.

Even his breath, labored and broken, had become a challenge: his lungs expanded slowly, struggling to recover from the storm the training had unleashed within him.

He could feel the cold sweat on his forehead, his heart still pounding in his chest.

But what pierced him more than the physical pain was the awareness that this torment would become his new daily routine!

Every afternoon, at 16, from Monday to Friday, Mirac would have to train with the sword, as established by King Arthur.

An unrelenting cycle of fatigue and discipline.

No more carefree afternoons spent chasing butterflies, drawing fantastic landscapes, spending time with his family, resting in the shade of the garden trees, or playing with Betty, the royal family's dog.

And unlike his studies with Vincent, which would end after eight years, there was no deadline for his lessons with Leonard.

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Mirac tried to comfort himself, repeating that there was no way to avoid it. That thought, however weak, seemed enough to lighten his heart a little, as he tried to find a positive side to the day.

"Now that I think about it, I have to admit that handling the sword turned out to be quite... interesting. Maybe even a bit fun," he murmured, almost surprised by his own words.

Despite the fatigue and exhaustion the training had brought, there was something in the act of holding the sword, feeling its weight, and trying to master it, that fascinated him, as if it were slowly awakening a new side of him.

"Also, thanks to today's training, I've learned to count up to 50," he added ironically to himself.

After taking a moment to deeply inhale the fresh oxygen around him, Mirac slowly closed his eyes, letting that positive thought give him a brief respite.

But just as he was giving himself over to that moment of relief, another thought suddenly struck him, interrupting his rest.

"Dammit, I almost forgot: I still have to finish my homework!" he exclaimed, with a frustrated groan, staring up at the blue sky.

But he was too tired to get up, let alone head to the castle.

After such an exhausting day, it wasn't just Mirac's body that was exhausted: his mind was also pleading for a break.

He thought it would be better to rest a little before returning to his room and tackling the homework, prioritizing Continental Language and Philosophy, which were due the next day.

"The Math homework is for Wednesday, right? If so, I still have time to do it tomorrow," he muttered finally, letting go of any pretense of resistance.

Little by little, his thoughts grew slower, like waves crashing with less and less force on the shore. A gentle rustling of leaves surrounded him, and the chirping of birds sounded like a sweet distant song.

The coolness of the grass beneath him was so comforting that he didn't even notice when his eyelids fully closed. His breathing became steady, and the exhaustion of the day gave way to a light sleep, gently rocked by the caress of the wind.

* * *

'Mirac... Mirac... Mirac...' a voice repeated, an echo distant yet at the same time close, as if vibrating directly inside him. 'Mirac... Mirac... MIRAC!'

Suddenly, Mirac opened his eyes.

"Who called me?!" he was about to ask himself, but the words faded in his mind, smothered before they could even take form.

The thought itself seemed to dissolve as his eyes settled on what surrounded him.

'What the hell...?!'

He was left speechless.

Mirac found himself suspended in a place that seemed to belong neither to time nor space.

There was only an infinite void that seemed to belong to nothing.

The ground beneath him was invisible, yet he didn't fall, as if the very air itself held him in some surreal balance. The sky above him was as black as ink, dotted with white stars that shone like gems, giving the impression of a distant and elusive dream.

Beyond the starry sky, there was nothing, not even a sound. But a strange energy permeated that infinite silence, as if the void itself were filled with a mysterious presence.

Despite the disorientation, Mirac couldn't ignore the allure of that nighttime landscape, which seemed to defy every physical law.

Driven by an irresistible curiosity, he decided to explore that cosmic place, seemingly infinite.

However, he soon realized that every attempt to move was completely useless: he couldn't perceive his body, nor see it. His arms and legs didn't respond to his commands. He tried to move his hands, to shift his feet, but his body seemed to refuse to obey.

It was as if he were trapped in a limbo, aware of his own existence, but without a physical body through which to experience it.

A disorienting, almost transcendental sensation.

'What kind of dream is this?!' Mirac wondered, or perhaps he only thought it, unsure whether those thoughts were his own or instilled by that mysterious place.

Slowly, taking shape from a white mist, a glowing white inscription appeared before him, suspended in the darkness of the starry sky.

Each word shone with its own light, and although it had no voice, Mirac perceived the message as if it had been whispered directly into his mind, as strong as it was gentle.

[ Everywhere, Math is the language of the Universe ]

[ And from both, you have been chosen... ]

The words seemed carved into the air, emanating an aura of solemnity as they floated slowly.

'Math? Universe?'

Reading those words, Mirac was overwhelmed with confusion, his mind twisting in a desperate attempt to make sense of those enigmatic phrases.

He stood still before those white letters, paralyzed in his strange, bodiless existence.

In the real world, he would have at least taken a step back, surprised and confused by the mystical vision unfolding before his eyes.

But here, there was nothing he could do: only watch helplessly.

Right after their appearance, the two phrases slowly faded, dissolving into a white mist that seemed to dance before Mirac's eyes. The mist thickened progressively, as if it were about to take on a new form.

And indeed, from that metamorphosis, new writings appeared, emerging from the mist with surprising clarity, one after the other.

[ For the very first time ever, today you have comprehended Math... ]

[ Your Mind now understands Math ]

[ All the required requirements have finally been successfully met! ]

[ Now, you are ready to embrace your Sintony... ]

Mirac mentally widened his eyes—or rather, what he could widen in that incorporeal form.

Surprise overwhelmed him, a flood of questions exploded in his mind.

But it was the last phrase that shook him to his core, more than any other.

'What the hell…?!'

A cold shiver ran through his essence, as if something inside him had reacted to those words even before his consciousness could process them.

[ From now on, you are in Sintony with Math ]