The blows hammered into Gai, quick and punishing, each one making his arm tingle painfully as he fell back behind his shield, boots skidding across the churned-up dirt. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring everything and making it impossible to predict the next strike. Oswald didn’t let up—not even for a second. The wooden weapon kept thudding against Gai’s shield, which rattled in his grip, and he could feel every muscle complain. His chest thudded—not with nerves, but with the bone-deep weariness of too many days like this—and he nearly lost his footing trying to keep up.

He took in the training field only in flashes: rough dirt interrupted by stubborn clumps of grass, battered dummies watching silently from one side, their straw guts poking out through torn sacking. The fence around the field moaned whenever the wind caught it right—a half-hearted protest after years of surviving recruits’ bad aim—and somewhere beyond, the smiths hammered away, steel on steel mingling with bursts of laughter and shouts from the odd recruit or soldier that was scattered throughout the fields.

“Up, Gai!” Oswald’s shout cut through everything else—loud enough that even the crows would’ve flinched. He loomed over Gai, all stern authority and zero sympathy: shoulders squared, face unreadable except for that spark of annoyance. His knuckles were white around the practice sword. Another hard swing cracked against Gai’s shield and made him stagger again.

“You deaf? On your feet! This isn’t nap time! Unless you’d rather go learn potato peeling in the scullery?”

Gai clenched his jaw and got a knee under him, breath ragged and short. Everything felt heavy—arms gone useless from weeks of this grind—but Oswald’s words still stung worse than anything else.

“I am trying,” Gai muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear—except apparently Oswald, who heard everything. He slumped a little farther down. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone else has some kind of power. I’m just… ordinary.”

Oswald squinted at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing and took a step closer so Gai had no choice but to meet his glare. “Ordinary?” he repeated flatly. “You really think that’s what we’re looking for here? Those talents don’t mean a damn if you can’t hold yourself together.” He jabbed a finger toward another group of recruits loitering nearby. “Half them will choke because they think their powers matter more than backbone.”

Gai started to say something back but stopped when he saw Oswald gearing up again.

“You—you’ve lasted longer than most here,” Oswald went on, impatience building in his tone. “You’re still standing after all I’ve thrown at you. You know how many would quit or give up at a little hardship? Too many.”

Gai’s doubt must have shown because Oswald didn’t hesitate; he swung low at Gai’s legs this time. On reflex, Gai jerked his shield down—which left him wide open for whatever came next. It did: Oswald flicked up a sharp gust of wind out of nowhere that yanked the shield right from Gai’s hands and pitched him straight onto his back in the wet grass.

Gai lay there blinking up at the sky, trying to figure out how he’d ended up flat on his back when the air itself seemed dead still.

“That wasn’t just a lucky breeze,” Oswald barked, stepping over him so all Gai could see were muddy boots and an irritated scowl. “That was me—controlled air, directed right at you. Catching up yet?”

Gai lifted his head, staring like Oswald had just grown a second head. “Seriously? You can do that?” His tone said he almost hoped it wasn’t true.

Oswald made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort as he stuck out a hand. “What did you think I was doing? Swinging this thing like some oversized lumberjack for style points?” When Gai hesitated too long, Oswald rolled his eyes and jerked his hand higher. “Come on.”

Gai took it and let himself be pulled upright while every inch of him complained about moving again—but at least he was vertical.

“You’re not going anywhere near dish duty,” Oswald said as soon as Gai managed to stand straight without swaying too much. “Not on my watch.”

Gai brushed himself off and frowned warily. “Why not?”

Oswald gave him a look sharp enough to cut through armour. “Because whether you want to see it or not, you’ve got something worth keeping here—even if you’re set on missing it.” Then he let out half a laugh: "And I’m not about to waste someone useful on kitchen chores."

“But—” Gai started.

Oswald cut him off with a raised hand and an impatient shake of his head. “No excuses,” he said firmly. “I’ve seen more gifted cadets fail because they couldn’t stick things out.” He pointed squarely at Gai now—a jab that meant business. “You can stick things out.”

Silence hung between them for just long enough to feel awkward—a challenge unspoken but clear all the same.

“Now grab your shield,” Oswald finished briskly as he moved back into place, voice dropping almost casually but with just enough of a smirk: "And do try not to make an utter fool of yourself this time."