Laverna's second week of training was far more brutal than the first. The schedule was no longer fixed.
Some nights, she trained until dawn, forcing her body to adapt to the darkness, honing her night vision through her Kitsune heritage. Other days, she was pushed to exhaustion under the sun, ensuring she could endure and fight in any condition.
The aches in her body no longer faded after a night's rest. They lingered, a constant reminder of the grueling path she had chosen.
Despite the pain, something had shifted. She no longer hesitated before moving, no longer second-guessed her instincts. Shin had stripped her down to her core, and now he was building her back up, piece by piece, into something stronger.
She hated to admit it, but somewhere deep inside her, she had started to relish the pain. It was not the agony itself that drew her in, but what it represented, growth, resilience, a way to measure how far she had come.
Every ache, every bruise was a testament to her endurance, proof that she was pushing past her limits. She told herself it was necessary, that it was just another step in her survival, but a small part of her, one she refused to acknowledge, found a twisted satisfaction in it.
And the worst part? It was always worse when it came from him.
The second week introduced Laverna to the art of deception and movement. A Kunoichi was not just a fighter, she was a ghost, a shadow in the night. Shin wasted no time, throwing her into exercises that forced her to use her agility and wit rather than brute force.
Shin had her walking on thin wooden planks, forcing her to balance while remaining light on her feet. She had to cross these makeshift bridges in the dead of night, with bells tied to her ankles.
If they rang, she started over. It was agonizing at first, but she quickly learned how to distribute her weight, how to roll her steps, how to blend into the wind.
"Your steps should be like whispers on the ground," Shin instructed as he watched her carefully. "Right now, you move like a marching soldier. Change that."
Shin would attack her from the shadows without warning. She had to rely on instinct, dodging without seeing, feeling the shift in the air, the subtle displacement of movement. It was frustrating. She got hit more times than she could count.
"Stop thinking and react," Shin scolded after she failed to dodge yet again. "Your mind hesitates. Your body shouldn't. Trust it."
Shin introduced her to small throwing weapons, kunai, shuriken, and needles. Precision was everything. He forced her to throw them in complete darkness, using only the sound of a small chime to guide her aim.
"You won't always have the luxury of sight," he had told her. "Learn to trust everything else."
One evening, after yet another exhausting session, she sat beside him on the ground, panting. "You're relentless."
Shin smirked. "And you're still standing. That means you're getting better."
His words sent a jolt through her, something far more unsettling than the pain of training. It wasn't just his praise, it was the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on her, the way her body reacted in ways she didn't understand. A shiver ran down her spine, not from exhaustion, but from something deeper, something primal.
The slave crest pulsed, a whisper of something she refused to acknowledge. An instinctual part of her, buried beneath layers of defiance, wanted to drop to her knees, to submit, to press herself against the very force that was breaking her down and remaking her.
But she fought it, clenching her fists, gritting her teeth. This was just exhaustion, she told herself. Just adrenaline playing tricks on her.
"Tch," she scoffed, forcing herself to look away. "Try harder next time. Maybe you'll actually make me fall."
She hated to admit it, but she was. And she was beginning to trust him for it.
By the end of the week, Laverna was no longer moving like a lost stray. Her steps were deliberate, controlled. She still had a long way to go, but she was beginning to understand the essence of being a Kunoichi, unseen, unpredictable, and lethal.
If Shin's training was brutal, Yuri's lessons were torturous in their own way. Laverna hated it. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the rigid rules of noble society. But survival wasn't just about strength. It was about adaptation.
Yuri drilled her on how to speak like a noble. No casual tones, no bluntness, no sarcasm that could be misinterpreted as rudeness. Laverna had to learn the subtlety of words, the hidden meanings behind flattery and insults disguised as pleasantries.
"Why do they talk in circles?" Laverna groaned after an exhausting round of simulated conversations. "Wouldn't it be easier to just say what they mean?"
Yuri smirked, crossing her arms. "Because power lies in what is unsaid as much as what is spoken. A single word misplaced can shift alliances. You'll learn."
"Or I'll just bite my tongue and hope for the best," Laverna muttered.
Balancing books on her head was only the beginning. Yuri had her walking in high heels across narrow wooden planks, just to ensure she could glide across a ballroom without stumbling.
"A noblewoman does not rush. She moves with purpose," Yuri had said, her tone sharp but patient.
"A noblewoman also gets sore feet," Laverna grumbled, adjusting the heels awkwardly.
"A noblewoman does not complain either," Yuri added, smirking. "Keep walking."
Laverna nearly died of embarrassment when Yuri forced her to learn ballroom dancing. Shin had been her reluctant dance partner, much to her horror. He was annoyingly graceful, leading her with ease while she fumbled with her footing.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured during one lesson, his hands firm on her waist. "Just follow."
Laverna's breath hitched at the way his grip steadied her. The warmth of his touch sent an odd tingle down her spine, making her shift uncomfortably.
She scoffed, forcing herself to focus. "Hard to follow when you keep stepping into my space."
He smirked. "Maybe if you weren't so stiff, I wouldn't have to. Relax."
She hated that he was right. But by the end of the week, she wasn't stepping on his feet nearly as often.
This was the hardest. Laverna had spent most of her life eating whatever scraps she could get. Now she was expected to hold cutlery with delicate precision, sip her soup without noise, and eat at a controlled pace. Shin took every opportunity to remind her during meals, and she swore he was enjoying her suffering.
One evening, as she reached for a piece of bread, Shin tapped her hand lightly. "The butter knife, Laverna."
She shot him a glare but picked up the knife. "I swear, one day I'm going to use this on you."
He only smirked, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Careful. If you make threats like that, I might start looking forward to it."
Her heart did something ridiculous in her chest, and she turned away quickly, cursing under her breath. The slave crest pulsed faintly, but she ignored it. Again.
Yuri sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You two are impossible."
By the end of the second week, something unexpected happened. Laverna found herself adjusting. The rigid structure of etiquette training no longer felt as suffocating, and the grueling Kunoichi lessons no longer seemed impossible.
Her body still ached, but she welcomed the pain. It meant she was changing.
She had started this journey for survival. Now, she wasn't so sure that was the only reason anymore.
As she stood on the training grounds, her muscles burning from another evasive drill, Shin studied her carefully. "You're improving," he said simply.
Laverna scoffed, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Don't sound so shocked."
His smirk was brief but knowing. "I'm not."
His words wrapped around her like a slow, heated pulse, sending a strange shiver down her spine. It was infuriating how a mere compliment from him did something to her.
Her legs, already weakened from training, felt weaker still, a strange tension pooling in her stomach. The way he looked at her, the quiet confidence in his voice, stirred something deep inside her, something she refused to name.
The slave crest pulsed faintly, responding to her instincts, whispering things she wanted no part of. A flicker of an image, her throwing her arms around him, pressing against him, feeling the warmth of his skin.
She clenched her fists, shoving the thought away with a frustrated huff. No. This was just exhaustion. Just her body reacting to stress. That was all.
For the first time, she realized, neither was she. And that realization brought a small, unfamiliar warmth to her chest.
Trust. A foreign concept, but one that was slowly taking root.