Run Until the Voices Stop

"RUN, RUN, and keep RUNNING! Anyone who stops will answer to me—and trust me, you won't like the consequences."

Ashen lost count after his 30th lap around the field. His legs burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his body screamed for rest. 

The only thing keeping him from collapsing like a dead frog was the relentless voice of their new 'coach' and the refreshing surge of Mana with every inhale.

Despite the agony, despite the past week of near-death experiences, Ashen felt more alive in these seven days than he had in the last four years.

For so long, his life had been a meaningless chase—seeking fleeting exhilaration through reckless bets and hollow thrills. 

He had drowned himself in addiction, chasing the high of a lucky victory, but somewhere deep down, he had already given up. 

Not even his family, not Alice, not even losing that cursed rewind ability a year ago had been enough to stop his spiral. 

By the time it was gone, he was too far gone with it.

But now, with every exhale, with every pounding step, that insidious voice whispering at him to give up—to stop, to stay still, to accept that nothing mattered—was fading, little by little.

'Really… ever since Dorian left, everything's been going downhill…'

"Listen up!" The instructor's bark shattered his thoughts. "The monsters you'll face are ruthless."

He drew a slow breath, as if steeling himself to pry open the lid on something long buried—something he'd rather leave undisturbed.

"They won't wait for you to catch your breath. They don't care if you're tired."

With every word, his voice grew heavier, his expression darker—as though he had not just been there, but lived it. No, not as though. He had.

"They will exploit every weakness you show, butcher you, drink your blood, and feast on your corpse the moment you make a single mistake."

"They don't tire."

"They don't feel."

"Nor do they care how many of their kind you kill. All they do is wait for the moment when you let your guard down to sink their claws into you!"

"So shed your pathetic selves right now if you want a chance at survival."

Ashen gritted his teeth and pushed forward, stealing a glance at the others. Most were still keeping up, including Braun and Seraphine.

But their pale faces clued him to their deep turmoil at the coach's rather vivid description of their future enemies.

Ashen simply numbed his mind as he listened and only focused on inhaling more of this sweet, electric air as if he became a hopeless addict.

Physical agony was enough without inviting ghosts in.

'Mana really is a miracle,' he thought, his breath steadying slightly. 'Even with this trash body—wrecked by junk food and a lifetime of laziness—I can keep up with this torture disguised as training.'

*

Everyone was only allowed to stop at the end of the 50th lap.

The dull ache of exhaustion crashed over Ashen the moment he sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily. 

The sting of sweat assaulted his nose, and he scrunched up his face in irritation.

"Alright, good job, everyone. Your performance was… passable."

The instructor's remark barely registered through the haze of fatigue, but when he raised his voice slightly, all ears turned to him.

"Some of you may be wondering if this level of exertion is truly necessary right from the start," he began with an even tone. "While others might question whether this class is even a waste of time for them."

His gaze flicked toward a group of students who had a scholarly air about them—thin, refined, and clearly out of place in a field drenched in sweat and exhaustion.

"Some of you might even think this is nowhere near enough."

His eyes settled on a few individuals who barely looked winded as if they had just completed a warm-up rather than a full-blown marathon.

The instructor took a deep breath, crossing his arms as he stepped into the center of the field. 

"Your concerns are justified. Doing something without considering the benefits and drawbacks is foolish. Questioning the purpose behind your actions is a great habit to develop—so don't lose it."

He paused, letting the words settle before continuing.

"Some of you are being exposed to large amounts of mana for the first time." 

The Esperrians among the group nodded at that.

"As Professor Wiseman has likely explained, breathing is essential in accumulating mana. What you don't know, however, is that mana is not only absorbed when you inhale but also expelled when you exhale."

That got their attention.

"Breathing out releases unrefined excess mana, along with minute toxins that accumulate in your body."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but the instructor barely acknowledged it as he pressed on.

"It's common sense that running increases oxygen intake and circulation. The same principle applies to mana." 

Most of the trainees seemed to understand where this was going, but the coach fully explained anyway.

"Running forces the body to demand more mana to fuel muscles, repair strain, and recover from exertion. This process strengthens your endurance—not just physically, but also in terms of how much mana you can refine with each breath."

He shifted his gaze toward the scholarly group, his next words carrying a sharper edge.

"And these benefits, of course, don't exclude those from magician families or backline combatants."

A few of them bristled but said nothing.

"For those of you struggling, use this training to temper your willpower. In fact, the primary and best method of manipulating and controlling mana is through will." 

"Sharpening your convictions and discarding an escapist mentality is a must for anyone who strives for something beyond mediocrity."

His attention turned to the more athletic students—those who had barely broken a sweat.

"As for those who feel this training isn't enough, the training grounds are open for additional drills."

With a weary sigh, he gave a final remark.

"…Remember, nothing in this life is worthwhile without effort. I hope you all succeed, but in this place, success won't come unless you want it as badly as you want to breathe."

A heavy silence followed.

Ashen felt it—the weight of those words pressing into the air, sinking deep into the minds of those around him. 

A few students swallowed dryly. Others clenched their fists, their eyes shadowed with contemplation.

The instructor let the silence linger before breaking it.

"Alright, class dismissed. Be here on time tomorrow. This routine will continue for at least a week before we move on to other exercises, so prepare yourselves."

With that, the class snapped out of their thoughts and dispersed, the atmosphere unusually subdued.