The sun was still rising, painting the sky with golden and orange hues, while the rhythmic sound of breathing and the soft impact of palms against the ground echoed through the garden of the imposing mansion. Strax was there, shirtless, sweaty, his muscles tense, completely immersed in his training. The number of push-ups was nearing ten thousand. The ground around him was marked with the sweat of his determination, but he didn't seem tired—only undisturbed, focused on his unwavering discipline.
The garden, in turn, remained silent, except for the distant chirping of birds and the continuous sound of his body moving, in perfect sync with the effort. The scent of freshly awakened flowers from the night lingered in the air, but Strax was oblivious to it all. He was in his own world, where strength and control were the absolute masters.
Then, light footsteps broke the silence, and without even needing to look, Strax knew who it was.
Beatrice.
