Chapter 46: First Lesson

The first session was devilishly simple: cardio, running in the gym. A deceptive simplicity, almost insulting, as if Derek had decided that making her suffer didn't even need to be sophisticated.

After ten minutes, Blanche couldn't take it anymore—but she'd rather die than let that asshole win. And somewhere behind her, Derek watched, arms crossed, looking vaguely bored... as if all of this were just a mediocre show and he was idly waiting for the interesting part.

She gave it everything she had, without being granted a single second of rest. Derek didn't let up: strict, even cruel. But worse than that, he seemed completely indifferent. Not a word, not a reaction—just that empty gaze, sometimes flickering with faint amusement when she stumbled or nearly collapsed. As if he took a cold, detached, almost clinical pleasure in watching her wear herself down.

And every evening, it was the same routine. She was fed up with it, especially since he wasn't teaching her anything at all: he stayed in his corner, silent, watching her every move without a single word of encouragement. Sometimes he even sighed, as if disappointed she was still standing.

When evening came, after a well-earned shower—Phoenix stood guard in front of the locker rooms, stretched out like a small domestic dragon, growling softly at the slightest suspicious presence—Blanche went to bed aching all over.

A routine settled in: stationary bike, chores, stat grinding, early morning workouts, and hellish evening sessions with her torturer of a teacher. Phoenix, despite his grumpy demeanor, often curled up against her, resting his head on her shoulder, purring softly as if to make up for the brutality of the rest of her day.

The week flew by before she even noticed. The days blurred together, driven by exhaustion and Derek's silent judgments, as he always seemed to find a new way to assess her without saying a word.

She still had just as much trouble with her new nickname.

Neige is white, at least. Doesn't change much for you, little mouse.

She shot Phoenix a dark look at that comment. The animal tilted its head innocently, then rubbed its muzzle against her cheek as if to apologize. It was hard to stay mad at him for long.

The men mostly left her alone. And that calm, paradoxically, was almost more oppressive than hostility.

Only Derek kept pushing her around; the others worried about her. She no longer went out and stayed locked in her room for hours. Her combat instructor, on the other hand, seemed to find that perfectly normal—if not convenient.

Phoenix, despite his stubborn temperament, hardly left her arms anymore. He would settle on her lap, nudge her for attention with a small bump of his head, and make almost endearing sounds, like a grumpy cat that had, exceptionally, decided to love someone.

Argy, meanwhile, had given her a photo of the two of them as a welcome gift. They couldn't have been more than ten years old in it. Aaron had taken it himself: Argy got his love of the arts from him. His father had even set up a darkroom for him. And Argy, with his natural gentleness, had taken the time to explain every detail to her, with disarming patience, as if he wanted to offer her more than just a memory—a connection.

Blanche put the photo in the drawer of her nightstand, not ready to display it.

Nicky had given her a pair of daggers to hide in her boots—"just in case." One afternoon, Glen had shown up with a pot of catnip. Phoenix had completely lost it, running everywhere like an uncontrollable whirlwind.

The next day, red as a tomato, Glen apologized, stammering an incomprehensible excuse. Argy, meanwhile, had tried to lighten the mood with a questionable joke before making sure Blanche was okay, genuinely concerned.

Blanche burst out laughing, which reassured everyone a little.

They had been afraid she would leave, like so many others before her.

At dinner on the sixth evening, Aaron decided it was time to start their missions the next day. His decision fell calmly, but without appeal—as always. Argy offered to help her, an offer she gladly accepted. The two youngest seemed far more approachable to her than the other three.

The next day, Argy dragged her out of bed and didn't let go. Not even time to make it. He was practically pulling on her sleeve, energetic, enthusiastic, so unlike Derek's coldness.

"Good luck! "Nicky shouted from his room when he saw Argy dragging a half-asleep Blanche. "Careful, he bites!"

Argy burst out laughing, a genuine, contagious laugh. Phoenix followed, not at all pleased to have been kicked out of bed without warning, dragging his paws with wounded dignity. In the mess hall, breakfast was already waiting, along with two survival packs. Her axe, sword, and cloak were neatly laid out on a table.

" Can I at least make myself look decent?"

"Nope, "Argy replied with a mischievous grin.

Blanche raised an eyebrow.

"That wasn't a question. I eat, and then you give me an hour, you little monster."

He giggled even more, clearly delighted.

You know why I said no? I'm getting revenge. You were a great mom, but you could be super strict too. Sometimes I wasn't even allowed to eat breakfast.

Argy was the most careful: he called her "mom" in private and "Neige" in public. Even Aaron hadn't been granted another title. And unlike Derek, there was nothing cruel in that restraint—only respect.

Of all of them, he was her favorite—her adopted son: he knew how to keep a secret. When she had asked him why the others didn't know, he had explained that Aaron was waiting until she was ready. And as long as the photo stayed in her drawer... she wasn't.

" I see..." she sighed. "You do realize I'm going to get my revenge in my future?"

"For me, it's already in the past. So now... it's all happiness!"

" Sadist."

She didn't mean a word of it.