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If experts from every field were to convene and debate for three days and nights on how to use twenty-four hours most efficiently, wouldn't they devise a timetable like the one for this training camp?
The training camp's schedule was so grueling it bordered on absurdity. Were it not for the occasional evening breaks, several hero disciples would have already fallen ill.
"Somehow, the day is over…" Evan murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
Charis slumped on the table and added, "Time really drags on."
"It hasn't even been a week yet?"
"No. I crave sweets," Evan groaned.
"I want meat—something fatty, generously spiced," Charis chimed in.
Evan sighed. "I'd be content with just one beer."
"I think I'm going to die. Seriously," Charis moaned.
"But you're not dead yet," I quipped, still engrossed in my book.
"Huh?" Their eyes turned toward me.
"What nonsense is he spouting now?" one of them asked.
"He's at it again," another muttered.
"Evan, aren't you going to rein in your roommate?" someone teased him.
Over the past few days, I'd grown closer to these bastards, and the filters on our words had vanished entirely.
I closed the book and patiently explained, "What nonsense? I'm saying the instructors here are remarkably competent."
They blinked at me in confusion, so I elaborated, "It feels like they're working us to death, but...
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