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Meinhard smacked the thin wooden twig against the unconscious, drooling boy\'s hand without any mercy dulling his strike.

"Gah--! I\'m up, I\'m up!" Ren shot his head up in a confused daze.

--Pain was a hell of a motivator--and the fear of pain was even better of one. Sometimes I caught him smirking like a villain after whacking me with that hellish stick, I questioned if he was enjoying this like a damn sadist. Even so, he didn\'t give me any room for doubt. I was learning.

--Before I knew it, a week of this grueling class had already passed.

"Did you finish reading the children\'s book I assigned to you?" Meinhard asked him, wiping his hands with a white towelette.

"Yeah...it was boring as hell," Ren let out an overexaggerated sigh, "I guess I learned some important things--but I feel like it was stuff I should\'ve been told the moment I got here! Like this world being called, "Gaia", or the language! You didn\'t even tell me what the written language was called. Honestly, is my teacher a true degenerate?"

Meinhard raised an eyebrow at him before averting his gaze, knowing what his friend was saying was the truth.

"Hey...that stuff is all the most common, basic knowledge of all--don\'t blame me for forgetting to tell you it!"

"I\'m from another world! I\'m practically an alien here--you can forget that?" Ren dropped his head against his book.

"I think you need a break."

"I think I need a break too," Ren groaned.

Standing up from the desk he diligently sat himself in for hours on end, day after day this past week felt as if he was a caveman awakening from ice for the first time. Each fiber of muscle in his legs woke up before he let out an eye-opening yawn.

"That\'s right...I almost forgot!" Ren suddenly smacked his hand against his palm as if something popped into his mind.

"...what?"

"My daily regime--!" Ren answered in excitement.

Meinhard watched as the suddenly eccentric boy rolled the sleeves of his tunic up, exposing his pale arms. Surprisingly, he wasn\'t a total twig despite his continued shut-in lifestyle. He dropped to the ground, pushing his weight off of the ground at a rapid pace.

The confused yet intrigued young cook watched as this continued for a few minutes, Ren\'s body becoming enveloped in a hot sweat from the continuous strain.

"What a perplexing movement…" Meinhard commented under his breath.

Ren stopped in a huff, panting as he wiped the shiny oil from his forehead. He raised an eyebrow at his friend\'s confusion.

"You...don\'t know what a push-up is?" Ren asked slowly, trying not to sound rude.

"A "push-up"? No, can\'t say I\'ve heard of it," Meinhard replied, putting his hand against his chin as if pondering it.

"How the hell do people in this world stay in shape then?" Ren asked.

"Well, people aren\'t exactly sedentary--contrary to what it sounds like in your world. For one, learning to fight and use magic is enough to whip most people into top shape. There really isn\'t any need for...activities like "push-ups", I guess," Meinhard answered, ruffling his own hair.

Somehow, he didn\'t actually expect such a reasonable answer. In a world with jobs solely focusing on physical labor--there wasn\'t a need to "exercise", it came as naturally as breathing for them.

"I think you could use some push-ups yourself, though. I\'m not one to talk, but you really don\'t have any more definition than me, man," Ren chuckled.

He teasingly jabbed his finger against the scrawny bicep of Meinhard, who quickly withdrew his arm in an embarrassed huff.

"I actually have a job here--make that two jobs, babysitting you. So, forgive me if I don\'t have time to indulge myself in "push-ups"," Meinhard playfully scoffed before smiling, "how about we settle this the old-fashioned way?"

"What\'s that?" Ren asked, narrowing his gaze on the blonde chef.

In his limited time knowing Meinhard, he knew that when that mischievous smile would form across his lips, it never meant anything good. The young chef was always bound by work, either by cooking or helping Ren study--but at his core, he was a playful soul.

"A contest of might! Strength, speed, you name it!" Meinhard held his fist out in front of him, clearly excited about his own idea.

It definitely was in the realm of possibilities for Meinhard to come up with something like this, but even so, it came out of seemingly nowhere. Apparently, the comments about the boy\'s physique really got under his skin.

"Are you sure? I mean, you\'ve been hard at work all day, slaving over the oven...I\'d feel bad, ya\' know?" Ren gave him a wry smile.

To say he truly felt worried about unfairly beating someone in a contest would be a lie. In reality, he just wanted to avoid this bout, out of fear for his own reputation. Not that he actually had some reputation as a "strong" person, but it was more about leaving it to the imagination of others. If he got absolutely destroyed in a physical contest--then everyone would see him as the noodle-for-arms otherworlder Ren.

"Me? Tired? Ren, oh Ren, my day has barely started!" Meinhard responded with a bright smile, spinning as if displaying his boundless energy.

"W...well, it isn\'t much of a contest if we don\'t have a judge, right? It would be totally pointless," Ren continued his fruitless efforts.

That sparkling look in Meinhard\'s nature-bound irises, it was like a predator that had finally cornered their prey. He could smell the fear emanating from the self-conscious Ren.

"No problem at all! I\'ve already considered that, my dear friend!"

"You have…?"

After being dragged out of his room and brought to the western courtyard of the over-the-top mansion--an entirely extra "backyard" of sorts, he met the supposed judge that Meinhard had in mind.

"Um...nice to meet you, I\'m Ren," Ren scratched his head before bowing it slightly.

The girl seemed almost as shy as him, returning his gesture with a bow of her own. One glance at her long, black dress that hung below her knees, covered with a flared white apron wrapped around her front, made her occupation obvious. Above that, her flowing, dark brown hair suited her greenish-gray irises--a combination that was a powerful attack on the poor NEET\'s heart.

--A maid? A real fantasy maid?

Ren felt his cheeks fill with color just at the sight of such a formal, graceful outfit worn by the equally beautiful young maiden.

"Are ya\' an idiot or something? Everybody in the Althaus estate knows your name, dummy!" Meinhard nudged his elbow against Ren\'s arm.

"If I assume everybody knows who I am, I\'m no better than those pompous celebrities on T.V!" Ren retorted, pouting playfully.

"You say some really weird stuff sometimes," Meinhard spoke in a jokingly worried tone.

Lost in their playful banter, the sound of giggling reached the two boy\'s ears. The young maid quickly covered her mouth, to no avail, however, as her relentless giggling was still heard.

"I\'m sorry...it\'s just--" She wiped a stray tear of laughter away from the corner of her eye.

Any room for anger would have vanished from the sight of her bright smile. All sensations except for the beating of his own heart were zoned out as a deep red tinted his cheeks once more at the tranquil sight of such an innocent expression.

--She could end wars with that damn smile.

"How rude of me!" The girl suddenly spoke out, "my name is Mila Thanderhousen, a maid of the Althaus manor."

Despite her flustered actions previously, her introduction and bow only gave her a presence of flawless elegance. The slight light of her dress as she bowed her head with her soothing smile, it would be a welcoming sight to any visiting the manor.

"Mila, huh?" Ren commented under his breath.

An awkward silence filled the now mute air as the three stood in the courtyard like a trio of aimless birds, pecking at the seeds below. Meinhard clapped his hands together before rolling his sleeves up with a confident smirk.

"So, are you ready? I think we should start off with a race! From here to...that large rock by the tree!" Meinhard stretched side to side.

"A race? Looks like you\'ve signed yourself up for a loss right at the start," Ren confidently proclaimed.

Running was the only thing he felt he excelled at physically. With one foot planted against the ground, he lowered his stance to that of an Olympic runner, gently pressing his fingertips against the firm soil below.