Harem Training System: Every Girl I Train Makes Me Stronger!

A short distance away, positioned beneath the shade of a flowering trellis, Kaela and Catherine observed the scene with the detached interest of spectators at a theater.

They had maintained a respectful distance, not out of obligation, but to give William the space to fail and perhaps eventually succeed without the pressure of an audience.

Yet, the sight of the normally unflappable warrior, the man who could carve through armies without breaking a sweat, now standing frozen and visibly frustrated by something as intangible as air, was impossible to ignore.

Kaela leaned back against the stone pillar, crossing her arms as she watched William’s jaw clench again. A playful spark danced in her eyes.

"This is actually kind of nice to watch," she murmured to Catherine, her voice carrying a rare note of genuine amusement. "I never thought I’d see the day where William looked more defeated by thin air than by a battalion of enchanted knights."

Catherine let out a soft, melodic hum of agreement. She watched William with an expression that was both tender and fond.

"He’s usually so effortlessly good at everything," she agreed, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "There’s something... deeply refreshing about watching him struggle with something for once."

"It reminds us that even the strongest steel has its limits."

’Look at him,’ Catherine smiled while saying in her thoughts. ’So stubborn, so determined to conquer even the invisible. ’

’That is the man I love, the one who refuses to accept defeat, even when defeat is nothing more than a breeze he cannot grasp.’

The two women shared an amused glance, their quiet conversation creating a bubble of lightheartedness that stood in stark contrast to the intense focus William was attempting to maintain.

For a moment, the courtyard felt less like a training ground and more like a shared moment of domestic respite, the tension of their impending battles momentarily forgotten.

"I heard that," William called out.

His eyes remained closed, his voice carrying across the courtyard with a dry, weary timbre that betrayed his irritation, though there was no real anger behind it.

The effect was instantaneous. Both Kaela and Catherine dissolved into quiet, delighted laughter, the sound rippling through the air like wind chimes.

Even Selena, who remained standing near William, couldn’t suppress a small, knowing smirk.

"Don’t let your pride get in the way of your learning, William," Selena teased, though her eyes remained sharp, watching for any flicker of progress. "If you can hear us, you’re already paying too much attention to the external world and not enough to the internal one."

William let out a frustrated huff, a sound halfway between a growl and a sigh. "Then perhaps I should practice with my eyes closed and my ears plugged."

"That would certainly make it more interesting," Kaela called back, her laughter dying down into a warm grin. "But I think we’d prefer to see you actually succeed."

William didn’t respond immediately. He took another shuddering breath, forcing himself to tune out the laughter, the birds, and the teasing voices.

He retreated back into the darkness of his own mind, trying to follow Selena’s words: ’Become the prey. Let the current find you.’

...

The session dragged on for what felt like an eternity, each passing minute carving deeper grooves of exhaustion into William’s psyche. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its heat beginning to bake the stone tiles of the courtyard, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the mental strain.

For over an hour, he had been trapped in that self-imposed darkness, hunting for a ghost.

Every so often, a spark would ignite a momentary shiver down his spine, a strange prickling sensation like static electricity dancing across his forearms, and his heart would hammer against his ribs.

He would instinctively reach for it, lunging forward with his awareness, only for the sensation to vanish instantly, leaving him grasping at empty air.

"I think I felt something that time," William said, his voice strained and thick with hope.

He finally opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh afternoon light, his face flushed and slick with sweat.

Selena didn’t offer immediate praise. Instead, she watched him with those keen, assessing eyes that seemed to read his very soul.

"Or you imagined you felt something because you wanted to feel something," she said.

Her tone wasn’t cruel; it carried the patient amusement of a teacher who had seen this exact cycle play out hundreds of times before. "It happens to everyone at first, William."

"The mind is a desperate thing when it encounters the unknown... It will invent sensations just to feel like it’s winning."

"But magic? Magic doesn’t respond well to desperation."

"Desperation has a ’taste,’ and it’s bitter."

’Bitter...? Dammit, I feel like I’m drowning in nothingness.’

’Every time I think I’ve touched it, it slips away like mercury.’

’Am I broken? Is there something wrong with my pathways?’

"Try again," she commanded, stepping closer to adjust his stance. "We’ll change the framing."

She began to cycle through different methodologies, shifting her approach with the precision of a tactician. She tried metaphors of sound, then of light, then of pressure.

Each time William attempted to latch onto her words, he felt the familiar sting of failure.

"Try imagining the air as water instead," Selena suggested after another failed attempt, her voice calm despite the mounting tension. "Some students find the concept of ’currents’ too abstract."

"Instead of open air, picture yourself standing waist deep in a gently flowing stream."

"The mana isn’t just passing by you; it’s washing over you..."

"Feel the weight of it against your skin. Feel the way it curls around your limbs."

William closed his eyes again. He summoned the image: the cool, liquid embrace of a river.

He tried to imagine the air becoming viscous, heavy, and flowing. He waited for the sensation of water pressing against his chest, for the cool caress of a current against his thighs.

Whoosh... A breeze swept through the courtyard.

He felt nothing but wind.

"Nothing," he growled, the word escaping him like a curse.

He opened his eyes abruptly, his pupils dilated with frustration. "I’m picturing the water, Selena."

"I’m picturing the stream... But all I feel is hot air and my own damn sweat."

The frustration was no longer a simmer; it was beginning to boil. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles whitening.

The disciplined soldier was warring with the frustrated student, and the soldier was winning.

"Don’t force it," Selena reminded him gently, though her eyes warned him to check his rising anger.

She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, not to comfort him, but to ground him. "You’re doing it again."

"You’re bracing for impact... You’re treating this like a siege, trying to break down the walls of your own perception."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to that serious, instructive register that demanded absolute attention. "The harder you push, the further it recedes."

"That is the fundamental law of mana. It is not a resource to be mined or a slave to be broken... It is a living force, and it senses your intent."

"Right now, your intent is hunger, a starving, grasping hunger."

"And mana? Mana responds to desperate intention by retreating."

"It flees from the very thing that seeks to claim it."