The field stretched out before Sota, quiet and bathed in the early morning light. The dew on the grass glistened like tiny jewels, and the faint scent of earth lingered in the crisp air. Jack Mercer walked ahead of him, carrying a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. His movements were purposeful, his steps confident, like a man who had spent his life on fields just like this one.
"Alright, kid," Jack said, dropping the bag onto the grass with a heavy thud. "We're not here to mess around today. I've got something special for you."
Sota's curiosity piqued as Jack unzipped the bag and pulled out a weighted vest. It looked intimidating, the kind of thing that screamed serious training ahead.
"This," Jack began, holding up the vest like it was a prize, "is your new best friend. Fifty pounds of concentrated pain and progress."
Sota raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-wary. "That doesn't sound very friendly."
