After staring at the basket in his hands, then at the water waiting a short distance away, Ryn finally understood.
This was not labor.
Not punishment.
And not something meant for complaints—no matter how much he wanted to.
This was training.
Training that did not ask whether something could be done,
but how one would think.
Ryn drew in a deep breath and tightened his grip on the basket.
"…Alright,"
he murmured softly to himself.
Richard's training
had truly begun.
Ryn stepped into the pond.
Cold water rushed past his ankles.
He bent down, scooped up water with the basket, and lifted it.
The water poured straight through the gaps in the weave,
leaving almost nothing behind.
Ryn stared at the sight in silence before letting out a long sigh.
He climbed out of the pond and walked toward the large wooden vat waiting nearby.
He tipped the basket over, letting the few lingering droplets fall inside.
He shook it harder, trying to squeeze out every last trace of water,
until the final drop fell—
so small it was barely visible.
Then he turned and walked back to the pond.
Scoop.
Lift.
Water slips away.
Walk out.
Pour.
Shake.
Repeat.
No further instructions.
No warnings.
Not even a glance in his direction.
Only the quiet sound of water slipping through the basket,
over and over again.
When Richard finished his meal, he stood up casually and walked over to the hammock tied beneath the large tree.
He leaned back, adjusted his posture slightly—
and fell asleep almost instantly,
as if the entire world had nothing left that required his attention.
Ryn caught the sight from the corner of his eye, but said nothing.
He continued, again and again—
scooping water
that never stayed with him.
Until the sun climbed higher.
Late-morning light poured down, striking the surface of the pond.
The tiny amount of water he had managed to pour into the vat
slowly evaporated before his very eyes.
Ryn stopped and stared at the now-empty container.
His hand tightened around the basket.
His chest felt heavy, as if something unseen were pressing down on it.
What am I even doing this for?
Even if I keep going all day…
Nothing remains.
The thought struck him without mercy.
But when he looked toward Richard—
still asleep beneath the tree's shade,
as if the world beyond it did not exist—
Ryn knew the truth.
There was no alternative.
No shortcuts.
No explanations.
And no one else would scoop the water for him.
He drew in a deep breath and stepped back into the pond.
He scooped up the water—
even though he knew
it would all slip away again.
All day long, Ryn continued scooping water as he always had.
Sunlight shifted from morning to afternoon,
from afternoon to its slow descent.
The shadows of the trees stretched long, then shortened again.
Only his repeated movements never stopped.
Scoop.
Lift.
Water slips away.
Walk.
Pour.
Then return again.
While his hands kept working,
his mind began to wander.
So this is how it is…
No wonder no one stays.
The voices from the registration hall surfaced in his memory—
the laughter,
the knowing looks,
the expressions of people who had already seen the ending.
And what about me…
How long can I endure?
The question had no answer.
Only his body continued to move,
like a machine that had not yet broken.
When Richard finally woke from the hammock,
he walked over to the water vat and glanced inside.
It was still dry.
Richard let out a quiet chuckle.
"Heh…"
No scolding.
No praise.
He simply turned away
and went to finish the rest of his meal,
as if what he had just seen
was not important at all.
Ryn kept scooping water,
but his movements grew slower.
His arms felt heavy.
His legs began to tremble.
Each lift of the basket demanded his entire body's strength.
Hunger gnawed at him.
His stomach growled softly—
but no voice answered.
When the sun finally sank beyond the horizon,
darkness crept across the training grounds.
Richard stood up once more, looked in Ryn's direction,
and spoke only a single, short command:
"Keep going."
Then he disappeared into the house.
The door closed behind him,
leaving only the darkness
and the sounds of night insects.
Ryn stood there.
He could no longer see the water's surface.
He could no longer see the vat.
He could barely see the basket in his own hands.
At last, his body gave in.
He collapsed onto the edge of the pond,
gasping for breath,
his chest rising and falling violently.
His entire body ached,
until he could barely feel his arms or legs anymore.
He hadn't eaten anything all day.
Ryn lowered his head.
Sweat mixed with the water dripping from his hair,
falling uselessly onto the ground.
In the darkness,
no one saw him.
No one noticed.
Except himself.
And now, he finally understood—
This was not training strength.
And it was not a test of the body.
It was a question thrown directly at him:
If no one gives you the answer,
if no one helps you,
if everything you do leads to nothing at all—
Will you still stand up and keep going?
After catching his breath for a moment,
Ryn forced himself to rise again.
His trembling hand reached for the basket.
He tried to think.
Trial and error
He tried every idea his exhausted mind could come up with.
He tilted the basket, lowering one edge so the water could cling to the woven corners.
Even if only a few drops remained,
it was still better than nothing.
Sometimes he ran,
hoping inertia would carry the water with him.
Sometimes he moved slowly,
as if afraid the water might get startled and escape.
Every drop mattered.
Every step required thought.
The night stretched on.
The darkness showed no mercy.
There was only the sound of his own breathing,
and the soft drip of water from the basket—
until the sky finally began to change color.
Morning arrived with the supply unit.
They stopped when they saw the scene before them.
A young man lay gasping by the pond,
a basket beside him,
his clothes soaked,
his body caked with sweat and dirt.
Quiet laughter followed, along with whispers.
"Not dead yet, huh?"
"So this is Richard's kid."
Then they walked away.
Richard emerged from the house not long after
and went straight to the water vat.
He stopped.
He leaned forward to look inside.
This time—
It was not empty.
There was water at the bottom.
Thin.
Murky.
Shallow enough to barely reflect the light—
But it was there.
Richard smiled faintly,
letting out the same low chuckle as always.
"Heh…"
No words.
No praise.
He simply turned around
and went to eat his breakfast in peace.
Ryn remained on the ground.
His breathing was heavy,
his chest rising and falling unevenly.
His arms and legs refused to move.
His eyelids felt unbearably heavy.
But within that exhaustion,
something had changed.
Even if his body could not rise,
even if the vat was far from full—
He now understood:
Water could stay in the basket.
You just had to know how.
And be willing to keep trying long enough.
Three days.
No rest.
No food.
No explanations.
Only the basket.
The pond.
The vat exposed to the full sun.
And the eyes of people who never saw him as anything more than a joke.
Ryn scooped the water.
Walked.
Poured it out.
Then returned to scoop again—over and over.
The supply unit still came as usual.
So did the laughter.
So did the insults.
"Still not giving up?"
"That basket can't hold water, kid."
He didn't answer.
He didn't have the strength to.
He didn't even want to lift his head.
Richard was still there.
The hammock swayed gently beneath the tree.
The rope creaked—
a slow, steady rhythm,
like a clock counting down his endurance.
No questions.
No orders.
No stopping him.
No helping him.
Ryn no longer knew
whether he was training
or being toyed with.
The vat remained empty.
Every drop he poured in
vanished into the sun and the wind—
into nothing.
His arms felt heavy.
His legs barely moved.
His breathing grew weaker with every rise.
He slowed down.
Not because he was thinking—
but because his body refused to obey.
At last,
he poured out the final drops from the basket
and shook it until nothing remained.
Not even a shred of hope.
He collapsed beside the vat,
his back against the ground,
staring up at the blinding sky
until his eyes burned and had to close.
An empty stomach.
A dry throat.
A heavy heart.
What am I even doing this for…
Even if I scoop water my entire life,
it will never stay.
The hammock continued to sway.
Creeeak…
Creak…
As if nothing had happened.
Ryn closed his eyes.
His breathing trembled.
Anger.
Humiliation.
Despair.
They slowly merged together—
And for the first time,
his endurance truly began to crack.
Not because he was tired.
But because
no one ever saw how hard he was trying.