Heidegger lay flat on the ground, arms slightly wider than his shoulders.

Then he lightly pushed his palms up from the ground.

Atia recognized it immediately.

‘Pushups.’

He lifted his body lightly off the ground, as if defying all gravity.

Atia watched Heidegger doing pushups, mesmerized.

‘Exercise can be this graceful and dignified!’

Atia realized as she watched Heidegger.

Neither posture nor breathing faltered.

It was the epitome of perfection.

“Ah…”

The heartbeat of Atia, who had been staring in awe, increased.

It was a moment when she felt that even in her slender body, there was a heart.

Heidegger, who was exercising with both hands on the ground, changed his posture.

With one hand behind his back, he started doing pushups with just the other hand, soon starting to fold his fingers one by one.

The strength of my father was tongueclicking.

Occasionally, there are naturalborn monsters among athletes.

Heidegger would have been the top among those monsters.

In the end, every time he went down and came up with just his little finger, muscles, including pectorals and triceps, bulged beautifully over his shirt.

“I usually loosen up my body like this. If I don’t use it for a long time, it stiffens up.”

Heidegger explained leisurely as he did pushups with just his little finger.

He also showed several other movements that could be done with bare hands.

I’ve seen countless professional athletes in my previous life who were boasting about their strength.

But Heidegger right in front of me seemed to be of a different race altogether.

How much practice is required to achieve that?

Atia opened her mouth, as if entranced.

She also wanted to stop stressing every time she looked in the mirror.

She had tried every means and method, but she couldn’t help being frustrated when she saw her muscles, which were not growing at all.

That strongwilled person who had transformed countless anchovies and pigs into humans had failed with Atia’s body.

Even Kesha, who had exercised together, was noticeably different and even had a sixpack.

She had to be content with walking on two legs.

She was sure she had been cursed by the original author of .

Finally, with the spirit of grasping at straws, Atia opened her mouth.

“Ma…”

“Hm?”

“Master.”

Thud.

Unknowingly, Atia knelt down.

Heidegger, startled by Atia’s sudden kneeling, stood up and spoke.

“Why are you suddenly doing this?”

“Father, please take me as your disciple.”

“Disciple?”

“I earnestly request it.”

Then she put her hands together, bowed her waist, and paid her respects.

Heidegger raised his eyebrows, as if astonished.

“Hmm…”

“I want to become strong.”

“Strong?”

“Yes.”

The thought she had been harboring since the first time she saw him.

Atia decided to openly reveal her desire.

“I want to be reborn with a healthy body like yours.”

Atia had used all her knowledge about diet and exercise.

But she finally realized.

She could not beat the Creator.

This was a book, and she was merely an extra with limited time.

‘I can’t die like this.’

With the sentiment of grasping the last straw, she looked up at Heidegger.

“Please, Fath… No, Master!”

A resolute will emanated from Atia’s voice.

Heidegger looked at Atia and stroked his chin.

“Hmm.”

But it seemed that Atia really wanted to live in a healthy body.

Not a fragile body that seemed like it would collapse at the slightest touch, but a healthy body like Heidegger’s.

But even if she wanted to become strong, he couldn’t force his ways on her.

She definitely couldn’t keep up.

Half, no, even if it was onetenth, it would be fortunate.

Because what was nothing to Heidegger would be very burdensome to Atia.

“Well…”
Suddenly, Heidegger thought of his late wife, Lena.

A woman as slender as Atia, always with a bright smile.

The death of Lena, whom he thought would be with him forever.

Among the reasons was her frail health.

Thus, Heidegger couldn’t dismiss Atia, who spoke earnestly about wanting to get healthier.

Heidegger, who had been hesitant, lifted his thick eyebrows and spoke.

“What should I do, then?”

(This is a time separator.)

Knock, knock.

After a long while, Casus visited Heidegger’s office.

He carried documents to discuss a land issue with his father.

But no sound came from beyond the door.

Knock, knock.

He knocked again, but still, his father didn’t answer.

Suddenly, Casus felt something strange.

Seeing a passing servant, he stopped him.

“Where did the former Duke go?”

“Eh? He should be inside?”

The servant tilted his head and replied.

“The Duchess went in a little while ago.”

“What? For what reason?”

“I don’t know well…”

Casus recalled a past moment when his father was asleep in the room, shirtless.

Atia had been with him.

“Hmm…”

So that’s why there’s no answer.

Still, no sound came from the office.

Casus looked at the servant and asked again.

“Are you sure about what you saw? Are you not mistaken?”

The servant nodded.