January 11, 1870.
Hohenzollern Castle, in the garden.
"One hundred and eleven, one hundred and twelve, one hundred and thirteen..."
Ernst gritted his teeth and painfully counted his push-ups, sweat soaking through his white cotton undershirt.
"Three hundred!"
"Huff, huff... This challenge is still far too difficult for me!" Ernst panted to the coach.
He braced his hands on his thighs, sweat pouring from his forehead like rain. Tom promptly handed him a towel, and Ernst took it and wiped the sweat from his face.
"Your Highness, the fact that you kept at it the whole way is already impressive. Ordinary people would likely find such perseverance hard to achieve!" the coach commented from the side.
"Coach Rovett, you flatter me. I couldn't keep it up without someone watching over me. Only someone like me, with a little spare money, would do something this boring."
Some time ago, Ernst had looked in the mirror and discovered that he had put on quite a bit of weight. To him, it had been a bolt from the blue.
In his previous life, he had always had a normal build. Yet after transmigrating here, he had grown a heap of fat from eating too well and exercising too little.
Ernst would turn twenty by the end of the year. He was currently 178 centimeters tall and probably would not grow any taller, something beyond his control.
Prince Constantin's looks could not be called ugly, but they could be called utterly ordinary. Ernst had only made a slight breakthrough over Prince Constantin in terms of appearance.
Coupled with his youth, he ranked slightly above average by the standards of this era. Ernst could be said to have presence and spirit, but the word handsome had nothing to do with him.
With such a foundation,