Two punches later, Draco's face turned pale, and he swayed as if he were about to collapse at any moment.
Perhaps he was used to being beaten, he quickly regained his footing amidst countless taunts, clutching his stomach and glaring at Vincent with a murderous look.
"Wayne, is this what you call resilience training?"
Vincent was slightly surprised. "Not bad. You would have been lying on the ground by now."
Draco slowly straightened up. "Bullshit training! You're clearly targeting me!"
Vincent shook his head, his deep blue eyes filled with disappointment. "I'm not forcing you to accept my training. If you don't want to, the door is over there, you can leave anytime."
He never tolerated this young master's temper before, and he's even less likely to now.
But he was about to be disappointed again, because Draco not only didn't leave, but even arrogantly rolled up his sleeves.
"What are you standing there for? Hurry up and continue!"
Vincent was completely outmaneuvered.
Who would willingly ask to continue being beaten? Did they develop feelings for each other from the beatings, or even Stockholm Syndrome?
He clenched his fists with a look of disgust, his strength increasing slightly from before.
Draco's mouth gaped open after that punch, and he almost spat out his breakfast.
Harry shrank back, his eyes filled with pity.
But the thought of having to undergo the same kind of impact resistance training made him instinctively clutch his stomach.
Vincent seemed even more surprised.
Draco didn't fall down; he stubbornly stared at him.
The Old Bat really has a way with things; he managed to tame such a proud young master so completely.
What's even more amazing is that they managed to win over Mr. Lucius. Given the young master's personality, he would have definitely brought up his wealthy father long ago.
With that thought, Vincent was completely relieved.
Why not use these free human punching bags? Just don't kill them.
The next second, a storm of iron fists arrived.
Starting with the abdominal muscles, the chest, waist, and shoulders went through one round, followed by the limbs and back.
Draco remained silent throughout, only his eyes grew increasingly fierce.
About ten minutes later, Vincent stopped.
I can already vaguely see the red and engorged muscles beneath that custom-made, sweat-soaked, form-fitting shirt; today's training is almost over.
"Malfoy, your muscles may feel sore and itchy when you get back, that's normal. You'd better have someone massage them for you."
Draco loosened his clenched teeth. "Wayne, are you done?"
Vincent turned to Harry, waved his hand at him with his back turned, and said, "Goodbye. If you can't stand it, you don't need to come tomorrow."
"Hmph—" Draco turned around, his legs trembling uncontrollably from the intense pain.
The two underlings below the ring quickly took him down.
"Don't come any closer!" Draco pushed their hands away and slowly walked out of the Club Room.
Vincent watched his still proud back and thought to himself that he should have put that perseverance into something else.
"Harry, let's begin the strength test."
Vincent took the barbell he usually used for exercise from the Flamel Ring.
Although it doesn't look very big, Harry almost lost his grip when he tried to hold it.
"Lift it up for 10 seconds. If you succeed, I'll add more weight until you can't hold on anymore."
On the other side,
Back in his dorm room, Draco collapsed limply onto his bed.
After experiencing intense pain, he felt as if countless tiny insects were crawling all over his body.
Oh, and a massage!
He turned his head with difficulty to look at Crabbe and Goyle, who were standing dumbfounded by the bed. "Aren't you going to come over and give me a massage?"
Perhaps it was the two younger men's technique that caused him to wince in pain after just one press.
"Draco, isn't it normal for Muggle massages to require taking off your clothes?"
Draco glared at Crabbe, "Bullshit! A proper massage doesn't involve taking off clothes!"
Crabbe lowered his head weakly, "That's not right. One night during summer vacation, I took the wrong turn and went into a Muggle massage parlor. The people in the small room weren't wearing any clothes."
Draco's face flushed slightly. "Are you sure you went into a massage parlor?"
"It's a massage parlor. I think it's something like Winter Night Rose or Winter Night Rise."
Rose and rise differ by only one letter, but their meanings are completely different.
Winter Night Rose – you can tell from the name that it's not a legitimate massage parlor.
Draco ignored him. "Hurry up and continue, and remember to be gentle."
This time it didn't hurt as much.
And just as that bastard Wayne said, he felt a slight soreness and itchiness in the muscles where he had been hit.
It wasn't uncomfortable at all; it even felt a little good. It was truly unbelievable.
As he massaged, Draco closed his eyes with a look of enjoyment.
When he opened his eyes at noon, he found his two younger brothers still massaging him.
"Okay, you can stop now."
He stretched and yawned, then smelled the stench of sweat on his body.
How could the noble heir of the Malfoy Family be covered in sweat? He got up, opened the wardrobe, grabbed a set of clothes, rushed out of the dormitory, and headed straight for the washroom at the end of the corridor.
After a satisfying shower, Draco stood in front of the mirror and started getting dressed.
"Huh?" He stared blankly at the mirror, then looked down at the still-reddened muscles on his upper body.
It seems to have stopped hurting, and it feels much firmer to the touch.
"The main purpose of impact resistance training is to improve the body's ability to withstand impacts, thereby reducing the chance of injury and enhancing confidence and endurance in combat..."
Draco recalled Vincent's words, and his expression gradually changed from doubt to understanding.
Wayne's ridiculous "getting beaten up" training actually works?
That's impossible! He's been beaten more than once or twice already, so why didn't any of those methods work before?
"Gurgle—" My stomach is growling.
Completely baffled, he buttoned up his shirt and returned to his dorm room.
Upon arriving at the Great Hall, he sat down and immediately began to enjoy his lunch.
I had a particularly good appetite today and finished a steak in no time.
Draco tapped his glass lightly with his knife and ordered another steak.
He only felt slightly full when he was halfway through the meal.
Two servings aren't enough, give us two more!
After eating four steaks, he felt about 70-80% full.
Let's have some more tiramisu, and start a wonderful day now.
After lunch, Draco and his two henchmen leisurely strolled around the castle.
The students began to whisper among themselves when they saw his self-satisfied demeanor.
"Has Malfoy been beaten senseless?"
"It's unlikely. If Vincent had really gone all out, he wouldn't be alive and kicking again so quickly."
Draco seemed oblivious to their complaints and went up to the fifth floor in a cheerful mood.
Since I'm just killing time anyway, I might as well go check out Potter's training.
He arrived just in time; Harry, who had warmed up, was doing his punching drills.
Compared to the morning, Vincent's punches were noticeably faster and more powerful, but strangely, Harry's expression didn't seem to be in pain.
"Fuck!" Draco clenched his fists tightly. He knew Wayne, that bastard, would discriminate.