I hated those next weeks with every fiber of my being.
Repeating the same movements for hours on end exhausted me physically and made me feel as though I was slowly losing my mind. Every time my father threw me to the ground, it hurt so much that I came close to crying several times a day. By the end of each training session, I was far too exhausted to read even a single page of any of my books.
No.
I was so tired that I could barely even think.
And every morning, as the day of the tournament drew closer, I felt the weight of my father's expectations pressing down on me more and more heavily.
"But none of this matters. My suffering doesn't matter. I'm doing this to save my brother's life."
That was what I repeated to myself every morning, over and over again, so that I wouldn't lose hope and could force myself to keep going.
During those weeks, I was determined to make up for every lesson I had chosen to skip in the past.
Even now, thanks to my experience training thousands of students, I can say with certainty that during those two weeks, my father was stricter with me than with any of his other students.
The training was grueling.
The only other person I can think of who endured something equally brutal was Agratà, who, when he first began training under me, kept practicing more and more—sometimes almost until morning—even though I repeatedly told him to rest.
Still, I understood my father's harshness, even though that training risked being counterproductive for a beginner.
He was terrified.
He did everything he could to hide it, of course, but his son's life was at stake. It was only natural for a father to be afraid. Because I understood that, I obeyed every order he gave me in silence, without complaining.
And so my days continued until the tournament arrived, filled with nothing but pure, blood-sweat-and-tears training.
The only exception was March 1st.
That was the one day my father allowed me to rest, since the tournament would take place the following day. I decided to spend that day in my room beside my brother, sitting next to his bed while reading my favorite book, "The Fundamental Values of a Teacher".
Recently, because my father and I were occupied with training, Mario and the other students had taken turns looking after Boreo. But that day, I asked them to leave me alone with him.
They agreed, although they absolutely refused to let me do any work. So they still came in whenever it was time to replace the ice keeping my brother cool.
For the entire day, I read using only one hand. My other hand remained wrapped tightly around Boreo's right hand—the same hand I had almost broken by accident when we were younger. But now, no matter how tightly I squeezed it, nothing happened. His skin had become far too tough.
By evening, it was late, and I knew I couldn't afford to stay awake much longer. I needed to be rested for the tournament.
So eventually, I decided it was time to sleep.
But the instant I tried to release my brother's hardened hand, tears suddenly began streaming down my face.
"Big Brother… I know I have to win the tournament, and I absolutely want to. I really do…" I whispered through my tears. "I don't want you to die! But I'm scared. I'm so incredibly scared. If I don't manage to take first place, we won't have enough money to buy the flower we need for your medicine, and then you… you will…"
I couldn't force myself to say that word aloud.
Of course, my brother couldn't answer my desperate cry for help. He couldn't even hear me.
Still, I squeezed Boreo's hand even more tightly and remained there beside him, crying for another half hour.
Eventually, I took some herbs Dr. Franco had given me—strong enough to make me sleep despite my anxiety—and went to bed with my face still streaked with tears.
And so, the following morning, the day of the tournament finally arrived.
The day that represented the final hope for both my father and me.
I woke up roughly two and a half hours before the tournament was scheduled to begin.
It was a horrible moment.
The weight of my responsibility felt so crushing that, for several seconds, I thought I wouldn't even be able to get out of bed.
But then I looked over at my brother. Seeing him made that weight even heavier. And yet, somehow, it also gave me just enough strength to stand up and go join my father.
Once all the remaining students had arrived, we ate a hearty breakfast together, prepared especially for us by Mario's mother. Afterward, we stretched briefly and began making our way toward Nisba's dojo, where the tournament would be held.
We left Boreo in the care of Mario's mother.
As soon as we reached the area near the dojo, Nisba came out to greet us and immediately led us over to his master, Samufa, who was standing just outside the building.
Samufa was an elderly man with a long white beard which, combined with his thick, age-whitened hair, formed a great white mane around his face. He had a stern, solemn appearance. However, his eyes clearly revealed kindness and concern.
"Oh, welcome, Kano. It's been quite a while since we last saw each other…" Samufa said cheerfully.
Then his expression softened.
"Nisba told me what's happening to your son and what you need in order to treat him. I wish I could buy the flower for you myself, but the tournament prize represents practically all my remaining savings. I've decided to spend what little time I have left at my small country home, living from the produce of my garden and the animals I raise there."
The elderly master's voice had started cheerfully but became much more melancholy when he mentioned Boreo.
My father immediately shot Nisba a sharp look that practically screamed, Why did you tell him that?!
Then he turned back toward Samufa.
"Don't worry. Our dojo will prove itself worthy of that money by winning this tournament," my father replied solemnly. "In any case, I'm glad to see you're still in such good shape despite your age, Samufa."
"AHAHAHAHAHAH! And I'm glad to see you still haven't lost that temper of yours!" the elderly master replied joyfully.
Then his eyes moved toward me.
"So this is your daughter Aurola, the one Boreo told me about… She's participating in the tournament as well, isn't she? Looking at her, she certainly seems talented, but I remember Boreo telling me that she had practically no interest in martial arts…"
His voice seemed caught somewhere between curiosity and concern, although at the time I couldn't understand exactly what he was worried about.
"Yes. Aurola has never had much interest in martial arts," my father admitted. "But to save her brother, we decided that she would train as hard as possible and participate in this tournament. And I can assure you that all that training has paid off."
Pride filled my father's voice. But beneath that pride, I could still hear the faint trace of desperation.
Samufa looked first at me, then at my father.
"We decided, eh…" he murmured quietly.
Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Interesting. Well, I'm looking forward to seeing what she can do in this tournament. But Kano, I hope you'll take one piece of advice from me —even if it comes from a father who probably should have been a little stricter with his own son."
He looked directly at my father.
"Try not to be too hard on your daughter."
There was an unmistakable wisdom in his voice.
My father looked at the old master with slight confusion, then bowed. Apparently not fully understanding what Samufa had meant, he simply replied, "In any case, thank you for allowing our dojo to participate as well, Samufa. Since the tournament is about to begin, we'll head inside now."
Then he turned toward the entrance.
The rest of us students, along with Nisba, bowed respectfully to Samufa before following my father into the dojo.
Compared with ours, Nisba's dojo was enormous. It wasn't my first time visiting it. Nisba had invited us there several times before, and he had always treated us with warmth and respect. Even so, no matter how often I saw the place, its sheer size never stopped impressing me—especially whenever I compared it to our tiny dojo.
This time, however, the reception awaiting us inside wasn't nearly as pleasant.
That wasn't Nisba's fault, nor was it the fault of his students. Several of them greeted us cheerfully the moment we entered.
Almost all the hostility I sensed came from a man roughly the same age as Nisba, with long, tousled black hair, and from the group of students standing around him.
The black-haired man was undoubtedly Casr—Samufa's son and one of the two greatest students his father had ever trained.
I had never personally met him before. However, according to Boreo, the two of them had met several times whenever my brother accompanied our father to Samufa's dojo. And Boreo had once defeated Casr in a training match. That was probably at least part of the reason for the hostility Casr was directing toward us now—hostility so intense that it almost felt like bloodlust.
"Kano, I'm truly sorry about Casr," Nisba said awkwardly. "I don't think he's ever managed to forget that match…"
"Don't worry about it, Nisba. It's natural for martial artists to be competitive," my father replied.
Then he returned Casr's and his students' defiant glares with an icy, challenging stare.
"We're not here today to make friends. We're here to win."
The rest of us simply did our best to ignore the tension.
Nisba then guided us toward the section of the dojo that had been reserved for our group during the tournament.
None of us said a word. We were all far too nervous.
So all we could do was stand in silence and wait for the tournament to begin.
Several minutes later, Samufa entered the dojo and walked toward a seat that had clearly been prepared for him at the back of the room.
Once he sat down, he looked over everyone present.
"Martial artists from all three dojos, welcome!" he announced.
"I organized this tournament to celebrate the second anniversary of the opening of the dojo now run by one of my finest students. Because of that, I would truly like today to be a day of celebration."
His expression then became more serious.
"However, I also understand that some people here have reasons for participating that go beyond simple celebration—and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. But precisely because of this, before we begin, I want to remind all of you of two extremely important rules."
The dojo became silent.
"The first is that the use of any magic other than the physical enhancement spell is strictly prohibited."
He raised a second finger.
"And the second—which is by far the most important—is that killing your opponent is absolutely forbidden."
Samufa's gaze swept across every participant.
Then the old man with the white mane smiled.
"That said… let the tournament begin!"
And with those words, the most important tournament of my life began.
Honestly, even after those grueling weeks, I didn't truly believe I would be capable of winning. In fact, I expected to be eliminated during the first round. That certainly didn't mean I intended to lose. My brother's life depended on my victory. But somewhere deep inside me, there was a part of myself that wanted exactly that outcome. I wanted to give everything I had, lose in the first round anyway, and then be forced to leave the responsibility of winning entirely to my teammates. Because I had the feeling that, if that happened, the unbearable weight crushing me would finally disappear.
But that wasn't what happened at all. I defeated my first opponent with astonishing ease. I threw him to the ground with enough force to knock him unconscious. And the instant I realized I had won, the weight on my shoulders somehow became even heavier.
At first, I told myself that my victory had simply been luck.
Then I won my second match.
And my third.
Then my fourth.
And I just kept winning.
With every victory, I could see the hope in my father's eyes growing brighter. Of course, the matches gradually became harder. But it wasn't until every other student from my own dojo had been eliminated that my opponents finally began pushing me enough for the fights to become genuinely difficult.
And all the while, the weight kept growing heavier and heavier. With every opponent I defeated. With every one of my fellow students who was eliminated. With every hopeful look my father gave me. Until I reached the final.
And standing across from me was an elf considered the strongest student in Casr's dojo.