The day's matches replayed in Elysia's mind as they parted ways. Each strike, each mistake, each moment of hesitation.
That night, unable to rest, Elysia climbed to a spot on the rooftop. The wind was cool against her face, carrying with it the scent of the city below.
The moon hung high, bathing the rooftops and streets in a silver glow. From up here, the cheers of the crowd were gone.
All that remained was the quiet hum of the city and her own thoughts.
Every victory, she reminded herself, was a lesson. Every opponent was a mirror—showing her not just her strengths, but the flaws she had yet to overcome.
Her grandfather's voice echoed in her memory: "Strength without heart is empty. Skill without purpose is wasted."
She closed her eyes and let those words sink in. They were more than advice—they were a challenge.
