By the time the sky had turned dark, Riam slowly stepped out of the classroom, still holding the image of himself carefully packing his belongings. The words of the coach, "Scholarship to Europe," continued to echo in his ears. The truth was beginning to sink in—it was no longer just a dream.
As Riam exited the school building, he noticed many students glancing at him. Some were curious, some friendly, but most looked at him with respect—as if they were looking at someone whose future had already begun. Then, he saw a familiar smile—it was "Mind," the girl he often trained with under the tree. She waved at him gently, wishing him well.
"You can do it! Go sign up for the competition—we'll be cheering for you!"
Mind shouted just loud enough for Riam to hear, even as the surrounding noise faded into a whisper. He gave her a faint smile and replied with quiet confidence, though a storm of doubt still churned inside him.
"Thanks… I'll do my very best."
That evening, after the sun had set, not only did Riam prepare himself for what lay ahead, but many in the village also came to lend their support. Local merchants and vendors dropped by his home to offer blessings or share secret techniques of inspiration. Some spoke of how overseas, there were many new branches of martial arts and how intense foreigners could be in combat. Riam's thoughts flickered between these voices and the memory of an old elder from Phayuhakrit who once told him,
"Cross that sky for us—we'll be here, waiting to see you bring glory from afar."
The next day was the registration for the national scholarship competition. Riam and three other students from his school were grouped together. Contestants from all over the country, both young men and women, dressed in their national sports uniforms, gathered at the Grand Arcane Sports Field in Sri Maha Sila City. The first round tested physical fitness, knowledge of the national language, and personal demonstrations of martial arts.
Riam silently reviewed the familiar monkey-wind stance in his mind as he waited his turn. When he stepped into the center of the field, he began with a graceful spin, light as a breeze. His palm struck swiftly, like wind given form. His footwork was steady, never faltering. With his right hand, he locked the opponent's outer arm, applying slight pressure that caused a sharp sting. Channeling the wind energy within, Riam executed a controlling strike to immobilize his opponent. He then stepped back slightly, anchoring himself with the tips of both feet, calming his mind.
He disrupted the opponent's balance with a soft but precise step. Only then did his opponent realize that the Nine-Sigil Yantra within his own body had been triggered—mystical energy sealing his internal flow, disabling his planned counter.
As the demonstration ended, applause broke out across the field in admiration of Riam's precise movements. The three judges wore expressions of amazement, their eyes fixed on the strange markings Riam carried in his heart, as if he were a small star shining against a dark sky. One of the elder judges finally spoke:
"This boy… there's something unusual about him. The wind swirling at his fingertips—remarkable. Where did you train?"
Riam respectfully replied, "Just practiced at home and studied from old texts, sir."
The judges exchanged glances. One foreign spellmaster shook his head slowly, then clapped hands softly with his colleague.
A week later, Riam received a letter from the scholarship committee. He reached out to accept a thick envelope engraved with the English words "Official Documents." He peeked inside and found a confirmation letter for overseas admission. His face lit up under the pale moonlight, trembling with joy. The word "Congratulations" gleamed in gold script as if smiling at him kindly. As he finished reading, tears welled up in his eyes. He gently tapped his chest, silently committing those words to memory:
"You have been granted a full scholarship to study martial arts in Europe. Prepare to depart in one month..."
His heart slowed for a moment. A breeze swept through his body, making him still—nearly dissolving into the wind. That gentle wind passed softly through the village gate he would soon leave for the first time. It whispered like a silent blessing from the heavens, carrying him forward with hope.