Vol.2 Chapter 66

As I step out onto the open terrace, the cool night air wraps around me like a comforting embrace, carrying with it the faint sounds of the city's nightlife that rise and fall in the background.

Above me, the velvet sky stretches out like a vast canvas, painted with a tapestry of stars that twinkle and shimmer in the darkness. The moon hangs low on the horizon, casting a soft, silvery glow over the rooftop, lending a touch of ethereal beauty to the urban landscape below.

The rooftop is adorned with cozy seating arrangements and ambient lighting, creating a welcoming atmosphere that invites relaxation and contemplation. Soft cushions and flickering candles add a touch of warmth to the cool night air, while the gentle rustle of potted plants and the distant hum of the city below create a symphony of urban sounds that lull me into a sense of tranquility.

In the distance, skyscrapers stand tall like sentinels, their illuminated windows casting a warm glow against the night sky. The city below pulses with life and energy, a vibrant metropolis that never sleeps, its rhythm and heartbeat reverberating through the stillness of the rooftop retreat.

As I continued my walk toward the edge of the terrace, I saw a familiar figure. Upon approaching her, she spoke with her back turned against me, audibly enough for me to hear over the city's nocturnal buzz.

“I thought you wouldn't be here today~,” Lua said in her usual melodic voice.

“I could say the same. Not training for tomorrow like everybody else?”

“I don't need to. I told you already, I won't lose~,” she declared lightheartedly.

“It's a bit different this time though. Most of the participants now know your weakness,” I lectured.

“Then it would be better~ I could train a bit until I fight you in the finals,” she said happily.

“How confident…” I sighed.

“Hehe~ You should’ve been used to it by now,” she giggled. “Besides, there is only one haste user to worry about besides you, right? The girl from the Paragons?”

I pondered for a bit before replying.

“...I wouldn't be sure about that. I wouldn't pass it up to Hana, Sakura eSport’s ace, to be able to utilize haste, albeit not as well as Aria,” I shared my inner thoughts.

“Oh, you think so?” she asked curiously.

“Probably... She is Murasame's sister. Besides, judging from what I can see, haste will be quite utilized tomorrow. It is your weakness, after all,” I explained.

It's typical for a specific strategy or tactic to emerge as the prevailing approach in tournaments among participants. Players call it the tournament meta, which mostly depends on the participants involved in a certain tournament. This meta factors in the weaknesses and strategies of the top-performing teams in the tournament and how to play effectively against them. From what I see, tomorrow will be speed-based battles, mostly because of Lua, who can only be defeated in terms of speed due to her unusual full-strength glass cannon build and prodigal skills.

“Oh, are you giving me advice now~? Are you feeling bad for defeating me and revealing my weakness for the world to see? Is that it?” she guessed.

I remained silent. She’s on point. As perceptive as always.

Noticing my reaction to her probing, she offered a reassuring smile. “Well, don’t be~ in fact, I'm quite grateful to you,” she paused briefly, attempting to convey her next words with genuine sincerity. “Things are never boring when you're around.”

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Hana’s PoV

I used to hate my sister.

She is strong, talented, intelligent, perceptive, and always good at whatever she does—someone who can do no wrong.

I harbored intense feelings of envy towards her.

She was the prodigy, constantly earning my father's approval. Residing in a strict Asian household that upholds tradition was no trivial matter, and given her exceptional abilities; it was evident who would succeed in inheriting the Yamamoto-style Dojo.

With every swish of her bamboo sword, she seemed to carve a deeper imprint of perfection into the world. She was grace and strength embodied, a living statue of discipline and focus.

Father’s eyes were alight with pride whenever she was brought up, and I often see him speak of my sister fondly to our relatives and his acquaintances.

While I, Hana, the younger sister, was simply there, a silent observer in the grand spectacle of my sister’s grandeur life. I was the talentless child of the family.

To me, my sister was a mountain I could never climb. Her victories were my defeats, her triumphs a constant reminder of my own inadequacy.

Consequently, I sought solace in various pursuits—exploring different sports like volleyball and tennis and eventually delving into gaming. However, none of these could fully drown out the lingering resonance of my sister's name, echoing throughout my whole life.

Reflecting on the past, I recall being in my rebellious phase. I was self-absorbed, neglecting to recognize the dedication and countless hours of training my sister devoted to honing her skills and achieving the level of excellence she had attained, all just to meet the expectations set by our father.

I was extremely jealous of her, and I did not even acknowledge the hard work that made her that good in the first place. As the saying goes, talent without hard work is nothing.

I was truly naïve back then. If I could, I would’ve scolded my past self until my eardrums burst.

Fortunately, I started to change during a particularly grueling kendo practice.

I vividly remember it like it was yesterday. Walls adorned with traditional Japanese scrolls and calligraphy, their elegant brushstrokes and profound sayings serving as reminders of the rich history and philosophy that underpin the Yamamoto of kendo, a raised platform in the center with our family’s dojo symbol, rows of neatly arranged bamboo swords in the side, tatami mat-covered floor stretches out before me, a soft and forgiving surface that absorbs the impact of footwork and swordplay during training sessions.

Back then, our father frequently engaged in sparring sessions with us to assess our capabilities and assist us in enhancing our skills.

As usual, my sister's display was exceptional, eliciting nothing but praise from our father, a prodigy beyond compare.

When it came to my turn to spar with him, my apprehension grew as we faced off for a kendo practice bout. Every strike and block I made was met with his discerning scrutiny, and he meticulously evaluated my every move.

Despite my best efforts, my performance fell short of expectations. My strikes lacked precision, and my defenses faltered under the pressure. As our bamboo swords met in yet another fierce clash, my father's disappointment was palpable, his expression a mask of stern disapproval that cut deeper than any physical blow.

My father's chastisement rang out like a sharp strike to my pride. His words of admonishment pierced through the silence of the dojo, a harsh reminder of my shortcomings and a challenge to rise to the occasion and perform at my best.

With each misstep and missed opportunity, my father's critique grew more pointed and direct. His words were a constant reminder of the high standards he held for me as his student and his child. The weight of his expectations bore down on me like a heavy burden to prove myself and earn his approval through skill and perseverance.

As the kendo match continued, I pushed myself to the limits of my abilities, striving to impress my father and redeem myself in his eyes. Every strike and movement became a test of my resolve and a chance to show that I was capable of rising to the challenge despite the setbacks and failures that had marked my performance thus far.

But it was still not good enough. I was never good enough for him.

After the match, my father harshly reprimanded my lackluster performance. "You won't progress with such feeble determination and drive. It has been weeks, and you have shown minimal improvement! Do you wish to bring shame to the Yamamoto name?"

"I-I don't…" I stammered, struggling to hold back tears.

I felt exasperated after the tough sparing session, but if I displayed vulnerability and cried at that moment, it would only lead to further disappointment in him. Yet, the overwhelming pressure was reaching its peak, pushing me to my breaking point.

“Then do not be indolent and dedicate yourself to practice. Strive to be more like your sister!" he exclaimed disapprovingly before exiting the dojo, leaving us alone in the dimly lit kendo hall.

Upon hearing those words, the floodgates of emotions burst open. I couldn't contain the tears any longer.

My sister again, huh? Why is it always her? I thought to myself as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Hana... are you alright...” seeing me cry, my sister asked worriedly.

I unleashed all my pent-up frustrations on her despite knowing she was not at fault. I simply needed someone to blame—anyone but myself, really—and she unfortunately became the recipient of my pent-up emotions, which I’ve been harboring for quite some time.

“Why are you always trying so hard? Because you're so good and talented, I look incompetent in our father's eyes!” I expressed my inner thoughts.

“Hana…” she said weakly, shocked by my outburst.

“Why is it always you who gets everything?! You've always been the golden child, always the favorite. Do you even realize how much it hurts to constantly live in your shadow? I wish you had never been born!” I exclaimed.

As I uttered those words, I noticed a flicker of dejection in her expression. Despite her usually emotionless and stoic demeanor shaped by her strict upbringing, my insensitive remark had managed to elicit a display of sadness from her.

Seeing her make that face, I regretted it instantly.

After a moment of silence, she finally responded.

"…Hana… I never wanted you to feel like you were less. The reason I give my all… striving my hardest for the betterment of our family and to continue the legacy of our name... is so that you can live freely, Hana. You don’t have to fret about preserving our customs. Focus on pursuing your passions if all of this is weighing heavily on you,” she conveyed with utmost sincerity.

Then it clicked. It dawned on me why she was working so hard. She wasn't solely pursuing her aspirations but also working for the benefit of our father and me, for the welfare of our family. She unselfishly set aside her own ambitions to carry the burden and uphold the duty and traditions of our family name.

“B-but, if I did that, what would our father think?” I said hesitantly.

“Hana, there is more to life than seeking our father’s approval. You have the potential to make him proud in your unique way by pursuing what you love and excel at. As for our family traditions, let your sister handle them,” she advised in her usual gentle tone.

Her selfless declaration resonated with me. It made me see her in a new light. I had been overly self-centered, always casting myself as the victim, failing to recognize the truth. I had been pointing fingers at everything except myself, a behavior that now seemed rather foolish.

After a brief pause, I eventually spoke up.

“…But, are you truly okay with that?” I asked, a bit concerned if she was pushing herself too much for our sakes. Does she really want to bear the mantle of our Dojo family’s crest?

“You don’t need to worry about me. Although it's difficult sometimes, getting stronger day by day, seeing the results of my efforts, and fighting opponents who help me improve is quite enjoyable and fulfilling in its own right,” she said, doing her best to reassure me.

I don’t know if she is telling the truth, just saying that to not make me worry, or maybe a mix of both. All I know is that she is a sister I’m unworthy of.

“...You really are," I muttered, trying to convey my feelings in words but failing.

“Hm? Did you say something?" she said innocently.

"Hmph! Nothing!" I said as I turned my head away in embarrassment.

Following that day, it seemed as though the barrier between us that I built myself due to my own inadequacy crumbled like fragile glass. I became closer to her with each passing day, and she eventually became the most important person to me.

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Ring Ring Ring*

The ring of my cell phone jolted me back to reality. It was a cherished memory from the past that held great importance to me. Why am I recalling this now? I pondered. It's likely because she is here once more, offering her unwavering support, even though it is not her obligation to do so. She is the reason we made it this far, and I’ll be sure to win the tournament so that her efforts do not go to waste.

As I reached for my phone, the cool metal and smooth glass greeted my touch, a familiar weight in the palm of my hand. With a quick glance, I checked the time displayed on the screen, noting the late hour that blinked back at me in digital numbers.

Simultaneously, the phone's screen illuminated with a notification of an incoming call, drawing my attention to the caller ID displayed in bold letters.

It was my sister.

“Sis? Wassup?” I said jovially.

As I answered the incoming call on my phone, my sister's familiar voice greeted me on the other end.

"…Hana, are you done with training?" her voice resonated through the phone, filled with warmth.

It made me happy to hear her voice once more.

“Yes, we just finished practicing the formation you suggested. We won’t lose tomorrow; I’ll make sure of that!” I proclaimed with unwavering resolve.

Watch me, Sis. I'll strive to make you proud.

“…I see,” she replied succinctly.

Then, as if remembering something important, she continued.

“Also, make sure you get a good night's rest. No staying up late again like you usually do. Rest is incredibly important before an important game," she scolded, adopting a motherly tone.

"I know, I know, I'm not a child anymore," I responded, ensuring to convey my discontent through my tone, aware that she couldn't see my pout.

"…Good night then," she said curtly.

"Wait! Let's chat a bit longer," I interjected, trying to prolong the conversation with her.

“…Why?” she inquired.

"Do you need a reason to chat with your adorable sister?" I teased, slipping into my typical childish behavior whenever I’m with her.

A moment of silence followed, signaling that she was not amused. I was sure it would be enough of a reason. W-was she not in the mood for a chat? Is she busy, perhaps?

The pause grew uncomfortably long, so I quickly added, “F-Fine, if you really need a reason, let's chat a bit more so that I can fall asleep easily. How’s that?”

She sighed but finally gave in. “What do you want to talk about?”

Operation: chat with my sister until I feel sleepy. Success!

"Nothing in particular," I said cheerfully, happy that she was indulging me in my antics once again.

I've truly grown accustomed to being pampered by her, haven't I?

Following that, we talked about trivial matters for a while until drowsiness washed over me, signaling the end of our lighthearted conversation as I bit her a good night.