Even before that glimmer of hope appeared, neither my father nor—especially—my brother had given up at all.
Just as he had promised, my father took on more jobs, barely managing to balance them with his lessons at the dojo. He managed this because, having gained enough experience by then, my brother was able to take his place at the dojo whenever necessary. I also began teaching any student who wanted or needed it how to read and write, hoping this might attract more people, but it had practically no effect, so after a few months, I stopped.
Paradoxically, the fact that the number of students attending the dojo continued to decline helped my father balance his jobs with teaching there.
During that first year, after the Lion's Fangs dojo was completed and began operating, we managed to survive—obviously in poverty and with less food—without reaching the point where we risked having to sell our dojo. Still, we continued losing students. And toward the end of that year, the possibility of selling it became much more real.
That was precisely why my brother, now eighteen, decided that, since he was old enough to work—even if eighteen was still quite young for an elf—he would begin taking odd jobs as well, allowing him to contribute money to the dojo.
By then, so few students remained that his help there was no longer particularly necessary.
Even so, this made me extremely sad, because I knew well how much my brother loved practicing the Falling Leaf style and, above all, how deeply he loved our dojo. Seeing him forced to sacrifice time he could have spent pursuing his passion for the sake of our family broke my heart, especially as he seemed to become more exhausted with every passing day.
But thanks to his efforts, we managed to endure for another year, until finally, news arrived that gave us genuine hope.
It was evening, and our family was having dinner together. The meal consisted mainly of farm produce my brother had received as a gift in addition to his payment for a job protecting a farmer's livestock in a nearby village from hungry animals.
Then we heard a knock at the dojo door, accompanied by a cheerful voice shouting, "Master Kano!!! Boreo!!"
The three of us immediately stopped eating and hurried over to see what had happened.
When we arrived, my father opened the door, and standing there was Mario, a dog Beastkin—undoubtedly, aside from my brother, the most loyal and dedicated student in our dojo, as well as one of the few students who had participated in my reading and writing lessons.
Behind him, his furry dog tail was wagging at an impressive speed.
The instant he saw my father's face, his own lit up, and he shouted in a voice overflowing with joy, "Master, I have wonderful news!!!!"
His shout forced my brother and me to cover our ears, but our father—far more accustomed to it—didn't even flinch. Instead, in a stern voice, he immediately replied, "Mario, keep your voice down—it's evening!"
"Ah… I'm sorry, Maester, but this is really important news!" Mario replied in a quieter voice—although he was still practically shouting—while his furry ears drooped like those of a dog that had just been scolded.
"If it's that important, then stop beating around the bush and tell me what this is about," my father said in an even sterner voice.
Mario straightened himself and finally began explaining his so-called important news.
"Yes! On my way home, I met Nisba, and he told me that, to celebrate the second anniversary of his dojo's opening, his now-retired master has decided to organize a martial arts tournament. Only students from the dojos belonging to his two protégés and ours will be allowed to participate, and the winner will receive a prize of a whopping four million Manes!" he declared with tremendous enthusiasm.
My father's and brother's eyes widened. Four million Manes was roughly equivalent to 1333333 dorae—an enormous sum, more than enough to move our dojo to a city closer to the capital, where we could surely find many more students. We would still have quite a bit left over in case things didn't go well.
The idea of buying a plot of land in a better part of the kingdom, hiring mage builders, and then teleporting the entire dojo there was something my father had been considering for years. That was why he had begun setting aside money shortly after our mother abandoned us. Unfortunately, nearly all those savings had been used to keep our family and dojo afloat during the most difficult moments of the past two years.
Now, finally, it seemed that dream might actually become possible once again.
Upon hearing the amount of the prize, a look of determination appeared in my father's and my brother's eyes. After staring at each other, my father turned to Mario and asked, "Mario, when will this tournament take place?"
Mario thought for a few seconds before answering. "If I remember correctly, Nisba told me it should take place in three months. But I'm not completely sure—after I heard how much the prize money was, I had a hard time paying attention to everything else…"
My father let out a deep sigh.
"But don't worry, Master Kano! Nisba told me he'll come here tomorrow to explain all the details and even bring some flyers. I just couldn't contain myself, so I decided to come right away…" Mario said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.
"I'm grateful to you, but it's late now, so I think it would be best for you to return home. I imagine your mother is waiting for you," my father replied in a voice that remained stern but was also clearly kind.
"Yes, Master, I'll do that right away. But first, I'd like to speak with Boreo and Aurola alone for a moment, if that's all right," the Beastkin boy said.
My father's eyes widened slightly, and then he glanced toward my brother and me to see whether either of us objected.
"All right, but don't take too long. As I've already said, it's getting late," my father said before heading back inside the dojo. Meanwhile, my brother and I stepped closer to Mario, curious to hear whatever he wanted to tell only us.
"What's going on, Mario? What is it that you can tell us but not our father?" my brother asked curiously.
"Well, there's one thing I'd like at least the two of you to know. And, just to be clear, Nisba only told me this after I asked him rather insistently…" Mario began.
Both my brother and I were extremely curious about what Mario was about to tell us. At the same time, however, I think we already had a fairly good idea of what he was going to say.
"At first, it seems Nisba's master intended for the only participants in the tournament to be students from his son's dojo and Nisba's—not because of any malice toward us, but simply because he hadn't even thought about our dojo. However, Nisba suggested that we should be allowed to participate too, and his master immediately agreed. Although, from what Nisba told me, the master's son—who runs the other dojo, Casr—didn't seem particularly happy about that…" Mario explained.
Then, almost immediately, he added, "Well, that's everything I wanted to tell you, so I think I should follow Master Kano's advice and head home now. See you tomorrow!"
And with that, he turned and walked away, waving goodbye to my brother and me.
It was easy to understand why Mario had chosen to tell only the two of us about that detail. If our father had heard it, he probably would have decided that our dojo should not participate in the tournament.
Not long after Nisba's dojo opened in our village, he had noticed our financial situation. Being a kind person, he had offered to help us, but my father had categorically refused. In his eyes, accepting financial assistance from another dojo—one that practiced a different martial arts style—would have been a great dishonor.
So, if I had to guess, I would say that it was Nisba himself who suggested to his master that they hold a tournament to celebrate the anniversary of their dojo. If we had won, my father would have accepted the prize money without any problem, since it would have been thanks to the skill, dedication and hard work of one of our dojo's members.That was, of course, assuming we won.
Once Mario had walked far enough away that we could no longer see him, my brother and I headed back inside.
But my big brother looked directly into my eyes.
"Aurola, I promise you I'll win that tournament."
His voice reminded me of our father's on that day two years earlier, when he had promised us everything would turn out all right.
But Boreo's determination seemed even stronger.
The next day, as Mario had said, Nisba came to our dojo to explain the details of the tournament. He even brought a flyer containing all the rules and details.
The tournament would take place in two months, on May 4th. It would last a single day and follow a single-elimination format. Only students belonging to the three dojos could participate; instructors and martial artists unaffiliated with any of those schools were excluded. The total prize pool was four million Manes. The winning student would receive two million Manes, while the remaining two million would be awarded to that student's dojo. Killing an opponent was strictly forbidden, and anyone responsible would be expelled from the tournament. The use of any magic other than Physical Enhancement spells was prohibited, with the same punishment for anyone who violated that rule. However, since the tournament was a celebration, a large outdoor feast open to everyone would be held afterward.
From that moment onward, my brother stopped taking jobs unrelated to combat and dedicated nearly all his time to preparing for the tournament.
Our family immediately felt the consequences.
Without the money Boreo had been bringing home, our financial situation became even worse, and before long we were practically forced to live on bread and water. Even so, it was a sacrifice that I, at the time, was willing to make.
Winning that tournament had become our absolute priority.
The prize money would solve most of our problems, and my older brother was, without question, the strongest and most skilled student in our dojo. All six of us—including me—who remained as students knew that perfectly well. That was why we had all agreed that, until the tournament arrived, our father should devote nearly all his attention to training Boreo.
Not that the decision changed much for me.
I still ran away whenever it was time to train, even though it had already been decided that I would participate in the tournament as well. At first, I didn't think much about it.
After all, what could a slacker like me—someone who practically never trained—possibly accomplish?
At least, that was what I thought until the following month…
It happened during one of the rare occasions when I was actually training alongside the other students. Mario, as the most experienced among us, was filling in for my father—as he had often done since the tournament was announced—even though teaching was not one of his greatest talents.
Meanwhile, only a short distance away, my father was training with Boreo.
"Thanks, Dad. That was a great match," my brother said gently as he extended a hand toward our father.
They had just finished a practice match, and Boreo had won.
That much was obvious not only because my father was lying on the ground, but also because of the proud smile on his face as he looked up at his son.
Then, just as my father reached out to take Boreo's hand, my brother suddenly collapsed.
His body fell to the ground without warning.
He was unconscious.
"BIG BROTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"