Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching. Her heart sank, expecting more ridicule. But when she looked up, she saw Rowan. He stood there for a moment, looking at her with his usual impassive expression.

  “You practice so regurly… but what was that?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a hint of concern beneath his indifference.

  Sarn’s shoulders slumped. “I know,” she muttered, trying to hide the defeat in her voice. “I tried, but I couldn't… get it right.”

  Rowan raised an eyebrow. “There’s a problem with you,” he said, his gaze shifting slightly as he pointed at something nearby. “You’re too straightforward. You don’t think things through properly. That’s why you keep failing.”

  Sarn looked up, confusion furrowing her brow. “But… what does that have to do with my elemental power? No matter how much I try, it just doesn’t come to me.” She sighed, her shoulders sinking. “It’s over. I’ll just try again next year.”

  Rowan stepped closer, his tone a little more serious now, though still with his usual coldness. He nodded toward a small bee hovering nearby. “Ssh it.”

  Sarn blinked, her confusion deepening. “What?”

  Rowan’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s the only way out of it.”

  Sarn stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to ssh a bee?” she asked incredulously. “How does that help anything?”

  Rowan crossed his arms, his face still unreadable. “You’ve been trying too hard—putting all your strength into it, but not your focus. You’re too caught up in the outcome. You need to focus on the moment, not the result. Ssh the bee. Bees are fast and unpredictable. Once you can strike one, your attacks will finally gain precision.”

  Sarn shook her head, frustration pressing down on her. “But what’s the use? What’s the point if it doesn’t help me win now?”

  Rowan turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Even if it’s no use, it’s not worthless. It may not help you now, but it’ll help you next year. You’re just not looking at it the right way.”

  Sarn stood frozen for a moment, staring at the space where he had been. He’d left her with nothing but a challenge she didn’t fully understand.

  At first, she considered it all some sort of joke. Maybe Rowan didn’t even care. But the longer she thought about it, the more she realized it wasn’t about winning or losing in the moment—it was about changing her approach. Maybe it was worth a try.

  After a long moment of hesitation, Sarn stood up, her sword still clutched in her hand. She raised it slowly, focusing on the bee that hovered just within reach. She tried not to think of the outcome.

  She swung.

  But the bee flew away just as her sword cut through the air, and Sarn’s heart sank. The swing had been too wide, too aimless. It seemed impossible to focus like this.

  Sarn had been at it for hours, her eyes dark with exhaustion, the weight of sleepless nights settling in. Her hands were sore from constant practice, and every swing of her sword felt more meaningless than the st. The endless repetition had worn her down.

  She had an idea—something reckless, a st-ditch effort to push herself even further—but doubt gnawed at her. What if it didn’t work? What if it was just another futile attempt? But she couldn’t leave it unfinished. She couldn’t stop now.

  With a determined breath, she went for it again. And this time, as her sword cut through the air, something happened. It actually sliced cleanly through the space, making contact with the target.

  Sarn froze, staring at the result for a moment before a quiet, breathless “Yay!” escaped her lips. The feeling was brief, though, because the next moment, a wave of doubt crashed over her. What’s the use? she thought. What difference does it make if I don’t even have a chance to perform?

  But deep inside, she knew she had learned something. She had figured out the way—the focus she needed. She had pushed herself beyond her limits, and now, she understood. The hard part was over.

  However, despite the small victory, her progress felt meaningless to the other students, especially the girls who mocked her for practicing when her chance to perform had long passed. Their words stung, chipping away at her resolve, making her feel weaker.

  It was the day of publishing the list of participants for semi final.She found the notice pinned to the bulletin board—the list of eligible participants for the final round. Her heart pounded as she scanned the list, praying to see her name.

  But it wasn’t there.

  The miracle she had hoped for had not happened.

  Sarn’s world colpsed, and the tears she had been holding back finally slipped out. She colpsed against the wall, unable to contain the frustration and disappointment that had been building inside her .