Another week passed. Tyron had made progress in his trial, already stripping most of the branches from the upper part of the tree. By four in the afternoon, the scorching heat beat down on him as he finished clearing the top. Preparing to move on to the roots, his strength gave out. He collapsed onto the ground, drained of every drop of energy, staring at the sky and begging his body for more. Just as he drifted into the haze of heatstroke and hallucinations, a shadow fell across him, shielding him from the sun.
Slowly, he forced himself up. Jayden had planted a parasol in the ground. The swordsman turned away, muttering:
"You're here to keep working, not to sunbathe."
Then he leaned back against a tree, resting in the cool shade.
With his strength partially restored, Tyron tried hacking at a root the same way he had handled the branches. Nothing. He kept at it until sunset, when his master called out:
"Kid, go home. The bus'll be here soon. You're nowhere near ready to cut the roots yet—much less the trunk."
The trial ended for the day. Beaten, scratched, and drenched in sweat, Tyron returned home.
After a long shower, before joining his family for dinner, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His body looked leaner, more defined. His muscles had grown. Later, dressed and seated at the table with his mother, little brother, and father, the meal passed quietly—until his father broke the silence.
"Hey, son. You been going to a gym? You're looking stronger."
Tyron froze, then forced a grin. "Nah, Dad. Just good genes."
They laughed, his brother joking that one day he'd be a giant muscle beast. After dinner, as Tyron helped clear the table, he noticed his mother smiling at him.
"What's with the smile?" he asked.
"I don't know what you've been doing," she said softly, "but I can see it's changing you. Keep at it."
Baffled, he brushed it off and went to his room, flopping onto his bed.
The next day on his way to school, he realized he barely grew tired no matter how fast he ran. His stamina had grown. The school day seemed normal enough—greeting his friends, sitting at the same desk—but he noticed something strange. Antonio's seat had been empty for over a week.
Then the headmistress entered.
"Students," she said, "one of your classmates was brutally beaten last week. He's been in the hospital ever since. If anyone knows who's responsible, I expect you to come forward."
She left, and silence lingered.
At recess, just before the final class, Tyron hunted down Kiev.
Tyron: "Kiev, you can't let them blame all of us for what you did!"
Kiev, irritated, grabbed him by the shoulders.
Kiev: "Listen, Ty. No one's been blamed yet, so chill. And it wasn't just me. If I go down—you're coming with me. Got it?"
He tightened his grip. The bell saved Tyron, pulling them back to class.
That afternoon, with heat worse than the day before, Tyron still couldn't make progress on the roots. After three hours of failed attempts, he trudged to his master.
Tyron: "Jayden… could you give me some advice? Anything to help me move forward?"
Jayden: (lifting his hat, then lowering it again) "Hmm… let me think… No. Keep going or quit. Your choice."
Tyron: "Please. At least tell me why I keep failing."
Jayden: "Oh, come on—it's clear as day. You need to be sharp—sharp like the truth. Now I've told you. Get back to work, mutt."
Tyron chewed on the words. Sharp like the truth. Hours later, still hacking away, his mind drifted to the headmistress's words about Antonio. His fists clenched. He stretched his fingers, staring at his hand.
"Sharp like the truth… means being honest. With everyone. Especially with yourself. Facing things head-on—like a warrior."
He struck with everything he had. The root split.
Jayden, watching, smiled faintly—hiding his expression beneath his hat.
The next day, remembering the lesson, Tyron walked straight into the headmistress's office. He confessed everything—the bullying, the beating, Antonio's suffering. He accepted the punishment without excuse.
Two weeks' suspension, mandatory counseling sessions. His would be shorter—only one week less than the others—but the lesson was clear: strength wasn't just in the body.
Good things come to those who are honest—and brave enough to face the truth.