Two weeks had passed since Francesca had completed her test. During all that time, her master had only taught her to stand on tiptoe on top of a few rocks in front of the waterfall.
Though it might sound simple, Francesca had spent every one of those days failing—unable to last even a minute without falling into the water. With each attempt, her anger rose, only to fade shortly after her first fall.
Someone like her suspected there had to be a hidden trick behind the exercise, something the man wasn't saying. Each time she fell, she asked her master about it, and he only replied, "You have too much fire." That vague phrase left her puzzled, wondering what hidden meaning it held.
Now, in that vast training place where Francesca usually practiced, she was playing handball alone, striking the wall again and again. The ball bounced back at an almost superhuman speed, and she returned each hit with flawless timing. Normally, when she practiced, her face showed intense focus—but this time, her expression seemed distant, her mind occupied elsewhere.
"Fire? The obvious meaning would be passion… or maybe strength… but that doesn't make sense. It's just standing on a couple of rocks," she thought.
Her instincts cut through her thoughts as the ball shot far to her left. Like a perfectly tuned machine, she intercepted it and sent it back with brutal force.
"…Maybe it's about how I'm standing? No, that's stupid. Maybe—"
Before she could finish the thought, another ball forced her to move again; her earlier strike had increased the ball's speed, sending it nearly out of bounds. She chased after it, predator-like, leaping to block it and slam it back to the ground with one hand.
"…Alright, maybe it's something personal—like everything he says. Master Confucius never speaks unless there's some physical, philosophical, or emotional meaning."
Unfortunately, she said that last part out loud—just as someone entered the court.
It was a tall, athletic man with blond hair, blue eyes, and sportswear. Hearing what she said, he smiled and asked, "Who's Confucius?"
Francesca's eyes widened in shock. She landed gracefully, paused to gather herself, then turned toward her father with her usual calm expression.
Francesca: "Hi, Dad. What are you doing here at this hour?"
Alexandre: "Well… it's late, and I decided to come pick you up."
The man noticed the ball flying toward the back of his daughter's head at incredible speed. He was about to warn her—but without even looking, she caught it one-handed.
Francesca: "I don't believe that. It's not the first time I've trained here at eight at night."
Alexandre: "True, but I wanted to make sure you kept your sleep schedule and that the dinner waiting at home didn't go cold."
Francesca: tossing the ball up and bouncing it with her racket "Well, since you're here, I guess you want to see if I've improved since I started running my own training."
Alexandre: "What are you saying, sweetheart? …Though I never turn down a challenge."
He tore off his gym pants, revealing tennis shorts underneath, pulled on a cap, and drew the racket strapped to his back.
Francesca: "Alright, fine. Let's make it a quick match. First to three wins."
Her father grinned with confidence. Fifteen minutes later, the match was over—with him kneeling in defeat before his daughter's overwhelming superiority.
Francesca: turning away "Alright, let's go. See? I'm in great shape now."
Alexandre: getting up "Fran, that was incredible. I've never seen you play with so much passion. Your soul must be burning to face that European girl, huh?"
Francesca suddenly remembered why she'd been hitting the wall so furiously. I can't tell him I was here because I can't stand still on some rocks. That's pathetic.
So she just nodded, hiding the frustration from all those times she had fallen.
The next morning at six, Francesca was already standing on the rocks, completely soaked, while Jayden watched her from the shore, fighting off sleep.
She lasted barely half a minute before falling again—each splash followed by Jayden muttering, "Pathetic."
Francesca bit back her anger, forcing herself to keep trying.
After an hour, frustrated and exhausted, she yelled, "WHY?!"
Jayden answered calmly, "You're putting in too much fire."
The young woman grabbed her hair in frustration. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY FIRE?!"
"I thought that, as an athlete, you'd understand that right away," he said flatly.
Her attention sharpened at those last words. She sighed and began to think about her memories—all the times she had fallen during that torturous exercise. She recalled how every time she set foot on the rocks, she felt the vibration of the water's current beneath her feet.
She still couldn't figure out where "fire" fit into all of this—until her father's words echoed in her mind: "…your soul burns…"
Realizing it, she looked at Jayden and asked, "You mean passion, don't you?"
Jayden: yawning "Could be."
Francesca: "If you're not going to tell me, I'll just try and find out myself."
She climbed onto the rocks again, this time tightening her muscles, trying to become one with them—but she still fell.
"Too much fire," Jayden said again.
Then she remembered how she had climbed the waterfall before—through calmness, not tension. So this time she let a deep peace spread through her body… and still fell.
But this time, Jayden said something different: "Not enough fire."
Francesca thought, That's it! I need to find the balance between tension and serenity.
She tried again, this time slightly tensing her muscles while keeping her whole body relaxed, achieving a perfect balance of control and composure. She managed to stand much longer than before.
Jayden's neutral expression twisted into a mischievous smile. "Girl, it's already seven fifteen—you should be—"
Her eyes widened. "SCHOOL!"
Without another word, she plunged back into the water and ran off. For the first time in her life, Francesca was late—but at least now, she had the key to progress.