The golden tent still echoed with the aristocrats' polite applause from the night before. For the veterans, it was another victory. For Naki, it was a reminder—her place in Madame Rosa's troupe was fragile, questioned at every turn.
All night she had replayed their sneers: "Clown girl.""Village circus.""She won't last."By dawn, those words had hardened into a challenge.
When the troupe gathered for morning drills, Rosa announced, "Today, we attempt the midair crossover. Few can master it. Those who do earn their place at the center of the stage."
The veterans straightened with smug smiles. Naki's pulse quickened. This was her chance.
As Sky stretched beside her, he shot her a sideways glance. "Don't do anything stupid, clown girl."
"I'm not here to stay safe," she muttered, gripping the bar.
The midair crossover required timing so precise that a heartbeat's hesitation could mean disaster. Two performers swung from opposite directions, leaping into each other's path before catching the ropes again.
When her turn came, Naki inhaled sharply, ignoring the sting of doubt. She launched herself forward, swinging high into the air. The other acrobat came from the opposite side.
"One, two—" Sky's voice echoed faintly below, but she was already gone.
Naki twisted midair, reaching for the rope—only to slip.
Her palm tore against the rough hemp. Pain seared through her hand as she barely caught the bar, her body jerking violently. A cry escaped her throat. She dangled for a moment before scrambling back onto the platform, clutching her hand.
Blood smeared her palm. The veterans laughed under their breath. "Too eager," one muttered. "She'll never last."
Naki bit her lip against the pain, fury and shame burning hotter than the rope's bite.
Then Sky was there, standing beside her. His smirk was gone, replaced by something softer. "You're lucky that wasn't worse," he said quietly, wrapping a strip of cloth around her hand. "You don't win respect by breaking yourself in half."
She flinched, glaring. "I don't need your pity."
"It's not pity." His tone was steady, almost gentle. "It's advice. You've got talent, Naki. Real talent. But talent without control? That's just falling in style."
Her breath caught, surprised at his sincerity.
Sky tied the cloth firmly, then stepped back, grin returning. "Besides, I can't have my rival dropping out too soon. Who else would keep me sharp?"
Despite the pain, Naki laughed softly. "You're insufferable."
"Maybe," Sky said, already climbing back to his rope. "But I'm still ahead."
Naki flexed her bandaged hand, the burn throbbing with every heartbeat. It was a wound, yes—but also a reminder. She wasn't here to be careful. She was here to grow stronger.
And she would. One rope burn at a time.