Magic training was going smoothly as Paulo now was mastering her lightning enhancement more and can use it for a solid ten minutes. Compared to her usual gruelling routines, this felt like a breeze, even easier than last time when she barely hit the five-minute mark.
Sure, these abilities leaned heavily into melee combat, but that actually worked in her favour; the up-close intensity mirrored her natural fighting style, making the magic feel like an extension of herself rather than something entirely new.
Rain over a large area, this is what skill Yumi will teach me today.
Paulo had actually considered it herself, but the moment Yumi arrived, she conjured rain like magic and walked away with applause. Word came straight from Daiki: villagers kept coming to her with requests, and she used her powers to fix everything from dry fields to broken wells.
What really got to Paulo? She was charging for it and making money hand over fist. To the villagers, it felt natural. After all, no one else in the town could do what she did. But to Paulo, it clashed hard with what she'd always known in Japan, helping others wasn't a service with a price tag. It was expected, unpaid, unquestioned, just part of being part of the community.
Here, though, it was treated like a job. And that's what stung. Because while everyone else saw a miracle worker, Paulo saw someone turning goodwill into profit, something that, back home, would've felt deeply off.
Out of nowhere, Paulo dropped the question, "From now on, should I start calling you Master?"
Yumi froze, her face twisted in mild horror, cheeks flushing as she stammered, "Absolutely not. You'll probably outshine me in no time. That title's a terrible idea."
It seemed like I had the potential to surpass Yumi. I felt a little embarrassed when I got praised like that."
"You don't call someone Master just because they're weaker than you. It makes me Embarrassed. Hearing someone stronger than me say it? Downright embarrassing." Yumi shot back, responding to Paulo's earlier address.
"Wait, is it because Sensi surpassed his own teacher that you feel this way?" Paulo started, only to be cut off by Yumi pulling her into a sudden embrace.
"Listen closely, Paulo. A Master is someone who's already run out of lessons to teach you. yet still demands things, clinging on like some burdensome ghost," Yumi said, voice firm but warm. Her words landed deep, and Paulo looked at her with even greater reverence.
"But not you, Yumi. Even if that were true, I'd still honour you," Paulo replied, gazing up with unwavering loyalty.
Sure, Yumi might occasionally act bossy, nudging Paulo around, but she'd always do it with a smile, because no matter what, she was still the one who guided her.
"No, I could get jealous. Say ugly things, like how a filthy little demon has no business going to that village or whatever. I'm not perfect " Yumi admitted, shaking her head.
Were you criticized like that? Poor thing. Discrimination is a bad thing but the superior-subordinate relationship had always been this way.
"That's fine, it's no big deal," Paulo brushed off, claiming Yumi was overreacting.
"Just because someone's a little older doesn't give them free rein! A teacher-student bond without real strength? That's a recipe for heartbreak on both sides!"
Her words hit hard, sharp, passionate, full of conviction. Paulo was silenced. The truth? Her own relationship with her mentor was crumbling, far beyond what anyone knew, which is why she refused to call Yumi Master. But Paulo made a quiet vow that she always honour that title in her heart.
This girl, playful and youthful on the surface, had handed Paulo lessons no textbook ever could. Wisdom wrapped in fire, delivered by someone who still giggled like a kid, but saw the world like a sage.
Paulo had just turned six, and her world was about to change. Her home buzzed with the energy of a small, intimate celebration. In this realm, birthdays weren't marked every year; instead, milestones at ages six, twelve, and eighteen were the sacred turning points, each one a rite of passage. And today, Paulo had reached the first.
It made sense: adulthood began at sixteen, after all. So, when Daiki stepped forward with a gift, it wasn't just a present, it was a promise. Two swords, one real, heavy, razor-sharp, forged for battle, not play; the other, a short wooden replica. The real blade? Far too dangerous for a child's hands. But symbolic? Absolutely.
"In every girl's heart, there must be a sword, to protect those she holds dear..." Daiki began, voice thick with conviction,
But before he could soar into poetic heights, Satsuki cut in with a sharp, drawn-out Ahem. Deflated, Daiki stumbled to a close, "So… keep it safe. Only draw it when you truly must."
He wasn't really giving her a weapon, he was handing her courage, awareness, purpose. Then came Satsuki's gift: a book. Not just any book, a massive plant encyclopaedia, rich with hand-drawn illustrations. In a world where paper existed but printing didn't, every page was painstakingly written by hand. Books like this were treasures. Heirlooms.
Paulo's breath caught as she couldn't even guess the cost but she still said, "Thank you, Mum. I've always wanted this book."
The words barely left her lips before she was pulled into a crushing hug. Next, Yumi stepped forward with a modest staff, barely thirty centimetres tall, crowned with a tiny greenish ruby. Simple. Clean. Powerful.
"I made this recently, I'd forgotten… even though your magic core is broken, you've still mastered two other new spells on your own. Normally, a teacher crafts a staff like this to help students channel basic magic. I… I failed to do that for you." Yumi admitted, eyes downcast, guilt clung to her voice.
She hated being called master but yet couldn't ignore tradition.
"Yes, Master, I'll take good care of it." Paulo replied softly.
Yumi flinched, her expression twisting into something pained. Acknowledged. Appreciated. And quietly, painfully, reminded of the gap between duty and affection.