Although the King's presence had bee a routine, every time for Mirac it felt like the first. The idea that his father was carefully his progress filled him with a strange mix of pride and ay.

  On one hand, there was the euphoria of being able to show the fruits of his hard work.

  Oher hand, the ay gripped him like a too-tight suit of armor, suffog him at the thought of not measuring up to his father's expectations.

  And every first of the month, King Arthur had always left him with the same unshakable rea...

  After watg his son's training, the king tered a word!

  With a cold, imperable look, he would turn and silently return to his duties at the castle, leaving Mirac with a thousand questions and a sense of emptiness.

  I months, Mirac had also begun to notice a gradual ge in his father's attitude. He seemed more distant, with a cold and stern look that made their enters increasingly brief and silent.

  But... WHY?!

  Perhaps, Mirac specuted, it was just the weight of royal responsibilities that was afflig him.

  But if that were not the case...

  Mirac feared that the ge in his father's attitude was actually born from a deep disappoi!

  He kept w if King Arthur had stopped seeing him as the soio meet his great expectations.

  Every silence, every cold look seemed tthen that fear.

  But fortunately, every time this happened, Leonard was always there to lift Mirac's spirits.

  Ihe swordsmanship instructor, whenever he noticed the tense and downcast expression of the young Prince, stantly offered him words of encement.

  "Don’t worry, young Prince. I am certain that His Majesty King Arthur is absolutely proud of you!" the swordsman would decre with great fidence.

  However, Mirac had begun to doubt it.

  After the third month of silence, many questions began to torment him:

  ‘Why does he look at me like that? Why does he never say anything? Why doesn’t he show any sign of approval? WHY?! I would be happy with just a smile!‘

  And so, for that day, determio ge things, Mirac had prepared himself in advao break that silence!

  In the past six months, he had trained harder than ever before, intensifying ahening his sessions, even requestira lessons on weekends, vihat every extra minute was crucial to perfeg his teique.

  Sometimes, he would experience excruciating pain that lingered for days, testing every fiber of his body. But he never really minded, as the desire to make his father proud resonated within him, strohan any suffering.

  So, today, Mirac would not settle for the usual silence: he was ready to push his limits to earn his father’s approval!

  Arriving at the desigraining area, Mirac saw both Leonard and King Arthur already there.

  The Grand Knight, standing with his usual impeccable posture, had his haing on the hilt of his wooden sword, ready to begin.

  In the distance, King Arthur observed the se, leaning on the fence, arms crossed, with his gaze fixed on his son, inscrutable as ever.

  The King wore a long crimson cloak, embroidered with intricate golden patterns, symbolizing his royal authority, while a golden , identical to the Queen's a with red gemstones, gleamed atop his head.

  His attire, equally imposing, was of a deep and refined bck.

  The long, wide jacket had tight sleeves, decorated with crimson trim that reflected the light, like a trace of icy elegahe high, closed colr, apanied by decorative buttons along the front, gave the king an air of unyielding majesty.

  The white shirt peeking from beh the colr added a bright trast to the bck of the suit. Two belts, oight bck leather and the other wider and more richly decorated, held the outfit together, while the dark, fitted trousers pleted the ensemble.

  Mirac, however, did not dwell on the splendor of the royal garment.

  Instead, he felt the weight of his father's peing gaze, which seemed to scrutinize him like a harsh judgment.

  Feeling almost intimidated by the king’s presence, Mirac stopped for a moment, a shiver running down his spihe air seemed to suddenly grow colder.

  However, he could not allow himself to stand there like a statue, showing weakness in front of his father!

  So, he took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the wooden sword, and prepared himself.

  "Let’s begin!" Mirac excimed, anticipating his instructor's words with an energy that resonated in his voice.

  * * *

  As always, the training proved to be exhausting!

  Mirac started with a series of exercises to demonstrate his physical abilities: high jump, long jump, push-ups, and running. All the while, he held a wooden sword, which had bee rger and heavier over the months to test him further.

  In the high jump, Mirac reached a height of about 1.44 meters, an exceptional result for a child almost 8 years old, sidering the average is usually around 80-100 cm.

  In the long jump with a run-up, he covered a distance of 3.14 meters, well beyond the average for children his age, which typically ranges from 2 to 2.5 meters.

  These two results highlighted araordinary explosive capacity in his legs and excellent dynamic coordination, both inter-segmental and spatio-temporal.

  In push-ups, Mirac performed 21 secutive repetitions while holdis on his back, and in the 100-meter run, he pleted the distan just 13.7 seds.

  Together, all these results were yet another clear proof of his excellent physical dition and good aerobic capacity, demonstrating that Mirac possessed extraordinary endurand muscur strength for his age.

  After these demonstrations of his physical abilities, Mirac moved on to the more challenging part: the bat simution with Leonard!

  "On guard, young Prince," decred Leonard, with the authoritative stance of one who masters the art of swordsmanship.

  Following his instructor's words, Mirac assumed a guard position, gripping the small wooden sword with both hands, and nodded with determination.

  As usual, Leonard took the initiative, advang decisively towards Mirabsp;

  However, as always, it was not a real fight, as the instruoved slowly and trolled, announg each strike and movement to give Mirac time to read learn to read the motions.

  "Lateral attack... low defense... dodge to the right," he said calmly, allowing the student time to move and respond properly with his sword.

  Mirac, focused, followed every movement with determination, his small hands trembling slightly from the effort.

  After a few minutes of training, the young Prince leaped back with a couple of jumps, increasing the distaween himself and the instructor. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, but in his eyes, there was a gleam of resolve.

  "Master," said Mirac, raising his gaze and looking at him determinedly, despite the sweat trig down his forehead and his breath still ragged from the effort.

  His voice, however, betrayed ation: it was firm and resolute.

  “Try not to warn me of your attacks anymore.”

  Leonard slightly tilted his head, a mix of surprise and amusement showing on his face.

  “Are you sure, young Prince?” he asked with a faint smile.

  Once again, Mirac responded without hesitation.

  “Yes, Master,” he reiterated, gripping the hilt of his sword more tightly, as if drawing strength from it. “From now on, I want to train like a true swordsman!”

  Those words were not only for the Master: Mirac hoped they would also reach his father's ears, but he remained motionless, his arms still crossed and his gaze lost in the sky, without reag particurly to that request.

  For a moment, the instructor let the sileweeretch, thick with expectation.

  Finally, the silence was subtly broken when an amused smile began to crease the ers of the Master’s lips, carrying with it a hint of approval.

  “A true swordsman, you say? Heh, alright!” Leonard replied, getting bato guard with a smoother and quicker gesture.

  And so, the pace ged!

  The wooden bdes began to move faster, crossing in the air with dull, rhythmic sounds.

  Mirac, sweaty and panting, struggled to keep up. Each impact of the swords echoed in the courtyard like a drum, apanied by the sound of his footsteps and the accelerated rhythm of his breathing.

  With growing wonder, clearly reflected in his eyes, Leonard watched as Mirac blocked each attack with impeccable precision.

  Mirac's skill, with his quid measured movements, seemed perfectly synized with the increasingly frantic rhythm of his oppo, while his eyes remained fixed on the sword.

  Every strike arried decisively, and the sound of the wood g became sharp, yet alerfectly trolled.

  ‘Not bad, young Prihought the instructor, thrilled by the fast-paced rhythm of the duel.

  It was the very first time, after nearly a year of training, that Mirad Leonard faced each other in a real fight!

  Despite his oppo being the Grand Knight Leonard, the young Prince showed no sign of fear.

  his oppo’s sword, Mirac appeared to be able, more or less, to anticipate the strikes, reizing the attag patterns and responding each time with the right block or dodge.

  ‘A downward strike from the right... A direct hit to the side... A diagonal strike... An overhead attack...’

  At that point, eager to push the young Prince’s abilities further, testing him to the limits of his current potential, Leradually increased the speed of his attacks.

  Ae the increasing pressure, Mirac seemed to be able to hold his own for a few seds!

  But after stepping back several paces, he felt on the verge of defeat, with shortness of breath and his strength beginning to wane.

  Leonard’s strikes were now unbearable!

  Therefore, with no other choice, he decided to take a risk with a bold move: extending his arm and pointing the sword at the instructor's throat.

  ‘NOW!’ Mirac excimed, attag as pnned.

  Leonard, with the skill of a true master, disarmed him in an instant, positioning his wooden swainst the young oppo’s Adam’s apple.

  Defeated, Mirac raised his hands in surrender.

  ‘Damn, I’m exhausted!’ he thought.

  Sweat ran down his face, his hair stuck to his forehead, and his breath was heavy, almost trembling. Leonard, oher hand, stood still in front of him, his sword still firmly in hand and not a drop of fatigue on his face, watg the young Prih a bright smile full of pride.

  From the very beginning, of course, Miraew that he would not win that fight in any way.

  But still, having mao hold his ground against the sed-best swordsman on the ti—although Leonard had obviously not been going all out—was more than a remarkable feat for a child of his age!

  With his breath still short, Mirac looked up at his father, hoping to catch even the slightest sign of approval, something akin to Leonard’s smile.

  But unfortunately, reality struck him hard: on the king’s face, as he had hoped would not be the case, he found only the usual cold and distant expression, carved into his unyielding seriousness.

  King Arthur sighed deeply, then turned without saying a word, slowly making his way towards the exit.

  At the threshold, he paused for a moment, turning just slightly. His voice, calm yet sharp as a bde, shattered the silence:

  "It’s not enough, Mirac..."

  Then, without adding anything further, he left.

  Mirac’s shoulders slumped uhe weight of those words, as the hope that had carried him through months of training vanished in an instant. The determination that had shone in his eyes just moments before dissolved, leaving behind a dull and sorrowful expression.

  g his fists tightly and gritting his teeth, Mirac desperately tried to hold back the tears.

  Suddenly, a gentle haed on his shoulder, preventing him from breaking dowirely.

  "You did a great job, young Prince…" said Leonard, who had approached to sole him, using his usual calm and reassuring tone. "With time, you will bee even stronger, I guarantee you!"

  Hearing those encing words, Miraaged a faint smile.

  "Oh, r-really?! Ehmm... Well, I’m gd to hear that, Master…" he replied gratefully, his voice still trembling but slightly lifted.

  Though he appeared to have recovered oside, ihe young Prince felt torn by a mix of frustration and sadness.

  Each word of encement brought him some soce, but the emptiness left by the ck of his father’s approval seemed impossible to fill.

  It wasn’t just a matter of defeat, but of seeking a e with a man who seemed more and more distant and unreachable.

  Mirac’s heart was crushed, filled with fragile hope that cshed with the harsh reality and the cold indifference of his father.

  ‘I’m not enough, huh?’