(Just a first chapter but will be fully written on my Wattpad)

The scent of polished wood and sweat hung heavy in the air of the Grand Arena. Kaito could see the glint of the Golden Crescent—the winner's trophy—even from his spot on the silver-plated dais. It was beautiful, forged to look like a leaping flame, and it was not his.

He stood beside Ren, his long-time rival and the indisputable victor of this year’s Sky-Stone Tournament.

Ren’s face was a study in triumphant relief, his chest slightly heaving beneath his embroidered tunic. Kaito forced a polite smile that felt brittle on his lips.

He was the runner-up. Again.

This was his fourth year competing in the Sky-Stone Tournament, the most prestigious contest of acrobatic blade-work and elemental channeling in the Jade Provinces.

And for the fourth year, the announcer's booming voice had declared, "And in second place, with a valiant effort and a flawless technique that lacked only the final spark of inspiration—Kaito, the Steadfast!"

The applause was generous, maybe even sympathetic. The crowd loved him. He was the perpetual underdog who gave the winner a run for their money. He was known for his precision, his consistency, his absolute refusal to fall. He was, in a word, reliable.

"You were magnificent, Kaito," Ren said, turning to shake his hand, his grip warm and firm. "That final maneuver with the wind channel? Pure genius. But your landing was just a hair too conservative. You played it safe."

Safe. That was the curse Kaito carried. He never made mistakes. He never fumbled a katas. He never miscalculated a jump. But he also never dared the impossible.

He followed the prescribed path, executing every move with technical perfection, while Ren, his foil, would invent a new way to fly mid-air, risking a one-point deduction for the chance at a ten-point score.

Later that evening, in the quiet solitude of his training room, Kaito stared at his wall. It was not adorned with medals—those were in a locked box—but with diagrams of maneuvers: The Heron's Dive, The Serpent's Coil, The Falling Star. Next to each was a number, his score.

Always a 9.8. Always excellent, never extraordinary.

He remembered the final event. He and Ren were tied. Kaito performed the Twin-Channel Split, a move that required controlling two separate flows of energy while spinning on a single blade-edge. He nailed it.

The crowd roared. Then Ren stepped up. He didn't do the Split. He did the Void Leap, a forbidden, near-suicidal move that involved momentarily silencing his elemental control and trusting only gravity before reigniting his power for the landing.

Ren had stumbled slightly, earning a minor deduction, but the audacity of the attempt had earned him a perfect score on artistic merit. He had dared to be a winner.

Kaito sat down, the silver medal cool against his palm. He had spent his life chasing perfection, yet perfection was not the key. He had been so focused on avoiding the bottom that he had built a ceiling right above his head.

He picked up his wooden training blade. Instead of running his usual drills, he imagined the Void Leap. He didn't practice the landing, the part he knew he could handle. He practiced the moment before the landing: the moment of free-fall, of letting go of the control he so desperately clung to.

He closed his eyes and imagined himself standing on the high cliff edge from the tournament, the wind ripping at his clothes. He took a breath and, in his mind, he jumped, not with a plan to land, but with an open heart ready for the fall. He finally understood.

Second place was a safe harbor. But to win, you had to risk drowning.

Next year, he decided, he would aim for the perfect ten. If he fell trying, so be it. But he would no longer aim for the perfect 9.8. He would aim for the sun, even if it meant his wings might burn.