Chapter VIII Part IV

I awake to the sound of soft snickering. Groggy, I blink open my eyes—and there they are. Two silhouettes grinning at the foot of my bed.

“Happy birthday, Nikko,” Mira and Liz whisper in perfect unison, mischievous light dancing in their eyes.

The sky outside my window is still a pale gray-blue. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet.

“Morning, little devils,” I mumble with a smile, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Why are you two up so early?” I stifle a yawn, stretching as the faint hum of Zeke powering down from his charging port gives a gentle beep.

“For the duel, of course,” Mira says, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Papa’s going to destroy you,” Liz adds with a smirk.

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. Little devils, true and true.

“Whatever the outcome… I’m ready,” I groan, rising from bed.

“Aren’t you scared though?” Liz presses, eyes wide with that annoying edge of sincerity.

“Papa’s never lost a fight,” Mira points out with too much cheer.

Now they’re just poking the bantha.

“No, I’m not scared,” I hiss, flicking my fingers toward them. “Now out. Out, out, out.”

With a swift wave of my hand, I lift both of them off the ground using the Force. The door swings open with a quiet whoosh, and they float gently through it before I set them down in the hallway and let the door slide shut behind them.

“Again! Again!” they squeal, voices fading behind the door.

I shake my head, dragging myself to the washroom.

Clean and dressed in my weighted vest and workout clothes, I make my way to the dining room, expecting the usual: Talia sipping tea by herself, maybe feeding Erza a bit of breakfast. Instead, the entire family is gathered around the table.

Talia sits with a serene smile, her porcelain teacup steaming gently in her hands. Erza is in her high chair, giggling between spoonfuls of apple purée. Papa stands beside her, gently guiding her hand so she doesn’t knock the bowl over. Mira and Liz sit on either side of the table, already dressed and suspiciously well-behaved.

“There’s the birthday girl,” Talia announces warmly.

She rises and glides to the fridge, retrieving something wrapped in glassy chill. I catch a whiff even before she sets it down—passionfruit, mango, and the subtle sweetness of toasted coconut.

My eyes go wide.

Talia sets the cake down with a proud smile. Passionfruit mango chiffon cake. Coconut cream filling. My tail flicks wildly, betraying my excitement.

My favorite. Erza—the baker, not my baby sister—has really outdone herself this year.

Talia leans in and kisses me gently on the cheek. “Happy birthday,” she whispers, then reaches into a drawer and pulls out two candles—one shaped like a ‘1,’ the other a ‘6.’

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Sixteen.

I sit at the head of the table as the candles are lit. Everyone sings—Mira and Liz louder than necessary, Erza clapping her hands to the beat. I take a breath and blow the flames out in one go. Erza cheers, clapping again as if she blew out the candles.

What did I wish for?

That my training pays off.

Slices are cut and passed around. Mira and Liz dig in immediately, crumbs already dusting their plates. I savor every bite—the cake is soft, airy, the tangy sweetness of mango balanced by the cool coconut cream. My mouth practically melts around it.

It’s perfect. I close my eyes. Just for a moment, I forget about the duel.

But the tension lingers beneath the laughter. Everyone’s trying to act normal, but we all know what’s coming.

“So,” Mirajane mumbles through a mouthful of cake, “why are you wearing your training vest?”

“I thought you were done with training?” Lisanna adds, raising an eyebrow.

“For my morning run,” I reply between bites. “And training’s never done.”

Papa nods in approval. “That is correct. Training builds discipline, strengthens the mind, and keeps the body sharp.”

Mira turns toward him. “Are you going to go easy on Nikko?”

“No way,” Liz answers for him, smirking. “Papa’s going full out. Nikko’s toast.”

That kinda stings. I’m not expecting to win. But I was hoping for a little faith.

Papa raises a hand.

“That’s enough, you two. This duel isn’t about who’s stronger. It’s a test. I want to see how much Nikko has grown. It’s not about winning or losing—it’s about progress.”

“But you’re way stronger,” Mira insists. “There’s no way she can beat you.”

Then something unexpected happens.

I feel it first—a sudden ripple in the air. Not from Papa. Not from Talia. Not even from Zeke in the next room.

From Erza.

I turn my gaze toward her just as the others do. Her brows are scrunched in anger. Her little fists clenched. The bowl of apple purée begins to vibrate.

“Stop being a meanie!” she shouts.

The bowl launches into the air and splats directly onto Mira’s head.

Puree drips from her hair, cheeks, and onto the floor in soft globs.

The room goes silent.

Papa blinks. Talia’s eyes go wide. Liz clamps a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. I just sit there stunned.

Erza is… Force-sensitive.

Papa’s face softens with a flicker of pride, but his voice switches to Dad mode.

“Erza,” he says gently but firmly, “that is not a nice thing to do.”

Talia rushes over with a towel, dabbing at Mira’s dripping face and hair. Liz finally snorts, trying and failing to hold in her laughter.

“Mira mean to Nikko,” Erza pouts, her voice thick with toddler indignation.

“That may be, sweetheart,” Papa says patiently, “but that doesn’t mean you can throw food at your sister.”

“Sorry, Papa…” she mumbles, lower lip sticking out.

Papa sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But I can see the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Mira, surprisingly, brightens. “You’re Force-sensitive, Erza. That’s so awesome!” Then her expression falters.

I already know why.

She looks down. “Will I ever be Force-sensitive, Papa?”

Her voice is barely a whisper.

Papa kneels down beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” he says gently. “Liz didn’t show signs until last year. Nikko, during a terrible moment. Erza just now. For you, it might be tomorrow. Or next week. Or years from now.”

“Or maybe never,” Mira sighs, slumping back into her chair as Talia wipes the last of the puree from her chin.

Papa doesn’t flinch.

“Or that,” he admits. “But Mira, that’s not a bad thing. Strength isn’t just about the Force. I can’t use magic. I can channel Mana a little, but I’ll never cast spells like your mother. I can’t heal with a word, or vanish into thin air. But I’m still strong.”

He lifts her chin with a finger.

“And you, Mira—you have a gift for Mana. With the right training, you could be an incredible mage. Just because your path is different doesn’t mean it’s lesser.”

A smile slowly creeps back onto Mira’s face. “Thanks, Papa.”

He nods, then stands tall.

“But seriously—no more teasing your sister. Or it’s fruit-picking duty for a week.”

“Yes, Papa,” Mira and Liz say in tandem.

They glance over at me. “Sorry, Nikko,” they add sheepishly.

I give them a smile. “It’s fine.”

Papa rises from his seat and sets his empty teacup aside. His voice is calm, but there's a familiar weight behind it.

“Well then,” he says. “Are you ready?”

I meet his gaze.

My heart pounds, but I nod.

Win or lose… it’s time. Who better to test my strength against than one of the greatest fighters in the world?