Side Story 2 – Keeko’s New Role

One scorching hot morning in Iridius Keeko began training the town kids. Looking at the kids somber expression expect a few outliers like Misha, Torin and Astrid the rest looked defeated and exhausted.

"Am I being too harsh on them?" She pondered to herself

"When Abell was this young I put him through rigorous training after rigorous training. Even Genevieve went through harsher conditions. She thought.

Her thoughts began to drift away, thinking about her children she deeply missed Abell, and his absence left a whole in her heart and life. As much as the day people told her Genevieve was missing, an event she had not gotten over quite yet.

Currently the kids were doing a morning jog around the town, many of the town kids were out of shape and plenty were lazy. As she followed slowly behind them on of the kids fell, her name was Olivea. She reminded her of Genevieve so much, At the start Genevieve was clumsy and constantly cried just like her. In the past she would just watch her cry but with this time she felt a soft pang in her chest.

Olivea fell during the jog and started crying, Keeko wanted to go immediately help her up but stood back remembering her place as a mentor not a mother.

Keeko approached Olivea, who sat on the ground, clutching her scraped knee. The girl's eyes welled with tears, but she bit her lip, trying to hold them back. Around her, the other kids glanced nervously but kept jogging, too scared of Keeko to stop.

Keeko crossed her arms, her shadow falling over Olivea. "Get up," she said sharply.

Olivea flinched but didn't move. "I—I can't," she mumbled. "My knee—"

"You think Malignants care if your knee hurts?" Keeko snapped. Her voice was colder than she intended, but the words were out. Olivea shrank back, her tears spilling over.

For a moment, Keeko stood there, her jaw tightening. The memory of Genevieve crying after her first fall hit her like a wave. Back then, she had turned her back, thinking it would make her daughter stronger. But had it?

She let out a slow breath and knelt beside Olivea, softening her tone. "Show me your knee."

Olivea hesitated, then lifted her leg, revealing a small scrape. It wasn't serious, but the girl's trembling hands and wide eyes betrayed how overwhelmed she felt.

"It's just a scrape," Keeko said, quieter now. "You're tougher than this."

Olivea sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I'm not… I'm not like the others. I'm not strong like boys. I'm just… me."

Keeko's heart twisted. She saw Genevieve's face in Olivea's, heard the same doubts her daughter had voiced so many years ago. She placed a hand on Olivea's shoulder. "Strength isn't about being a boy or a girl. It's about getting back up, no matter how many times you fall."

Olivea blinked, her tears slowing. "But what if I fall again?"

"You will," Keeko said firmly. "And you'll get back up again. That's what matters."

She stood and offered Olivea her hand. After a moment's hesitation, the girl took it, rising to her feet. Keeko dusted off the dirt from her shoulder and gestured toward the rest of the group. "Now, catch up. I'll be right behind you."

Olivea nodded, a faint spark of determination in her eyes as she limped after the others.

As the kids finally arrived to the training yard Keeko look at all of them intently. She saw her own kids in them. She could remember how Abell struggled during his first jog with her and how much Genevieve disliked her rigorous sword practices. She couldn't help but smile.

She took a deep breath. "All right," she called out, her voice cutting through the morning heat. "You've had your warm-up. Now comes the real challenge."

Groans rippled through the group, and a few kids exchanged tired, nervous glances. Torin, however, perked up, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Finally," he muttered, earning a snort from Astrid beside him.

Keeko walked to the center of the yard, dragging a thick wooden beam with her. She planted it firmly in the dirt. "Today's task isn't about strength. It's about teamwork. You'll divide into groups and carry this beam around the perimeter of the training yard. Everyone in your group must keep their hands on it the entire time. If one of you lets go, you all start over."

The kids stared at the beam, their tired faces etched with disbelief. "But… it's huge!" one boy cried. "We can't carry that!"

Keeko raised an eyebrow. "Not on your own, no. That's the point."

The kids split into groups of five, with Misha, Torin, Astrid, and Olivea ending up in the same group. As they hoisted the beam onto their shoulders, it was clear who was struggling the most. Olivea's face twisted in discomfort, and the others instinctively shifted to take on more of the weight.

"Hold steady!" Torin barked, his voice firm but encouraging. "We've got this!"

Keeko watched from the sidelines, her sharp eyes noting every stumble and adjustment. A few groups collapsed almost immediately, their members shouting over each other in frustration. But Torin's group pressed on, slower but more coordinated.

As they rounded the first corner, Olivea began to falter, her grip slipping. "I can't…" she gasped.

"You can," Astrid said firmly, moving closer to help support her. "We've got you."

Keeko felt a pang of pride watching them. This was what she wanted to see—not individual strength, but the willingness to support one another.

As the challenge continued, Keeko's thoughts wandered again. She remembered a time when Genevieve had struggled during a similar task, her small frame dwarfed by the weight of a training weapon. Keeko had stood by silently then, convinced that letting her daughter fail was the only way to make her stronger.

But now, watching Olivea and the others, she realized that strength wasn't just about enduring pain. It was about knowing when to lean on others and when to offer your own strength in return.

By the time Torin's group reached the final stretch, they were all gasping for air, their legs trembling. Olivea stumbled again, nearly dropping the beam, but Torin caught it before it hit the ground.

"Don't stop now!" he yelled. "We're almost there!"

With a final burst of effort, the group crossed the finish line, collapsing in a heap as the beam thudded to the ground. Cheers erupted from the other kids, and even Keeko allowed herself a small, approving smile.

"Not bad," she said, walking over to the group. "But don't think this means you're done."

Torin grinned, sitting up and wiping sweat from his face. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As the kids gathered their things to leave for the day, Keeko stayed behind, standing in the empty training yard. She stared at the wooden beam, her thoughts drifting to Abell and Genevieve once more.

"Maybe I should change my approach with these kids," she murmured to the quiet yard.

A soft breeze swept through, carrying with it a faint sense of reassurance. For the first time in a long while, Keeko felt a small sliver of peace.

 You handled this session quite well, Keeko," a voice said from behind her.

Keeko turned to see the village elder, smiling from ear to ear. She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment. "I hope so. Honestly, it feels strange, being so soft with these kids. For most of my life, my two children were my only focus. Training them, pushing them, making sure they were ready for the real world."

She sighed, the weight of her memories pressing on her chest. "Looking back, I probably seemed like a bad mother. I pushed them past their limits, expected so much from them… I wonder if I ever gave them enough space to just be kids."

The elder chuckled softly, walking toward the edge of the hillside. "Keeko, the past is the past. But if you asked young Abell what kind of mother you were, I'm certain he'd only have praise for you. He's strong, disciplined, and fiercely loyal to his family—qualities you instilled in him."

Keeko followed his gaze toward the horizon, her expression distant. "Maybe. But with Genevieve… I wonder if I failed her."

The elder's smile faded slightly, his tone becoming more serious. "Loss is a heavy burden to carry, and guilt even more so. But you're not failing these children. In fact, the parents of the village were hesitant at first to send their kids to you. They feared your methods would be too harsh. But now? They're eager. They see what we've always known—that you're not just a skilled fighter. You're a great teacher. And, more importantly, a great mother."

Keeko let the words sink in, her thoughts drifting between Genevieve, Abell, and the faces of the children she had just trained. She sighed again, but this time, it felt lighter, like some small part of the burden had lifted. "If you say so, elder," she murmured.

The elder chuckled, stepping away to leave her alone with her thoughts. As he walked back toward the village, Keeko turned her eyes back to the training yard, the faint echoes of laughter and determination still fresh in her mind.

For the first time that day, she allowed herself a small smile.