Sakolomé² sighed and said softly:
— Wendy… why do you show yourself so harsh? Is it… is it because you have lived through things?
Wendy interrupted him sharply, her voice broken by bitterness:
— Yes. It's because you men… you have always underestimated us, despised us. I hate you, you can't imagine how much!
The double lowered his head, genuinely taken aback.
— It's the first time I've faced this kind of problem… I didn't know how to react.
Wendy retorted, sharp:
— You think this is ridiculous, don't you? It's just the complaints of a woman… If it had come from a guy, it would mean more, right?
Sakolomé² shook his head calmly:
— No. Not at all. Simply… I had never been confronted with this before.
A silence fell. Wendy looked up at the sky, her voice strangled by bitterness:
— I lost to Dan… a boy. A… miserable boy. It disgusts me.
The teacher nodded, relieved to finally grasp the source of her anger:
— It's a relief to hear that you don't blame me, or my way of teaching, but that it's a man who held that role. Maybe everything you did — provoking, making yourself noticed — wasn't just for negative attention, but to show that you're not a girl easily dominated?
Wendy remained silent. Gradually, the hardness in her face softened; a sad veil crossed her features.
Sakolomé² stepped closer and calmly asked:
— Listen… what is your goal, Wendy? What do you really want?
She let out a short, weary laugh:
— Haha… do you really think I'm going to admit it to you?
— You built yourself a shell, explained Sakolomé² without reproach. It's hard to talk to you, to know you. Yet, I am neither an enemy nor a judge: I am your teacher. I try to be fair. I will not judge you.
Wendy looked at him, her eyes flashing a stubborn mistrust; her voice became cold:
— You say that now, but deep down, you think what you want. Eventually you'll drop your great neutrality and say what you really think. I'm sure that right now, you think I'm pathetic.
Wendy was silent for a long moment before murmuring, her voice broken by hesitation:
— If you really are a teacher… then you should understand. What I am… I am Wendy. But… I never revealed my last name to you. I always hid it… because I am ashamed. My real name is… Wendy Dorei.
Sakolomé²'s eyes widened:
— Dorei?… You mean… the Masutā clan?
Wendy slowly nodded, her gaze evasive:
— Yes. In this clan, women carry the name Dorei, while men inherit the name Masutā. The inequality is complete. Women must obey every demand of men, from childhood… without the right to refuse, to protest, not even the right to say "enough."
Sakolomé² frowned, troubled:
— Yet… I thought those practices had been banned? And that even the name itself had changed in some regions?
Wendy sighed bitterly:
— Yes… in the city, maybe. There, the women of the Masutā now bear the name Aijin. But in remote lands… nothing has changed. The chains remain. And I… I come from there.
Sakolomé² finally understood the burning rage Wendy had toward men. She came from a world where women were not considered human beings, but objects. Their role boiled down to one word: belong. They were fed, kept… but never free. In this clan, it was not uncommon to see women beaten to death for nothing. And when one of them died, she had neither grave nor prayer: her body was burned, thrown into a common pit where the ashes of those erased were piled.
The most despicable part of all this was that the man responsible for a murder was never punished. No, he was rewarded. He was simply given another woman. And worse still… little girls were not spared. Many of them suffered atrocities before their helpless mothers' eyes.
In contrast, men enjoyed all rights. When a man died, a solemn ceremony was held in his honor. The contrast was a gaping wound. These practices had been officially banned by the state… or at least, that's what everyone believed.
Sakolomé², face grave, let out in a low voice:
— I understand better your hatred toward men, Wendy. But… you must also know that we are not all like those from your clan.
At these words, Wendy exploded, her eyes full of tears and anger:
— Oh yeah? Then explain to me why! Why, the day I fled my village, covered in blood, when I begged the police to help me… they ignored me?! Why?! Why always treat us like we don't exist?! Why deny what we are?!
Wendy continued, her voice broken but firm:
— I was there… I begged them… and they just looked at me. As if I were nothing. I was screaming, bleeding, trembling… no one moved. Everyone stared at me like I was crazy, even though I had just escaped death. Maybe they didn't understand… or maybe they didn't care. Probably because I'm a woman. I'm fed up… I hate you all! You make me sick! I hate you!!!
Her screams died away in a stifled sob. Tears flowed, first violently, then in a painful silence, almost more unbearable than her bursts of rage.
Sakolomé² remained still. He did not protest, nor try to defend himself or lecture her. On the contrary, he was almost relieved to see her finally shout out loud what she had carried inside for so long. It was anger… but also a call for help. She shouted her hatred as one shouts pain, because she no longer had the strength to say otherwise: help.
He raised his eyes to the sky, letting Wendy empty her heart without interrupting her. More than her words, it was her tears that now spoke, gradually lifting the weight that crushed her.
Only then did he understand. For Wendy, the problem was never his age as a teacher. No… what broke her was that he was a man. A man placed in a position of authority over her. If a woman had taken that role, she probably would never have reacted so harshly.
And that defeat against Dan had only driven the knife deeper into the wound. For her, losing against a man was not just a lost competition. It was the echo of her past, the original humiliation that had branded her like with a red hot iron: men above, women crushed. She had been taught that a woman fallen to a man had no right to get back up.
So, in that arena, Wendy had given everything, hoping to break the curse of her clan by proving her superiority. But Dan was too strong. Too fast. Too relentless. And that defeat… resonated for her like confirmation of an unjust world where nothing had changed.
Wendy had built herself armor. Insolent, indomitable, always defensive. It was her way of proving she was not the "object" her clan had wanted to make of her. Beating boys, resisting male authority… it was her silent cry, her way of reclaiming stolen dignity.
But losing to Dan, being taught by a man like Sakolomé²… each time, a crack opened in that armor. And this time, it was as if it collapsed all at once. She had not only lost a fight. She had lost a part of herself, a part of the fortress that held her up.
Sakolomé² watched her for a moment, motionless, then gently placed his hand on her head. A soothing, soft, and luminous energy sprang from him and enveloped Wendy. Her wounds disappeared, her burns closed, her breathing slowly calmed.
Wendy widened her eyes, stopping her tears for a moment, surprised by this warmth that did not hurt but comforted. She lifted her gaze to Sakolomé, disturbed.
He smiled gently.
— Wendy… it's over. Don't you think you've cried enough? Suffered enough? Let me help you put an end to all this, once and for all. And if this time, we did it together? You'll see… a man can also be a true ally.
His smile was neither mocking nor condescending. It was sincere, peaceful, almost radiant.
Wendy's eyes filled with tears again, but they were no longer the same. For the first time, her gaze was tinged with a strange relief. As if, finally, a door was opening… and this endless suffering could truly come to an end.