"Whack!" "Ouch!"
The bamboo sword landed on Zhang Da Ye's forehead. Artoria scolded, "Focus on blocking!"
"Whack!" "Ah!"
Another strike: "Watch your dodge!"
"Whack!" "Oww~"
"Try to find an opening to attack."
…
Sis, you're my real sister, and I can't even block two strikes—you want me to attack with my head?!
Zhang Da Ye groaned. Practicing techniques was one thing, fighting for real was another. Artoria didn't hold back; she only slightly restrained her strength, but any slip meant pain.
"Whack!"
"Focus! Your form is off!"
"I got it!"
He had gotten up at 6 a.m., gone for a run until nearly 7, eaten breakfast, rested a bit, and began sword training at 8. After nearly two hours, he had endured countless hits.
From being clumsy at the start to eventually blocking one or two strikes, or dodging a few, Zhang Da Ye's progress was fast. The pain certainly helped.
His forehead was swollen, and bruises covered his body. He took off his shirt to apply medicine from:
**[Tom's First Aid Kit: Contains common household medicines, thermometer, tweezers, and other basic medical tools. Once, when Jerry pretended to be shot, Tom fetched this kit within three seconds—doesn't that count as love?]**
"Sorry, Da Ye, I may have been too harsh. This practice might be too early for you," Artoria said, noticing his careful application.
"No worries. Pain teaches, and once healed, we continue," Zhang Da Ye replied, handling the discomfort.
Struggling with the forehead ointment, he considered asking Tom for help. The cat had plenty of experience with applying medicines.
But Artoria intervened first: "I'll help."
Without waiting, she took the tweezers and cotton ball, bent slightly, brushed aside his hair, and carefully applied the medicine.
"Uh… thanks."
Being so close, her refined features were far beyond any simple anime depiction. Zhang Da Ye felt flustered, closing his eyes while his ears warmed.
He smelled the ointment mixed with her shampoo scent. The gentle cotton prickled his forehead slightly, making his eyebrows twitch.
"All done." Artoria's help eased her guilt. She asked expectantly, "How do you feel?"
Opening his eyes, Zhang Da Ye deliberately moved his arms: "Much better!"
Tom watched from the table, hands on his cheeks, sensing his master's fib. He poked Zhang Da Ye's bruise with his paw.
"Argh~!" Zhang Da Ye leapt from the stool, shaking Tom by the neck. "Do you want to die?!"
Tom's eyes spun in dizziness.
Artoria watched them play, smiling brightly.
…
At 11 a.m., the tavern opened. Zhang Da Ye removed the closed sign.
The tavern was spotless. As instructed, Artoria and Tom sat at the bar, drinking tea, reading, and snacking—diligent in their "work."
With empty tables available, Zhang Da Ye brought out a piano he had drawn earlier. He couldn't play, only press keys randomly or sweep back and forth.
He suggested to Tom, "Want to try?"
Zhang Da Ye felt a bit frustrated. He had planned to raise Tom, but it seemed the cat had raised him instead. Perhaps he had developed a dependency on Tom.
Tom showed mild interest, moving to the piano with tools unfamiliar to Zhang Da Ye, pressing keys and twisting mechanisms, seemingly tuning it.
Satisfied, Tom gestured to his body.
"So ceremonial?" Zhang Da Ye retrieved a tuxedo from his inventory for Tom.
Dressed in the tuxedo, Tom's presence changed. With a small flourish, he sat at the piano.
After adjusting his bowtie, Tom began to play.
The piano rang with light, cheerful melodies filling the small tavern.
Tom performed Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11 in A Major—its third movement, the famous Turkish March, being widely recognizable.
Zhang Da Ye, awed without understanding, leaned on the bar, elbows resting, enjoying the music.
Artoria sat on the high stool, nibbling on snacks, eyes half-closed in happiness, feet swaying to the rhythm.
The performance lasted over ten minutes. Whether Tom's skill was maxed or not, both found it delightful.
Suddenly, cheering came from the entrance.
"What! Da Ye quietly invited a musician? That piece was amazing—we didn't dare make a sound outside!"
Goodman led a group inside, pointing behind him: "I brought the gang to support you as promised!"
Voices protested: "We were coming anyway! No need for you to bring us! Da Ye, we came of our own will!"
"Exactly!" The crowd surged in.
"Huh?" Goodman frowned. "Da Ye said my name today for 20% off. Remember what you just said—you came with me!"
The group bowed: "Sorry, we came with Goodman!"
"Welcome!" Zhang Da Ye smiled. With Goodman, even troublemakers were interesting people.
Solved with a single word, Goodman grinned: "Where's that musician from before?"