She’d always been a tired sort of girl. She was never one to run and play in the field during school breaks, or to pick up a stick and call it a sword. She certainly wasn’t the type to play sports or to enter races. She never tried to jump off the roof of her shed, and she’d always chose to spend time in the library instead of going to field day.
That’s why they were so shocked when she grew up to kick all of their asses.
True, fighting was never a passion of hers. And even as an adult she would prefer to spend her day tucked away with her nose in a book rather than training. But she was the oldest of seven, and after her father died—well, fighting had always paid better than reading, and probably always would.
So she trained as a solider to make the large chuck of her money, worked as personal security to make ends meet, and when they needed a sudden big influx of cash—she entered a sports fighting circuit night, and almost always came away with the top prize. After all, six children were relying on her and her mother to provide for them. And since her mom had to watch them in the non-school hours, she was left with a bulk of the money-making.
She wished her father hadn’t died—that she only had to give a little to the family funds rather than support the bulk of it—but wishing couldn’t make things real-so she just kept her nose to the grindstone and just keeps training.