The Luceri household was bathed in the soft golden glow of the evening sun, its light filtering through the traditional wooden shutters. The house, though grand, was quiet, almost too quiet, as if the walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Valentino "Jiang" Luceri stood at the entrance, his silver medal clutched tightly in his hand. The weight of the medal seemed heavier than ever, not because of its physical mass but because of the expectations it failed to meet. He had prepared himself for this moment ever since he stepped onto the podium, the bitter taste of second place still fresh in his mouth.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he walked through the familiar hallways of his home. The echoes of his footsteps bounced off the walls, amplifying the silence. He passed by the family portraits that adorned the walls—photos of his father, Shun Luceri, in his prime, holding the gold medal that had once made their family name renowned in the world of archery. The sight of his father’s younger self, stern and proud, felt like a ghost haunting him.

As he approached his father's study, Jiang could already feel the tension in his chest tighten. He raised his hand and knocked lightly on the door.

“Enter,” came the cold, measured voice from within.

Jiang pushed the door open, revealing his father seated at his desk, surrounded by papers and the scent of polished wood. Shun Luceri looked up from his work, his expression as unreadable as ever, his eyes sharp and piercing.

“Father,” Jiang began, his voice steady though his heart pounded in his chest. He stepped forward and placed the silver medal on the desk in front of his father. The metal gleamed under the warm light, but to Jiang, it felt more like a tarnished trophy.

Shun's gaze fell upon the medal, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence was deafening, stretching out like a chasm between them. When Shun finally spoke, his voice was calm but laced with disappointment.

“A silver,” he said, the words heavy and deliberate.