Morning came with no mercy.
Sunlight smacked my face like, "Wake up, gender crisis."
I groaned, rolling over on the bed until I landed on the floor with a solid thunk. "Ow. Great start, Leonhart. Real champion material."
Armor sat in the corner like a silent accusation. My reflection on the sword blade looked every bit the legendary hero everyone thought I was, tall, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed, and absolutely not the woman screaming internally about skincare and emotional damage.
Then there was that knock.
Not the polite kind. The confident kind that said, I know you're awake and you're not escaping me.
"Come in," I muttered.
Door opened. Kael stepped in, dressed in black leather and arrogance. Morning light caught the edge of his jawline like the gods were doing a spotlight moment.
"Get ready," he said simply.
"Excuse me, can I have coffee before swordplay?"
He crossed his arms. "You're Rank Two. Act like it."
"Rank Two deserves caffeine."
He gave me that look, equal parts disbelief and amusement. "You're ridiculous."
"And hydrated," I said, grabbing my sword. "Let's go before I start flirting with my reflection again."
He blinked. "Again?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
°°°°°°°°°°
We reached the training grounds. Early morning air, dew on the grass, and me, trying to act like I wasn't swooning over my "mentor."
Kael drew his daggers, spun them effortlessly, and smirked. "Show me your stance."
I tried. Sort of. It looked heroic in my head, in reality, I probably resembled a confused deer holding a longsword.
He sighed. "You're holding it like a broom."
"Better than holding it like emotional baggage."
"Funny. Wrong. Here," he said, stepping behind me.
When his hands covered mine, I didn't flinch. I melted.
The warmth, the closeness, his breath grazing my ear, the game developers definitely didn't program this level of realism.
"Loosen your grip," he murmured. "You're fighting the blade."
"I can't focus when you're talking like that," I whispered back, half teasing, half praying my pulse didn't give me away.
He chuckled, low, rough, unfairly sexy. "Then maybe I should talk less."
"Absolutely not. I like the sound of sin in the morning."
That made him pause, and I swear I saw it, that flicker of something behind his smirk. Interest.
Everyone around us, of course, was watching like it was a scandal unfolding in real time.
Two men.
One practically draped against the other.
And both looking like they belonged on opposite ends of a fantasy romance cover.
"Uh…" someone whispered, "is this… training?"
"No idea, but I'm invested."
Kael ignored them. I didn't. I lifted my chin, turned my head slightly so my lips were near his ear, and murmured, "They're jealous, you know."
"Of what?" he asked quietly.
"Of me. Getting free sword lessons and premium body heat."
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "You're trouble."
"Certified and gorgeous," I replied sweetly.
He shifted closer, his hand guiding my wrist with slow precision. "You move differently," he said suddenly.
I froze. "How so?"
"It's subtle. Like your body doesn't match the rhythm your soul wants to dance in."
His words sank deep, sharp and gentle all at once.
He saw me. Not Leonhart. Me.
"You can see that?" I asked softly.
He nodded. "It's like two songs playing at once."
My throat tightened. I smiled, a little shaky but honest. "Then you're hearing the right one."
We sparred after that. Or tried to.
Every swing felt alive, every dodge turned into an accidental spin that sent my hair, or, okay, Leonhart's manly equivalent of hair, whipping dramatically.
Kael's eyes followed me too closely, his strikes sharper, cleaner, challenging.
When our blades locked, sparks crackled between us. Literally. Game physics decided to flex.
"Focus," he said.
"I am focused," I said, pushing back, smirking. "Just not on the sword."
He tilted his head, voice dropping. "You're not even pretending anymore."
"Why would I?" I teased. "Everyone else sees two men fighting. Only you see me."
He faltered, just for a heartbeat, before grinning like I'd thrown a dagger right into his control.
"I should be worried about you," he said.
"You should," I replied, circling him. "I ruin lives recreationally."
He lunged; I blocked. The ground vibrated beneath us, metal clashing like music. The crowd murmured, half cheering, half confused why this duel looked so intimate.
Kael pushed me back a step, eyes locked on mine. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Guilty," I said, twisting, letting his dagger miss me by a hair. "You make dying look romantic."
"Try surviving first."
"Oh, I plan to. But if I don't, bury me somewhere with good lighting."
He barked out a laugh mid-swing. "You're impossible."
"And you love it."
His grin faltered again, softer, less playful now. "Maybe I do."
The air froze. The crowd went dead quiet.
Even I blinked, caught off guard.
"Kael…" I whispered. "You..."
He recovered quickly, flicking his dagger back into a spin. "Focus, Leonhart."
But the tone had changed. Every move after that carried a spark neither of us could smother.
°°°°°°°°°°
By sunset, the training field was empty. Only us, surrounded by broken dummies and tension you could mine for EXP.
Kael sat under a tree, tossing me a water flask. "You did well today."
I flopped down beside him, still catching my breath. "You mean besides the part where you tried to decapitate me with affection?"
He smirked. "You dodged it."
"Out of love or self-preservation, I'll never know."
Silence. Warm. Comfortable. Dangerous.
Finally, Kael spoke again. "You don't hide it, do you? Who you are."
"No point pretending," I said, glancing at him. "I may look like Leonhart, but I still think like me. Feel like me. Blush like me."
"And flirt like you," he added, eyes glinting.
"Of course," I said. "It's my coping mechanism."
He turned toward me fully then, close enough that I could feel the shift in his breath. "You know… people are going to keep misunderstanding this."
"Let them," I said softly. "I'm done living by other people's codes."
His hand brushed mine, just barely. "Then let's make them talk louder."
I smiled, leaning in just enough to whisper, "Now you're speaking my language."
Across the training grounds, someone shouted, "ARE THEY FLIRTING OR FIGHTING?"
Another voice replied, "BOTH, AND I THINK I SHIP IT."
I laughed so hard I nearly fell back. Kael just sighed, smiling against his hand.
"Tomorrow," he said, standing. "Same time?"
"Only if you promise to hold my hand again."
He chuckled, walking off without answering, but I caught the faintest red tint on his ears.
Victory.
Small, sweet, utterly confusing victory.