Laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, and he spun around to see Han, son of the Duke of Elery, grinning like he'd just won a bet. Han was about Lee's age and height, but where Lee was lean with his shock of white hair, Han was all muscle, his dark hair falling in messy waves that somehow looked effortlessly cool. "Watch it, Fireheart," Han said, his voice dripping with amusement, his dark eyes glinting with superiority.
Lee's blood boiled. The guy's smug face was begging for a punch. Without thinking, he lunged, swinging a wild fist at Han's jaw. The crowd gasped, but Han, still chuckling, sidestepped with infuriating ease, redirecting Lee's arm like he was swatting a fly.
Before Lee could recover, Han's hand glowed faintly, a shimmer of aura coating his palm. He slammed it into Lee's chest, the force like a sledgehammer. Lee flew backward, crashing into a stone pillar with a sickening thud, the air knocked out of him. Pain radiated through his ribs, and he coughed, tasting copper as blood trickled from his lips.
Han loomed over him, his laugh echoing in the courtyard. "When are you gonna learn, Lee?" he taunted, his voice loud enough for the gawking students to hear. "You're too weak to fight me. Useless, really." The crowd snickered, their whispers cutting deeper than the pain in Lee's chest. Han smirked, turning on his heel and strutting away, leaving Lee to pick himself up, his pride bruised worse than his body.
As Lee staggered to his feet, spitting blood onto the cobblestones, a voice cut through the haze. "Your technique's garbage." He whipped around, ready to snap, only to freeze.
A girl stood there, her wine-colored hair catching the sunlight like a glass of merlot, her slim waist accentuated by a fitted academy uniform that did nothing to hide the, uh, assets she was working with. Lee's anger faltered, his eyes betraying him as they flicked over her, but her words stung worse than Han's hit.
"I know," Lee muttered, his voice bitter as he wiped blood from his chin. He wanted to snap back, to tell her to mind her own business, but he bit his tongue, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.
She tilted her head, her expression puzzled, like she was trying to solve a math problem. "So why haven't you improved it?" she asked, her tone sharp but genuinely curious, like she couldn't fathom why someone would just… not try.
Lee's stomach twisted. He wanted to fire back, to tell her it wasn't that simple, but he just nodded stiffly and walked away, his footsteps heavy on the cobblestone. Her question echoed in his head as he moved toward his first class. Why hadn't the old Lee improved? Was he just lazy, coasting on his prince status, content to be cannon fodder for guys like Han? The thought made Lee's fists clench, his nails digging into his palms. He wasn't about to let that be his story, too.
The first three classes were a blur of frustration. The academy's lecture halls were grand, with vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows, but the lessons, intricate aura techniques, combat stances, leadership strategies, went in one ear and out the other.
Lee tried to focus, his eyes glued to the instructors as they demonstrated how to channel aura through precise movements, but his mind kept wandering, jumping from the teacher's words to the ache in his ribs to the memory of Han's smirk. It hit him like a brick: the old Lee had ADHD, or something close to it.
His brain just couldn't lock onto the lessons, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he forced himself to listen, his thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving him with nothing but a headache and a sinking feeling that he was falling behind.
By the time he climbed into the carriage for the ride back to the palace, Lee was done. If he couldn't learn from the teachers, he'd have to figure it out himself. Some people were like that, right? Self-taught, grinding through books or trial and error.
He'd read about guys who mastered skills by studying alone, no fancy academy needed. Maybe that was his path. The idea sparked a flicker of hope, like finding a new play to run when the game was on the line.
That evening, back in the palace's sprawling library, Lee felt a rush of determination. The room was a maze of towering bookshelves, their dark wood carved with swirling patterns, the air thick with the smell of old leather and parchment. He ran his fingers along the spines, finally pulling out a heavy tome titled Fundamentals of Aura.
He settled at a long oak table, the candlelight casting shadows as he cracked open the book. The pages were dense with text, but he forced himself to read, his eyes scanning the words like they held the key to everything.
Aura, it said, was a person's lifeforce energy, a power that could be shaped and wielded in countless ways, blasts, shields, even enhancing physical strikes, like Han's stupid glowing punch. It was stored in the mediastinum, a small compartment in the chest's center, like a second heart pumping magic.
Thin, ethereal strings connected this aura pool to the body's extremities, channeling it outward, but the strength depended on the pool's density. Lee leaned forward, his heart racing. If he could strengthen his aura, maybe he could hold his own against jerks like Han.
Lara slipped into the room, her armor clinking softly as she leaned against the doorframe. "Long day," she said, her voice tired but warm, her dark curls slightly mussed from hours of standing guard. Lee glanced up, his brain still half in the book. "You can rest on my bed if you want," he said absentmindedly, his eyes dropping back to the page.
Lara hesitated, then nodded, crossing to the massive four-poster bed in the corner of the library's private study. She sank onto the silk sheets, her spear propped against the wall. Lee kept reading, his focus sharpening as he learned that aura could be strengthened through various methods, but one stood out: meditation.
By visualizing the aura pool and manipulating its size and shape, like kneading dough, you could exercise it, making it denser and more powerful. It sounded simple enough, focus, mold, repeat. Lee decided to try it. What did he have to lose?
But then Lara shifted on the bed, her gown riding up slightly, revealing smooth, toned thighs that gleamed in the candlelight. Lee's focus shattered. His mouth went dry, his eyes trailing upward, his imagination running wild with thoughts of what was hidden just out of sight.
His heart pounded, and he forced himself to look back at the book, his face burning. He was a prince, sure, but he was still a guy, and Lara was… well, Lara. He shook his head, trying to refocus on aura, but those thighs were burned into his brain, tempting him to sneak another glance.