The academy returned to its usual rhythm after the competition, but something felt… off.
Li Xian still laughed, still joked with others, still carried that same bright energy — but it didn't feel as effortless as before. Not to him.
And not to Zhao Han.
From across the courtyard, Zhao Han watched him.
Li Xian was surrounded by friends, smiling as always, yet there was a slight stiffness in the way he moved, a faint delay in his laughter — something only a careful eye would notice.
Zhao Han looked away.
It doesn't matter.
That was what he told himself. Over and over again.
Yet his grip on his sword tightened.
That evening, during training, their paths crossed again. The space between them felt heavier than before, filled with something neither of them acknowledged.
Li Xian broke the silence first, as always.
"Well… looks like I'm the winner now," he said lightly, though his tone lacked its usual spark. "Should I start calling myself the best in the academy?"
Zhao Han didn't even look at him. "One victory doesn't prove anything."
Li Xian let out a small chuckle. "Still cold, huh?"
No answer.
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them — uncomfortable, unfamiliar.
Li Xian hesitated. Just slightly.
"…You were serious, weren't you?" he asked, quieter this time.
Zhao Han paused.
"I'm always serious," he replied flatly.
That was enough.
Li Xian nodded slowly, a faint smile returning to his lips — the kind that hid more than it showed. "Yeah… I figured."
He turned away first this time.
Zhao Han's gaze followed him for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Something felt wrong.
That's what he wanted, wasn't it?
Distance.
Clarity.
No unnecessary attachments.
Then why—
Zhao Han's brows furrowed slightly.
Why did it feel like something had slipped out of place?
Later that night, Zhao Han stood alone in the quiet of the practice yard, the moonlight casting pale shadows across the ground.
He replayed the duel in his mind.
Every movement. Every strike.
That final moment.
The opening.
His eyes narrowed.
He shouldn't have seen that opening.
A faint tension settled in his chest.
He exhaled sharply, dismissing the thought.
"It doesn't matter," he muttered under his breath. "A loss is a loss."
But even as he said it…