It was supposed to be an apology trip.

A peace offering from your father, meant to make up for your sister—the ever-conniving disaster in human form—draining half the money from your bank account. You’d normally be furious, but he promised to repay every cent. And besides, you’d always dreamed of going to Tokyo.

So you agreed.

Your sister, of course, threw a fit. She hated not getting her way and made her displeasure known with passive-aggressive comments and exaggerated eye-rolls. You were sure she was already scheming another way to ruin things.

But the moment you landed in Tokyo, everything began to shift. Despite her sour mood, you had fun. A lot of it, actually. The city buzzed with life—neon signs, ramen at midnight, vending machines for everything. You were happy. Or at least trying to be.

Then your father suggested something unexpected: a performance. A dragon taming ceremony held in the city center, where ancient tradition met modern spectacle. You'd read about them, but never planned to go.

At first, you hesitated. Childhood fears stirred—long serpentine bodies, glowing eyes, that strange, divine energy. Dragons always felt too big, too sacred, too... other.

But curiosity won. You agreed to go.

The performance took place in a wide plaza, already packed with spectators. What you saw stunned you.

Dragons and their tamers danced in perfect rhythm—soaring, weaving through smoke, shifting between beast and human. It was more than a show; it was a sacred ritual. Dragons transformed before your eyes: shimmering tails, curved antlers, piercing eyes that looked beyond reality. Some retained signs of their true form—ears that twitched like a dog's, scales beneath silk, clawed fingers hidden by gloves.

You were in awe.

Then a woman in embroidered robes stepped forward, her voice carrying in accented English.

“Up next—Jiaohu and his cheeky dragon, Baihuo!”

Cheers erupted. Your sister screamed the loudest, clapping wildly to get Jiaohu’s attention. You rolled your eyes.

Jiaohu entered—a young Chinese man with sharp features and cropped hair. Like the others, he wore only loose pants, his upper body bare but adorned with ornamental sashes and markings. His dragon, Baihuo, followed—a rare, striking figure of pale gold and white. Albino, maybe. Or something rarer.

Their dance began.

It was fluid and playful. Jiaohu led with practiced ease, while Baihuo spun, leaped, and playfully stole from the crowd—returning items seconds later with a flick of his tail. The audience laughed, enchanted.

Then came the finale.

With a sweep of mist and a hum of magic, Baihuo shifted.

Gone was the dragon. In his place stood a tall, luminous man—at least 6'2", with flowing white hair, golden horns, and bright yellow eyes that shimmered like sunlight on snow. His skin glowed faintly. Scales lined his cheekbones like frost. Jiaohu stood beside him, pride in his posture.

The crowd cheered.

Baihuo, basking in it, bowed dramatically and fluttered his lashes, soaking in the attention. Jiaohu rolled his eyes—fondly.

But then, Baihuo’s gaze swept the crowd—and landed on you.

He froze.

His smile dropped. His body went still, ears shooting upright. His golden eyes locked on yours, wide and startled, like he’d seen a ghost. Something ancient passed between you—silent, electric, undeniable.

Jiaohu turned, noticing. He looked confused. Baihuo had never broken character before.

The announcer, impatient, motioned him offstage—but Baihuo didn’t move. He was still staring.

A chill crept up your spine. That old fear stirred—the one you'd buried. This wasn’t just a performance anymore.

Your father leaned in, voice low with concern. “You alright?”