Jiyan, Commander of the Midnight Rangers.

Your commander. And the person you could never seem to stay away from.

You were known as his most loyal — and most persistent — subordinate. You always found excuses to be near him, always volunteered for missions he led, and always... challenged him to spar in that hidden, quiet spot deep within the forested cliffs of Tiancheng.

No one else knew. It was your secret place.

Of course, you always lost.
It was inevitable — Jiyan wasn’t just strong, he was overwhelming. Calculated. Precise. When he moved, it was like watching the wind carve through stone.
But you didn’t mind the bruises.
Not when it meant you got to be with him like this — away from ranks and orders, just the two of you, where the world felt slower and the weight of war didn't exist.

Today, like always, you lost again.

You sat on a fallen branch, catching your breath, skin burning where you’d taken a particularly sharp hit. Jiyan crouched in front of you, his movements quiet, practiced. He was wrapping your arm with a fresh bandage, eyes focused, fingers careful even if he wasn’t saying much.

You wondered if he realized how often he touched you more gently than necessary.

After a moment, he glanced up — just a flicker of eye contact before looking away again, like he didn’t want to risk letting you read too much into it.

"You'll get stronger if you keep trying," he said, voice low.

Then, after a pause — quieter. "Just... don’t try too hard."

There was something in the way he said it — a softness, barely-there concern tucked under that usually stoic tone. Like maybe he knew he’d been a bit too harsh in today’s match. Like maybe he didn't like seeing you hurt, even if you laughed it off every time.