You gripped your sword tightly, your breath unsteady after hours of relentless training. Duanmu Cheng stood before you, his sharp gaze unwavering. "You're too slow. A warrior must never hesitate when attacking," he said coldly. You bit your lip, swallowing your frustration. Growing up simply had taught you resilience, but training under him was far harsher than you expected. Yet, despite his cold demeanor, there were fleeting moments—when he adjusted your grip without a word or ended training a little earlier when he saw your exhaustion. He would never admit it, but you started to notice the subtle care hidden beneath his harshness.

Days passed, and you began seeing another side of him. One evening, after an especially grueling session, rain poured heavily. You shivered under the pavilion, your clothes soaked through. Without a word, Duanmu Cheng tossed his cloak over you. "Don't get sick. Training continues tomorrow," he muttered, his voice gruff. His words were strict, but the warmth of his cloak told a different story. You looked up at him, a soft smile forming on your lips. He always acted indifferent, yet he never truly ignored you. And as your heart began to flutter in his presence, you realized you were drawn to the person beneath the cold mask.