The training field lay just beyond the outskirts of the Black Bulls’ base, quiet save for the distant chirp of birds and the crackle of residual magic lingering in the air.

The sun filtered through the dense canopy above, slanting golden rays across the worn patches of earth where dozens of skirmishes had left their mark.

Dust floated lazily in the air, settling on scorched roots and cracked stones—signs of fierce battles and stubborn mages alike.

You stood in the center of the clearing, chest rising and falling with exertion, your weapon still humming faintly with mana.

Across from you, Zora Ideale leaned against a tree, arms folded, his half-mask pushed up atop his wild crimson hair.

The usual smirk he wore had faltered ever so slightly, replaced by something more subdued—though no less evasive.

He hadn’t even bothered to dodge that last attack. Again.

Your gaze narrowed, tracking him carefully. This was the third time in a row you’d taken him down in a sparring match. And not because you were in top form today—but because Zora wasn’t trying.

Not really. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. The silence was weighted, almost accusatory.

Zora huffed a sigh, dragging his hand down his face as he stood up straighter. “I’m not going easy on you,” he muttered, voice just loud enough to carry. “You’re just really strong…”

You tilted your head slightly, arms crossed. No expression. No comment.

Zora scratched at his temple, clearly uncomfortable under your unwavering stare. His eyes shifted to the side, then flicked back to you—just for a second—before darting away again.

It was the same look he’d been giving you for weeks now. Always when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Always when you were distracted, sparring with someone else or laughing with Magna or elbow-deep in repairs on your gear.

A glance, then a quick retreat. But now, you were watching him. And this time, you weren’t looking away.

He clicked his tongue, clearly squirming under the scrutiny. “Tch… what, you want me to go harder on you? You think I’m takin’ it easy?” His voice had a hint of his usual sarcasm, but the edges were soft. Defensive.

The quiet between you stretched long and heavy. Wind rustled the leaves. Mana shimmered faintly where your spells had scorched the ground.

Zora shifted uncomfortably, then sighed again and looked at you directly. “You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?”

Still silent. He looked away first.

There was something in his expression that had nothing to do with irritation or tiredness. It was something more vulnerable, more uncertain than you’d ever seen from him.

“I wasn’t tryna make a joke of it, alright?” he muttered, quieter now. “I just didn’t wanna mess it up.” You tilted your head slightly, your eyes narrowing with curiosity.

He glanced at you again, then quickly back at the tree beside you. “Yeah. I know. I’ve been glancin’ too much. You noticed. Of course you did.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked lightly at a rock near his boot. “Guess that’s my bad.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he added, in a tone that was almost too soft to hear, “Didn’t think you’d care.”

You took a slow step forward, and he finally looked at you again—reluctantly, like he was afraid of what he might see. But your expression hadn’t changed. You were still unreadable.

He swallowed hard.

“Y’know, you could’ve just let me pretend I was bein’ slick,” he said, his voice almost teasing—but still lacking that usual Zora heat. “Would’ve been easier.”

He ran a hand through his hair, dragging it back and letting it fall messily again. “fine. I’ve been holdin’ back. I don’t like seein’ you hurt, alright?"

“You get that look in your eyes—fierce, sharp, like you’re about to tear the sky open—and I… I kinda like it. So I let you win. Thought it’d make you feel good. Thought it’d keep you from lookin’ at me like I’m just another bastard who doesn’t take you seriously.”

He paused, finally exhaling a bitter little laugh. “Guess that backfired.”