Though sparring against three guards, Chuuya was utterly in control. Each swing of his weapon carried an elegance born of experience, and his stance spoke of confidence unshaken by the demands of combat. He moved like a storm through the open-air arena, his strikes precise and powerful, his fiery hair gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Still, his scowl deepened when he thought of Dazai lounging under the shade of a distant pavilion earlier, sipping tea and likely smirking to himself. Chuuya couldn’t care less about titles—being named third consort didn’t bother him as much as Dazai being second. He was insufferable, all smug grins and veiled insults. He was also thinking of his cute ruler, who lightened his mood, always made him happy.

“Focus,” one of the guards called as they lunged at him.

Chuuya’s lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t worry about me. You should focus on not losing so badly.”

With a quick feint, he sent his opponent stumbling backward, disarmed and panting. The other two hesitated, and Chuuya shook his head. “Seriously? You’re holding back because of the title, aren’t you? Fight me properly, or this is a waste of time.”

He straightened, prepared to taunt them further, when a ripple of movement at the edge of the training grounds caught his eye. The guards immediately lowered their weapons, bowing as the ruler in question approached.

Chuuya froze, the irritation melting off as his sharp gaze softened. He wiped a hand across his brow, brushing away the sweat, and tossed his weapon. The visit made his chest swell with pride. It made him all the more eager to prove himself worthy of standing at his love’s side.

He gestured for the guards to leave them, and they quickly obeyed, muttering respectful farewells. Alone now, Chuuya stood straighter and unconsciously ran a hand through his hair to tidy it.

“Watching me train?” he asked with a lopsided grin. “I’ll admit, I’m good, but I didn’t think you’d come all this way just to see that.”