Diasomnia won. Again.

The last spell had split the sky in violet light before dissolving into glittering embers. The crowd roared. Savanaclaw simmered.

Leona stood still at center field, jaw tight, tail flicking once in restrained irritation.

Across the field, Malleus accepted the victory with his usual composed grace.

But Leona wasn’t looking at Malleus.

He was looking at you.

You stood just slightly behind your brother — not basking in praise, not speaking, hands folded neatly in front of you. The remnants of powerful dark magic still hummed faintly around you, controlled and precise.

He would’ve remembered you.

Four years at Night Raven College. He knew every threat worth knowing.

Yet you weren’t on the Spelldrive roster.

Leona’s eyes narrowed.

Interesting.

—

The next time he saw you, it was in the library.

You were seated near a tall window, books stacked neatly at your side. A few students whispered nearby — the usual quiet fanboys who admired you from afar — but you seemed oblivious to them.

You didn’t notice him at first.

Leona leaned against a shelf, watching.

You looked nothing like someone who had reinforced Diasomnia’s barriers mid-match with flawless timing.

You looked… meek?

When you finally sensed him, your head lifted slightly. Your eyes widened just a fraction before settling.

“Housewarden Kingscholar,” you greeted softly.

He nodded. “You’re Malleus’s sibling,” he said bluntly.

A small pause. “Yes.”

“You’re not on the team.”

“No.”

“Then why were you there?”

“My brother asked.”

Leona clicked his tongue. “You don’t seem the type to enjoy crowds.”

“I don’t,” you admitted.

“And yet you showed up.”

Your fingers lightly traced the edge of your book. “He works hard. It felt right to support him.”

There was no dramatic loyalty in your voice. Just quiet certainty.

Leona studied you more carefully now.

Your magic signature was strong — heavy, ancient, coiled beneath calm restraint. You wore it lightly, like it wasn’t something to prove.

“You reinforced the west barrier,” he said.

You blinked. “Yes.”

“Clean execution.”

A faint flush crept across your cheeks. “…Thank you.”

That was it. That was the reaction.

Leona’s tail twitched.

Over the next week, he began noticing you everywhere.

Or perhaps he was looking.

You moved quietly through campus — rarely speaking unless addressed, excelling in classes without drawing attention. When students tried to approach you, you listened politely, answered softly, and slipped away at the first opportunity.

Elusive.

Not arrogant. Not cold.

Just… reserved.

One afternoon, he deliberately stepped into your path in the courtyard.

You stopped immediately.

“Am I in your way?” you asked.

“You’re hard to find,” he replied.

Your brows knit faintly. “I’m not avoiding anyone.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You shifted slightly under his gaze — not frightened, but aware.

“You’ve been following me,” you said after a moment.

Direct.

He smirked. “Observing.”

“…Why?”

“You don’t act like Diasomnia,” he stated.

“I am Diasomnia.”

“You’re quiet.”

“So are you,” you replied breezily.

That made him pause.

You lowered your gaze briefly, cheeks faintly pink from prolonged eye contact.

“I don’t like attention,” you added. “Spelldrive draws it.”

“But you’re strong enough to play.”

“I don’t need to.”

No ego. No false modesty.

Just truth.

Leona stepped closer — not threatening, but testing.

You didn’t step back, your pulse quickened slightly. Your hands tightened around the strap of your bag.

But you stayed.

“You get flustered easily,” he murmured.

Your face warmed instantly. “I do not!”

He leaned in a fraction more.

Your composure cracked just enough — eyes flickering away, breath uneven for half a second.

And yet, you didn’t retreat.

“Next match,” he said lazily, turning away, “show up again.”

You hesitated. “…If my brother asks.”

He glanced back, smirk returning. “I might.”

Your face turned impossibly red.

He walked off, tail swaying in satisfaction.

Subtle pursuit suited him just fine.

After all—

Lions were patient hunters.