hello :^) thank you for your patience. i began college so it's been craaaazy, but i will try my best to write this story! let us see how it goes :o

Lalisa likes to commit arson.

But not on a large scale (yet). Not because she cares for the damages, it is the consequences that matter. If she burns the training grounds down, House of the Phoenix will burn down with it — reputation, honor, and all.

As Head of the Phoenix, that simply cannot happen.

So Lalisa succumbs to the academic life at the Warriors Academy to suppress the urge to burn said grounds — not because of anything personal held against the courtyard of dirt and stone, but the people on it — and gain a sense of purpose, to put it lightly. In heavier terms, it is because she would like to be part of the highest towers.

Against the horizon of islands, their architecture is beautiful. Many of her peers would detest the uneven heights, but it is brilliant to Lalisa. It gives, she would say, the Capital “flavor.” And the tallest of them all sits perched on the highest hill — the Tower of the Heavens.

That is where the Lord of the City resides.

With the view from her dorm overlooking the main island that is the City across the body of water, Lalisa gazes at it every day. Soon she’ll cross the water by boat from the Docks and take residence in those towers. Just shy of a year to graduate — the Dean, Hanbin, says Lalisa is a promising student and, with his own recommendation, will soar up the ranks. He was the one that assigned her as Head, after all, much to her dismay.

The day will soon come. For now, Lalisa has to endure another day of training and side glances from her peers.

And the cocky rival Head of the Dragon that is Jongin.

“Next to spar is Lalisa Manoban and Kim Jongin,” the Instructor heaves. An old man with a red graying beard and balding hair, it is a wonder why he chose this job out of all of them. Supervising training warriors bounds to call for fights that need to be broken up and judging from how the Instructor cannot complete a sentence without loss of breath, his capability to do so is grim. Hence, it is mostly Heads that work to keep the peace (more so Lalisa and Head of the Serpent Sehun). “Lalisa and Jongin?”

“You got this,” Bambam cheers, clapping Lalisa’s back. “You beat him more times than I have fingers.”

Lalisa sighs. From across the courtyard, there is a loud rumble as Jongin’s House cheers him on. Unbeknown to them, the other two Houses groan. “It’s always a close match,” she mutters.

“That’s why it’s so entertaining. You’re the main show. Everyone has been waiting for this match all month.”

Lalisa snorts and pushes off Bambam’s arm draped over her shoulder. “If I hadn’t known you for half of my life, I’d strangle you for touching me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Bambam reaches over Lalisa’s lap to grab her double-ended rope dart and shoves it into her hands. “Now go get him. I will certainly not be making bets back here. What was your guys’ score, nine to eight?” He taps his chin. “That means it’ll be Jongin’s win today — you guys always alternate…”

“What?”

“I’m just kidding, now go!”

He pushes Lalisa off the bench, propelling her into the circular field. With the House of the Dragon being an exception, the other two Houses — Phoenix and Serpent — are quiet for the most part. Quiet, but attentive considering all their postures straightened and leaned in to witness the match. Bambam is right; this matchup is the most anticipated matchup every month.

Hopefully, it’ll be quick, but she will never intentionally hand over a free win. She doesn't like to lose.

“Dean’s pet,” Jongin jeers with his pearly white teeth and crooked grin. He twirls his rapier of infernianite, the fine, graceful blade pulsating with a dark red hue, expertly with his hand, and points the tip at Lalisa from the end of the field. “Ready to get your beat?”

Lalisa huffs, blowing the bangs off her eyes, and tightens her ponytail before unraveling the black rope, holding the dart by the throat. Made of the same metal, the grandeur is easier to admire on the bigger surface compared to the thin rapier, the veins and color more intricate, even more so against the sun. It’d be a mistake to not admire infernianite — not everyone can get it. Even just a slight nick will cause severe burns around the area and excessive bleeding. This one is gifted by Hanbin himself. As for Jongin, he is most likely gifted his weapon by his high-class parents.

Using dangerous, high-end weapons in a simple, monthly spar may seem excessive, but the Instructor insists it simulates the rush of a real battle. So, the golden rule established mutually by all students is simply do not get hit.

Lalisa spins the dart a few times, her hand on the dragonleather rope a few inches from the dart. It is her ritual before every fight to get the feel of her weapon. Three spins are all it takes.

Lalisa takes her wide stance and returns a grin. “Not if yours get beat first.”

Rivalry banter — the crowd loves it. Lalisa’s eyes roll from the wave of oohs that rumble throughout the courtyard and Bambam’s distinctive squeal.

“Three, two, one,” the Instructor counts then blows a groan out of his ram horn that probably cost a whole lung. “Fight!”

Lalisa moves first. Powerful energy pushed from her grounded stance, she lunges into the air, her dart seamlessly releasing from her fingers straight at Jongin. He sidesteps, the dart falling into empty air as he s his rapier at Lalisa’s ribcage. Anticipating the counterattack, Lalisa twists her shoulder and lurches out of the way of the blade, rolling into the dirt and landing low, palm on the ground.

Jongin blows some red strands out of his face, pacing around the perimeter. His calculating amber eyes — characteristic to the Fire tribe — train on Lalisa, who moves cautiously relative to his distance. As he clutches the handle of his rapier, she repositions her hand along the rope. They stop in their tracks once they are at opposite ends.

The crowd is tense, their breaths held. No one dares to peep a sound.

Jongin lifts his chin, smirks, and dashes.

No one likes to praise Jongin for anything to avoid further feeding his ego, but if there is one thing no one can deny, it is his nimble speed. His movement is beyond anyone’s in the academy. His agility paired with his light rapier is a menace in any duel. As Jongin’s flash of red hair hurdles toward Lalisa, all she can do is brace for the pivotal second.

One breath. Two.

Lalisa has dueled Jongin plenty of times in their seven-year span of academy life; enough times to analyze a tiny window of time in the midst of Jongin’s lunge. If timed just right, one can dodge the stab, roll, and knock him off his feet by the ankles. She countered him sometimes with this strategy, the other times failures and resulting in losses. The more duels against Jongin, the more practice she got with this maneuver. It is only a matter of time before Jongin realizes Lalisa has him all figured out, as his pride blindsides him of such things.

For now, if it gets Lalisa victories, then victories she shall get.

The tip comes, so thin and quick it’s invisible to the eye, but gut instinct tugs Lalisa’s shoulder down for the tip to soar through empty air. With the momentum of his lunge, she only has to stop his tracks with a low sweeping kick.

Her leg extends, her grounded foot an axle for the rotation of her body. It appears that Jongin has caught on to an extent, his foot attempting to hop over the sweep, yet the realization came too late. The boy stumbles, rolling on his shoulder to cushion his fall.

Before he could recover onto his feet, Lalisa hurls her dart toward the back of his neck. However, the number one rule of dueling is to never have your back turned toward you