It was a bright morning. But the prince was already in a sour mood.

He was on a raised platform, which apparently was constructed especially for him. The academy’s authorities were ecstatic when they learned that the prince chose to go there that they organized an extravagant welcome assembly especially for him.

And so he was forced to sit down on a chair too small for his tall frame to watch a parade for his entertainment of supposedly the best students exemplifying their “impressive” peritia.

What a boring show. These peritia can’t even compare to what he can do.

Generally, people of the fire nation possess the same peritia—the ability of touching fire. A gift from the Sun God  that appears usually when a person turns eighteen, sometimes a little earlier, sometimes very late, sometimes not at all. People go to academies to develop these given peritia into skills, into something of use in the nation’s industries, and sometimes, peritia were optimized for merely showing off.

Of course there are lucky ones. Those who receive more than the basics.

And Prince Mingyu was one of them, and everyone who knows of him and of his powers would say that he is the luckiest of them all. Perhaps, he really was a god’s favorite.

Not only can he touch fire. He can generate it. Out of thin air.

Just imagine his parent’s surprise when he accidentally put the castle gardens into fire when his peritia appeared as early as thirteen years old in the middle of him throwing tantrums.

He was bored as hell but the thing was not only him, but the entire student body was required to attend the assembly.

And he had this burning urge to see him. The longhaired boy who had somehow infiltrated the prince’s maze of a mind. To say that he was obsessed would be an overstatement. But the man staying on his mind since that night was something.

There’s a tug on his chest. He doesn’t know why but it seemed like he was robbed off of something. He wanted to see him to get back what it was. He wanted an explanation, anything on why he didn’t get the respect or even the recognition from him. He was his Prince for ’s sake.

But he wasn’t there. And it’s giving him headache.

He has already scanned the rows of orderly arranged students at his front searching for that particular boy. To think, he can easily spot him since he is the only person he knows with purple hair (another reason why he wants to find him. Why does he have purple hair when pitch black hair was glorified here, he wondered.) But he repeated it the second time, putting more effort in observing the facial features of each in case the boy dyed his hair color differently. And he have to endure it, the many times he’d accidentally made eye contact with the people and he’d have to see them freaking out or something. If only he didn’t need to keep his composure, he’d gladly glare at them.

He didn’t even dare finish the event, everything becoming unbearable the moment some freakishly tall guy accidentally put an ornamental plant on fire. He motioned for Taekwoon and signed to him. His servant nodded. Taekwoon went on the platform and bowed down to everybody while he went down. His servant can make an excuse for him. He’d done it many times before.

“Give me the full lists of the people who go here,” was his greetings when he barged into the headmaster's room. He demanded it, hands outstretched towards the headmaster, a frail and weak looking old man with shoulder length jet black hair set in a half ponytail.

“Prince,” he said standing up from an enormous mahogany chair and then bowing lowly. “First of all, welcome.” The headmaster offered him a smile and suddenly he wasn’t looking so frail anymore. His smile was confident, an expression of a man with a year’s worth of wisdom to back him up.

“Excuse me for not being able to properly welcome you in your arrival. There is quite a lot of work especially now that the news of you desiring to go here has travelled far and wide like a plague. When the people heard that you chose our academy, even the youth from the other towns made their way here. We are trying to accommodate—“

“The list.” The prince interrupted in a firm command.

“Apologies your majesty. I’m afraid I can’t fulfill your request,” the headmaster stopped and looked at him as if studying him “unless of course, you have an acceptable reason.”

“I being the prince isn’t good enough for you?” the prince said stubbornly.

The corner of the headmasters lip thwart up into a slight smirk. “Forgive me but the academy's files are not meant to be seen by students.” And when he saw that the prince was going to complain once more, he added “but you can tell me what your concerns are and I might help you.”

"Jeon Wonwoo, does he go here," the prince threw in his bestfriend’s name randomly so as a start so as not to arise suspicion.

“He doesn’t.”

“Jeonghan? The son of Geonmu. How about him?”

Unlike the fast response the headmaster gave him in response to the previous name, he was given an alert and curious stare. There was a bit of hesitation before the headmaster shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid he does not go here."

"It's the first day of school."

Prince Mingyu, disturbed from his reverie, looked up to see his carriage driver looking at him with teasing eyes. The glint on his eyes was brighter than the reflection of the sun's rays on the Sagittarian emblem pinned on his hat.  The prince glared at him then gave him a questioning look.

"I don't know how that concerns you."

"I'm just curious, that’s all, on why we're going around this vast town when you're suppoised to be this school." He paused as he made