❃❃❃❃

❃𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝔂?❃

❃❃❃❃

__________________________________

It had been two weeks since Akira joined the SSE, and today, like every Saturday, he was stuck in the 'training club.' He sighed inwardly, wishing he could be anywhere but here. Weekends were meant for long, quiet mornings, tea, and warm bubble baths—not for dodging fists or wielding swords. Yet here he stood, leaning against the wall in full combat gear, surrounded by the thuds and grunts of other students sparring.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it—the adrenaline, the rush of combat. Most of the students were working on hand-to-hand combat, but Akira had drifted over to the swordfighting area, where he could blend into the background. He had to admit, though, one part of this ordeal made it a little less unbearable: Huan.

He leaned back against the wall, his eyes glued to Huan as he sparred with another cultivator. Every move Huan made was fluid and precise, each strike calculated. But what really caught Akira's attention wasn't just the skill—it was how good Huan looked doing it.

He was wearing a sleeveless, tight black shirt that clung to his body in a way that left very little to the imagination. His toned arms flexed with every strike, muscles defined and rippling under the fabric as though they had been sculpted by some artist. The shirt hugged his lean frame, emphasizing his small waist and the subtle V-shape of his torso, while his sweatpants hung low on his hips, loose but somehow still showing off how perfectly lean built he was.

Akira's gaze traced the line of sweat dripping down Huan's neck, the way it caught the light before slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. His hair, damp, clung to his forehead and neck, a few strands falling messily over his eyes. Huan brushed them back with a quick, careless motion, his expression focused but calm.

Akira swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. There was no denying how attractive Huan was—especially like this. The sight of him, flushed and glistening with sweat, moving with that effortless grace, was... distracting, to say the least.

"He's good," came a voice from beside him, snapping Akira out of his thoughts.

Akira blinked and glanced to his right to find Zhan standing next to him, his eyes also fixed on Huan.

"He is," Akira agreed, trying to sound casual as he quickly tore his gaze away from Huan's lean and toned form.

Zhan tilted his head thoughtfully. "His technique—it's familiar. Like the Chen Clan's."

Akira frowned slightly, watching as Huan dodged a punch and delivered a perfect side kick to his opponent's side, making the cultivator to trip and fall. "I'm not sure what you mean," Akira said, still distracted by how the fabric of Huan's shirt stretched across his chest when he moved.

"Just something I noticed," Zhan replied, his tone neutral. "Could be nothing."

Before Akira could ask anything further, Huan's sparring partner hit the mat with a loud thud. The cultivator groaned, clearly defeated, while Huan stood above him, breathing heavily.

"Nice work, Jia Huan," the coach called out, clapping his hands in approval. "Your flexibility is top-notch, and your mixed martial arts skills are impressive. Keep it up."

Huan gave a respectful nod, a faint smile on his lips as he bowed slightly. "Thank you, Coach."

As the coach moved on, Huan wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm, his biceps flexing in the motion. Akira couldn't stop his eyes from lingering on him—on the way his shirt clung to his damp skin, how his hair stuck to his temples, and the slight sheen of sweat that made him look even more heavily.

Huan made his way over to where Akira stood, grabbing a towel from his bag and wiping his face. As he did, Akira's eyes followed the movement of his hand, watching the way the towel glided over his neck and jawline.

"You gonna duel anyone today?" Huan asked, his voice casually, but there was a softness in it that made Akira's heart go faster then it needed to go.

He shook his head, trying to keep his cool. "Not yet. I don't have a match-up."

Huan hummed thoughtfully, taking a long swig from his water bottle, the muscles in his throat moving as he drank. He really needed to stop staring.

Before Akira could say anything more, a small group of girls came over, giggling softly among themselves. They approached Huan with shyness and admiration, their eyes sparkling as they looked at him.

"Jia-gege!" one of the girls chirped, her voice light and sweet as she glanced at him through her long lashes. The others followed close behind, smiling and whispering.

One of the girls stepped closer, "You were amazing out there, Gege," she said, her voice full of admiration.

Another giggled, nudging her friend. "So fast and strong," she added with a coy smile.

Huan, clearly uncomfortable but trying to be polite, scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh, thanks," he said, his smile a bit stiff.

Akira's stomach twisted with an uncomfortable mix of emotions he never really gets to experience much. He watched as the girls fawned over Huan, complimenting him and giggling at every word he said. His chest tightened with a sudden surge of jealousy—why couldn't he talk to Huan like that? Why couldn't he be so open, so casual?

One of the girls stepped even closer, lightly brushing her fingers over Huan's arm. "You must be really popular, huh, Gege?" she teased, her eyes sparkling.

Akira felt his jaw clench, his hands balling into fists. His heart was pounding in his chest, a slow burn of envy curling inside him. Why was it so easy for them? Why couldn't he just talk to Huan like this, be close to him without feeling like his entire body was on fire?

Huan, looking more awkward by the second, laughed nervously. "I'm... uh... just doing my best."

As the girls continued to flirt and giggle, Akira could barely stand to watch anymore. His eyes dropped to the floor, his chest tight. He wanted to be the one who could make Huan smile like that, the one who could stand next to him without feeling so out of place. But instead, he was stuck here, burning with jealousy he had no right to feel.

And yet, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that burning feeling wouldn't go away.

Akira quietly stepped away from the scene, retreating to the far corner of the room. It was like the kami, Okuninushi-no-mikoto, had decided to withhold his favor from him today. He had had enough of watching the scene unfold before him, the girls fawning over Huan like he was some untouchable idol.

The corner of his mouth tightened. He wasn't some jealous fool, but the way they giggled and called Huan "Gege" with such ease—it stung. The ease, the lightness of their voices, how effortlessly they drew a laugh from him. Akira's heart clenched. He wished he could joke with Huan like that.

"It's not like that," Huan's voice drifted over, soft but clear. "I just trained a lot back at the SSE recruit center."

One of the girls squealed in delight, practically bouncing in place. "You're so hardworking, Gege!" she gushed, her eyes wide with admiration.

Akira turned his head away, biting back a sigh. Huan was being humble as always. Yet, while those girls gushed over him, Akira found himself rooted in the sidelines, unable to break through that invisible wall between them.

"It's not much," Huan continued, brushing off their praise with a modest smile. "It's the least I can do."

Akira couldn't help but wonder—why was it so easy for others to speak to him like that? To flirt, to banter, to laugh. Meanwhile, all Akira could manage was awkward small talk, barely scraping the surface of the friendship they had.

Just as another girl opened her mouth to say something, Zhan's voice cut in, firm and almost parental.

"You should call him by his name," Zhan said, his tone formal, almost like that of a strict elder scolding his juniors. 

The girls paused, eyes flickering toward Zhan with mild annoyance. One of them, a Zhao Clan disciple with her hair in twin buns, scoffed lightly. Her big, round eyes narrowed as she smirked. "You sound like an old man, Young Master Zhao," she said. She was clearly someone of some rank, likely the daughter of a high-ranked elder, given her confident attitude.

Zhan raised a brow, unbothered by the remark. "Am I? I'm just saving you from heartbreak."

The girl pouted, crossing her arms. "You're so mean."

"Baozhai-shimei," Jiamei, who had been standing by with quiet amusement, finally intervened, her tone coaxing. "You know it's the truth. Heartbreaking as it may be."

Baozhai's eyes darted back to Huan, looking for sympathy. But instead of saying anything, Huan let out a soft chuckle, his expression warm as he shook his head.

Huan laughs, surrounded by these disciples, he seemed more relaxed, more at home. Baozhai's pout deepened as she pointed a finger at him, her cheeks puffing out in mock outrage.

"Now he's laughing at me!" she whined dramatically.

Huan quickly raised a hand to his mouth, shaking his head in apology. "I'm not, I swear—" he started.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Akira's lips as he watched the exchange. There was something heartwarming about it—this banter between disciples from different clans, this ease and familiarity. It reminded him of how different things were outside Japan, where sects and clans treated their disciples like family. Here, even the teasing and scolding felt like it came from a place of warmth and affection, like an older brother looking out for his younger siblings.

In Japan, disciples were often seen more as servants to the head family, bound by duty and expectation. Even though times had changed and disciples in modern clans were more like students than subordinates, that rigid structure still lingered. Akira remembered how even Muichiro, one of his dearest friends and a fellow disciple of the Fujisawa Clan was treated by his grandfather. There was always a line between them and the higher-ups, no matter how close they became.

But of course not all clans were similar. A sudden thud from behind drew his attention, and when he turned, he saw a Chen Clan disciple sprawled on the ground, Zixin standing over him with his foot pressed firmly against the disciple's chest. Zixin, a practice sword in hand, scoffed, "Eh—weak."

The disciple's face twisted in pain, his body limp beneath Zixin's weight. Akira winced at the sight but knew better than to interfere. He'd seen scenes like this before—brutal, quick displays of dominance. The disciple groaned, curling inward, and Akira instinctively looked away as Zixin delivered a harsh kick to the young man's stomach. The sound of it—a dull, painful thud—made Akira cringe. He could only imagine how much it must have hurt.

Zixin, however, was unfazed. He stepped off the mat, not bothering to glance at the disciple crumpled behind him. As he walked past the group of girls, Huan included, his shoulder brushed roughly against Zhan's. Zixin didn't even pause to apologize. Akira stiffened but didn't say a word, though he noticed Zixin did turn back slightly, his sharp gaze trailing after Zhan. The moment passed in silence. Zhan wasn't one to start unnecessary trouble—at least not in public.

"That was so rude!" Baozhai huffed, hands on her hips. "He didn't even say sorry."

"It's fine," Zhan responded, his tone calm but with a certain edge. "I'd rather not cause any commotion, especially after what happened last time."

Akira sighed softly, leaning back into the corner of the training hall. His eyes lingered on Huan, who was still surrounded by them. He wanted to talk to him, but it was clear Huan was preoccupied, his attention absorbed by the playful chatter. It was moments like these that made Akira long for solitude. If given a choice, he would rather spend his time in quiet contemplation, doing something simple and peaceful, like calligraphy. The art form had always been a refuge for him—a way to focus his mind without the burden of physical exertion. It was meditative, a practice that allowed him to escape from everything, if only for a while.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden poke at his shoulder. Startled, he turned to see none other than Chen Xian standing behind him, a friendly smile plastered on his face.

Akira immediately straightened up, his body going stiff. "Hi?" he replied, a note of confusion in his voice. Xian wasn't someone who usually approached him—if ever. In fact, no one really did. Akira preferred to keep to himself, and most people respected that boundary, well actually they just didn't wanna talk to him. So the sudden attention caught him off guard.

"It's been a while since we last saw each other," Xian said with an easy smile, though there was something unsettling about it. Akira had never quite been comfortable around Xian. It wasn't that Xian was outwardly mean or abrasive like his cousin Zixin. On the contrary, he was overly friendly, almost unnervingly so. There was a superficial charm to him, a politeness that felt rehearsed, as if everything he said was carefully calculated.

"Yeah," Akira replied cautiously, unsure of where this conversation was going. He didn't remember ever having any meaningful interaction with Xian, and yet here he was, acting as if they were old acquaintances. Akira's discomfort only grew as the seconds passed.

Xian's smile never faltered. "So," he began casually, leaning against the wall next to Akira, "how's everything going with your classes?"

Akira blinked, thrown by the question. "Uh, fine, I guess."

"You must be really busy," Xian continued, his tone smooth and conversational. "With all the training and studies. I heard Huan's been doing great too. What classes is he taking?"

Wait, huh?

Akira faced him. Why would Xian want to know about Huan? His eyes narrowed slightly, his discomfort morphing into suspicion. "I'm not really sure," Akira said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "I don't keep track of his schedule." Was it something about their earlier meet up? Before the Zixin drama?

Xian tilted his head, his smile widening just a fraction. "Oh? But you two seem close, sharing a dorm and all. What's your dorm number again?"

Akira's heart raced, his wariness growing. Why would Xian want to know know that information Huan didn't even mention him, ever. This didn't feel right. Akira's instincts were screaming at him, warning him that something was off.

"Uh, it's... it's been a while since we moved in," Akira lied, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't really remember the number off the top of my head." He forced a casual smile, hoping it masked the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. That was a terrible ass excuse...

Xian's eyes flickered with something unreadable before he gave a soft laugh. "You don't remember your own dorm number? That's a bit unusual, don't you think?"

Akira's jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his face neutral. "Yeah, well, I'm not good with numbers." He avoided Xian's gaze, the tension building in his chest. The conversation was making him increasingly uncomfortable, and it was clear Xian wasn't just making small talk.

Xian's expression remained friendly, but Akira could feel the undercurrent of something more probing in his questions. "Ah, I see. Well, I was just curious," Xian said, still maintaining that unnerving charm. "I guess I'll just have to ask Huan myself."

The way he said Huan's name made Akira's skin crawl. He didn't like it—didn't like the implication behind it. He didn't know what Xian was after, but he wasn't about to give him any more information. "You could," Akira replied coolly, his voice clipped. "But Huan's busy, as you can see."

Xian glanced over to where Huan was standing, still surrounded by the girls. "Right, of course." He turned back to Akira, his eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. "Well, I won't keep you. It was nice catching up."

Akira nodded stiffly, watching as Xian finally walked away, leaving him with a sinking feeling in his gut. Something about that entire exchange felt wrong, and Akira couldn't shake the sense that Xian was fishing for information about Huan. But why?

__________________________________

Word Meaning:

shimei- Martial younger sister

Gege- Big Brother, but can be used in a flirtatious manner. Kinda like how in japanese Oni-Chan and senpai are used. Similarly how Oppa is used in Korean