Competition

"Are you sure about this?" Kai asks me for what feels like the hundredth time today.

We're seated in the VIP section of the arena, awaiting the finals of the swordsmanship competition. A few places away, the rest of the royal family sits in their own section, the distance both physical and symbolic. I glance at Kai, who fidgets nervously beside me.

"You're my guest, Kai," I say once again, hoping to reassure him. He's visibly uneasy, clearly out of his element in a seat typically reserved for nobles.

"If you're sure," he murmurs, fanning his face anxiously, "as long as I don't get executed for this."

I roll my eyes and use the fan he made for me to cool myself. The arena is buzzing with anticipation, the air thick with the excitement of the impending final match. I can't help but wish Nikolai and Valendor were here with me, but the strict protocols allowed me only one guest. Choosing one over the other would have been impossible, so I left them to find seats among the crowd.

"I still can't believe you brought me here," he says, a hint of awe in his voice.

"Believe it," I reply with a smile. "You're with me, and that's all that matters."

As I scan the crowd, my eyes unintentionally lock with Luan's. Seated just a few paces away, he catches my gaze and winks. I quickly look away, concealing my disgust behind the fan in my hand, its delicate movement masking my true feelings.

The arena buzzes with anticipation, and soon the host steps into the center, capturing everyone's attention. His voice booms across the stadium as he begins the announcements. "Welcome, everyone, to the grand finals of the swordsmanship competition! Today, we will witness twelve simultaneous matches. The six winners will advance, battling until we have our final three contenders. These three will then face off based on a random draw, leading to the ultimate showdown."

The crowd erupts in cheers, the excitement palpable. Giant screens around the arena and throughout the Salona Empire project the event, emphasizing its significance. This is more than just a competition; it's a spectacle celebrated by the entire nation.

As soon as the announcement ends, my eyes zero in on Haroun. He strides onto the field with a commanding presence, exuding confidence and a cold determination. Unlike his opponent, who is clad in full armor, Haroun wears only black leather pants and a white linen shirt, his attire starkly contrasting with the traditional gear. The simplicity of his outfit only accentuates his raw power and agility.

"You'll burn a hole through his skull if you stare any longer," Kai remarks from beside me, his tone light and teasing.

I giggle at his observation, unable to tear my eyes away from Haroun. I've never seen him like this—so intense and focused. It's a new side of him, one that is undeniably attractive. The way he moves, every step calculated and deliberate, sends a thrill through me.

The crowd's noise fades into the background as I focus entirely on Haroun. His opponent stands ready, fully armored and brandishing a heavy sword. Haroun, in contrast, wields a lighter blade, his stance relaxed yet poised for action. The difference between them is striking, not just in their attire but in their entire demeanor.

Haroun's confidence is palpable. He radiates a calm intensity, his eyes locked on his opponent with an unyielding gaze. I watch, captivated, as the match begins.

The matches begin, and Haroun steps into the fray with a grace that is almost artistic. His movements are fluid, each step and strike executed with effortless precision. Not a drop of sweat mars his face, while his opponent is already struggling, breath ragged and movements increasingly desperate.

That's my Haroun.

I watch, mesmerized, as he wields his sword with unparalleled skill. Every swing is a testament to his training and natural talent, his blade cutting through the air with deadly accuracy. His opponent, clad in heavy armor, tries to keep up but is clearly outmatched. The contrast is striking—where Haroun is all elegance and efficiency, his opponent is clumsy and labored.

Haroun's face remains serene, his focus unbroken. Each dodge and parry seems almost effortless, as if he is dancing rather than fighting. The crowd is captivated, their cheers and gasps a constant backdrop to the duel. But for me, the world narrows down to just him—every movement, every calculated strike, a display of his mastery.

His opponent, drenched in sweat and visibly faltering, attempts a desperate final attack. Haroun sidesteps with ease, countering with a swift, decisive blow that sends the opponent's sword clattering to the ground. The match is over, Haroun the clear victor.

The arena erupts in applause and cheers, the noise almost overwhelming. Haroun, however, remains composed. He acknowledges the crowd with a brief nod, his expression unchanged. As he turns to leave the field, our eyes meet for a brief moment. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips, and my heart swells with pride and admiration.

I hide my smile behind my fan, my eyes lingering on Haroun as he rests, preparing for his next match. His composed demeanor and the effortless grace of his movements captivate me.

"Get a room," Kai says dramatically from beside me.

"What?" I respond with a laugh, glancing over at him.

"You two are busy eye-fucking each other from across the arena, in public no less. It's embarrassing," Kai teases, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

I laugh at his exaggeration. "Bite me."

He rolls his eyes. "Just saying, if there was a prize for making eyes at each other, you two would have already won."

"Perhaps," I concede, still chuckling. "But you must admit, Haroun is extraordinary out there."

Kai gives a gagging sound, showcasing how grossed out he is, I laugh a little more.

As Haroun settles down, preparing for the next round, I take a moment to soak in the atmosphere. The crowd's energy is electric, their excitement palpable as they anticipate the upcoming matches. The arena buzzes with chatter and speculation, everyone eager to see who will emerge victorious.