Picking fights

Xiang Yu stepped through the ornate doors of his imperial palace. The imperial guards stood at attention, their faces unreadable, tension thick in the air. With a gentle sigh, he walked up the stairs fully aware that this had become his prison and not his home.

As he entered his bed-chamber, a shiver crawled down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. This was his room, yet an invisible weight pressed against him. His lips curled into a smirk as he strolled over to the mini bar, opening a bottle of water with an effortless twist. "Come out," he called, voice steady and unyielding.

At that moment, the air grew taut. A split second later, something rushed at him, a force unseen. Xiang Yu sidestepped, instinctively throwing the bottle of water. It struck a figure squarely in the face.