Conflict

The next day at school, Moto and Sheu huddled together in a quiet corner, a small island of calm before the chaos of class. Suddenly, two boys from Mukai's table sauntered over, sneers permanently etched onto their faces.

"Smells like smoke in here," one taunted, his gaze fixed on Moto with undisguised contempt.

Sheu instinctively grabbed Moto's arm, pulling him, trying to steer them away, but the other boy's hand shot out to grab her. Moto's reflexes, honed by years of alley brawls, flared. He slapped the offending hand away with a sharp crack. The bullies snickered, escalating their provocation. When Moto finally lunged, a sudden, shimmering wall of water erupted between them, blocking his path.

"What the—?!" Moto exclaimed, skidding to a halt.

The water parted. Prince Mukai stepped forward, his palms held upward, water dripping from his fingertips. "No fighting in my class," he stated, his voice even, yet laced with an undeniable authority.

"But he started it!" Moto protested, gesturing at the retreating bullies.

Mukai's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Moto's jaw tightened. "Drop the act. I saw them come from your desk."

"We won't tolerate insubordination," Mukai retorted, his voice rising, "especially from people who didn't earn the right to be here."

"Says the Prince?" Moto shot back, a dangerous edge in his voice.

Mukai's face contorted, a fleeting mix of disgust and raw anger. A collective buzz filled the classroom as students whispered in disbelief. Across the room, Mukai's twin, the long-haired student with fair skin, subtly retreated further behind the crowd, watching the exchange with growing concern.

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Mukai dissipated the water wall, splashing some of its contents onto Moto. "Stay behind after class," he commanded, his voice cold.

Moto's day plummeted downhill from there. After the classes split into elemental groups, his assigned teacher deliberately ignored him, leaving him to fend for himself. Determined, Moto decided to try something entirely new. He focused, pushing smoke from every pore of his skin, which shot out like steam from a boiling kettle. The other students snickered and openly laughed. One threw a small fireball into his nascent cloud, causing it to ignite and pop with a muffled explosion around Moto, leaving a stinging pattern of minor burns on his skin.

The ringing of the break-time bell was a welcome reprieve. Sheu found Moto slumped in a corner of the cafeteria, his expression equally disheartened. They sat together, exchanging quiet words of consolation.

A student, strikingly similar to Mukai but with longer hair and fairer skin, approached them. "Hi, I'm Sukai," he introduced himself, his voice soft and friendly.

"Hey," Moto replied, looking up.

"Mind if I join you?" Sukai asked.

"You sure you want to be seen with the bottom students?" Moto couldn't help but ask, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Sukai chuckled, a light, airy sound. "Hey, that makes three of us." The tension eased, and a faint laugh escaped Moto and Sheu.

Sheu, ever perceptive, immediately pointed out, "You look just like Mukai."

"Ah yes," Sukai confirmed, a gentle smile. "He's my twin brother."

"What?!" Moto exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "No way."

Sukai giggled softly. "I'm serious."

"But you're so nice," Moto blurted, "unlike him."

Sukai sighed, a shadow crossing his face. "Yeah, that's what everyone says. But he's misunderstood."

"What's there to misunderstand?" Moto pressed. "Didn't you see what he did?"

"I did," Sukai admitted, his gaze earnest. "But please, avoid him while I try to talk to him for you. Hopefully, I can get through to him."

"Okay," Moto conceded, the situation already feeling easier with Sukai's presence. "We'll keep our distance. Being in the same class won't be easy, though."

"I know," Sukai acknowledged. "But please, bear with me."

Moto looked at Sukai and smiled, a rare, genuine expression. "Nice to know the good twin is on our side."

Sukai smiled back, the faint glow of hope returning to his eyes. Sheu, ever curious about the wider world, asked if the King's sons could be homeschooled. Sukai explained that their father believed a leader must share experiences with those he leads. If any of them were to succeed him, they had to understand what it was like to be a citizen.

"He sounds wise," Moto commented, genuinely impressed.

"Very," Sukai affirmed.

Far from the bustling halls of the elite school, beyond the shimmering shadows of Nyika, the air crackled with an unspoken tension. A faint, distant rumble echoed from above. In the suffocating darkness of a secluded cave, deep within what seemed to be Tadex's underground bunker, a sudden flash of gold lit the cramped space. A spear, gleaming ominously, pierced the rough ground with an almost otherworldly thud, sending a shower of dust motes dancing in the scant light.

As an eerie silence swallowed the room, a figure emerged. The leader. A strikingly beautiful woman with piercing, intelligent eyes. Her indigo shoes matched her dark, flowing hair. Attached to the spear was a single strand of royal blue string, fluttering gently like a flag of a newfound challenge. She unwrapped a small, rolled note from the spear with deliberate slowness, her breath held in suspense. Her eyes scanned the message. A slow, amused smirk splayed across her lips, but her gaze held a dangerous, predatory spark.

"Looks like we have work, ladies," she announced, her voice a low purr, laced with a chilling mix of excitement and foreboding.

The air in the cramped space grew heavy. The assembled assassins exchanged uneasy glances, uncertainty rippling through their ranks. One finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "That sounds risky."

The leader's smirk faded slightly. She revealed the bounty's intricate details, and a palpable tension, thick as fog, settled over the room. Gasps filled the air as shadows moved, the assassins leaning closer, the immense weight of the task beginning to sink into their minds. The promise of danger hung heavy, mingling with the dark thrill of the unknown.

Another assassin, her brow furrowed with genuine concern, asked, "What's the plan then?"

A thoughtful pause lingered. The leader's expression shifted, hardening into one of steely, ruthless determination. "Good question," she said, her voice dropping to a low, resolute tone. "Let's start with the prince."

The mere mention of "the prince" sent a ripple of fresh anxiety through the hardened group. Whispers of his power and influence ignited a flicker of raw fear. Each member could sense the storm brewing on the horizon, knowing full well that their next move could either catapult them into legendary status... or plunge them into eternal darkness. The countdown had begun. And with it, the palpable thrill of impending, earth-shattering danger filled the air—each second inching closer to a confrontation that could change everything.