The Lion Of Sirius

The Mistress and the Lion

The morning came too fast.

Sani's eyes opened slowly to a quiet, empty room. No trace of Maria or Olivia. No energy. Just silence. He sat up, the lingering memory of yesterday's events flashing behind his eyes—Maria's defeat, the rising tension with Olivia, and the ever-growing target on his back.

His gaze dropped to something folded neatly on the floor: a deep burgundy jacket, emblazoned with the school's crest—a wild rose wreathed in black thorns.

But this one was different.

Thorns were etched along the sleeves in winding patterns, curling up to the shoulders, where blooming roses bloomed from the seams. The craftsmanship was ridiculous. He slipped it on. Perfect fit. Slightly oversized, the cuffs fell just past his hands, with thumbholes cut in like someone knew his preferences.

Beneath it, tailored uniform pants fit like a second skin—slim at the thighs, loosening near the ankles to veil his shoes.

Someone knew him.

Without a word, Sani made his way to the stadium.

⸻

The Coliseum

Overcast skies brooded above the arena. The stadium was packed once again.

And there she was—Olivia Viento, waving to the crowd like royalty.

Sani exhaled. "Here we go again."

He stopped 100 meters from her.

"Sani!" Olivia called. "You're late!"

"You never gave a time." He rolled his neck. "You're lucky I skipped breakfast."

She smirked. "Wow. Skipping out on our duel and a date? That's cruel."

Sani's fingers tapped the rose emblem on his chest. A glowing hologram unfolded in front of him:

Sani Del Rosario – The Lion of Sirius – Rank 26

He frowned slightly. "How'd they know...?"

Olivia tapped her emblem.

Olivia Viento – Mistress of the Four Winds – Rank 10

Both names projected above the stadium in massive, glowing glyphs. The crowd roared in anticipation.

"Ugh," Sani muttered. "This is gonna suck."

"I agree," she said with a grin, her tone like wind through shattered glass.

Olivia extended her arm and snapped her wrist. With a gust of air, a massive sword materialized—black metal, taller than her, humming with pressure.

"Summon your weapon!" she shouted.

Sani didn't move. "Probably won't need it."

Her smile twitched.

Then—detonation.

A pillar of air collapsed behind Olivia. She launched forward like a missile. The ground cracked beneath her takeoff. Spirals of coiled wind traced her path, her sword spinning, dragging compressed storms behind it.

Sani sidestepped—barely.

The blade sliced past his jacket, missing his ribs by an inch. The ground behind him erupted from the leftover force.

She spun mid-air, redirected her weight, and detonated wind at her heels, sending herself skimming backward. She hovered for a moment, hair whipping around her face.

"Keeping up?" she asked, voice smug.

Sani slid his hands into his pockets. "Just trying not to get bored."

He whispered, "Lion's Pride."

Three silhouettes burst from the ground—smoke condensing into enormous lions with black-red manes and glowing crimson eyes. The coliseum rumbled as they let out low, guttural growls.

Olivia's face shifted. He summons? Since when does he summon?

The crowd gasped.

She slashed her sword through the air—three vertical wind bursts flew to intercept the beasts.

The first lion evaporated in a cyclone.
The second staggered, then recovered.
The third vanished mid-leap.

Too late.

Sani appeared behind her.

One hand caught the crossguard of her sword.
The other pressed lightly into her back.

"Pardon me."

And he pushed.

She sailed across the arena, crashing into the far wall. Dust exploded from the crater she left.

Sani stood where she had been, calm, fingers tapping her sword. He examined it like it was a paperweight.

"Heavy. Definitely not made for finesse. You're relying on wind pressure to carry the blade."

He flipped it into the air, caught it by the hilt, then launched it toward her like a javelin.

The sword embedded itself in the wall beside her head.

Olivia sat on the ground, disoriented, hair tangled and dusty.

Sani approached, slow and silent.

"You're strong," he said, kneeling beside her. "Rank 10 is no joke. But this wasn't a fight. This was a lesson."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for her alone.

"What could you have done... to not end up like this?"

"That's what I want you to imagine."

Then he stood, turned, and walked away.

She watched him retreat, blood pounding in her ears.

Her jaw clenched, but her breath came shallow. Rage twisted in her gut—but so did something else. Not humiliation. Not fully.

Fascination.

He wasn't even trying.

Her mind replayed the moment he vanished, the lions, the whisper—his hand on her sword, how easily he'd taken control of the pace, of her.

Olivia reached for the wall beside her and pulled herself up, eyeing the sword Sani had thrown with casual dominance.

She touched the hilt and felt its weight again.

I've trained for years. I've fought demons, defeated high ranks, mastered the winds... and he didn't even draw a weapon.

Her cheeks burned, not from shame—but from obsession.

Who are you really, Sani Del Rosario?

And what are you hiding behind those calm eyes?

She stared at the spot he had vanished from, her chest rising and falling with sharp breaths.

The crowd may have seen defeat.

But Olivia?

She saw a storm in disguise.

And she would chase it.