In an open field behind one of the academy buildings, a commotion was unfolding.
A young man was on the ground, surrounded by several burly students. With each blow they landed, his smaller frame offered no resistance. Helpless beneath their fists, he groaned in pain.
Standing nearby, a proud female student folded her arms and stared coldly at the victim.
"Do you recognize me now?" she asked with a sneer.
A group of onlookers began to gather.
"Isn't that the useless guy who couldn't awaken an Ascension Spirit?" one student whispered.
The crowd nodded. They recognized him—Travis Momoa, the boy who had walked off the awakening platform in silence.
But the identity of the girl remained a mystery to many, until one student spoke up.
"That's Becky Jin—daughter of the Jin noble family. They own half the supply and distribution businesses in the region. Their potion shops are everywhere in the southern provinces."
Whispers of her family's wealth and influence passed through the students like wildfire.
"Ugh…" Travis groaned, the pain lacing through every inch of his body.
Just then, a soft voice cut through the air like a breeze against a storm.
"Travis, are you in trouble?"
The tension shifted.
As the dust around him began to settle, Travis looked up. The golden sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the figure approaching him.
A beautiful woman in flowing purple robes strode forward, her presence commanding. Her long black hair swayed gently, and her sharp eyes locked directly onto Becky.
Though she wore a faint smile, the fierce energy in her gaze sent shivers through the air.
Gasps rippled across the crowd.
"Isn't that Teacher Amaya?" one student whispered.
"Good day, Miss Amaya! You look stunning as always," another stammered.
The color drained from Becky's face the moment she saw her. Panic filled her chest. The mocking arrogance she'd displayed moments ago vanished.
Her fists clenched at her sides. Why her? she cursed inwardly.
She had assumed her noble status would grant her unchecked authority—but now, the tables had turned. She never expected Travis to be under the protection of a teacher.
And not just any teacher.
Teacher Amaya was a renowned cultivator. Offending her meant courting disaster.
Becky tried to recover, stammering, "It—it's nothing! I was just asking him a few things…"
Amaya's smile never faltered. Her voice, however, was icy.
"Scram."
That one word was enough.
Becky trembled. Her pride was shattered, but she didn't dare protest. She turned to flee, dragging her confused lackeys with her. In her haste, she tripped and stumbled across the grass, drawing more laughter than pity.
Travis, still on the ground, gave a small, helpless shake of his head.
"Thank you very much, Miss Amaya," he said, his voice hoarse.
Amaya stepped forward, every motion filled with quiet grace. A soft breeze seemed to follow her, rustling the hem of her purple robes as she reached into her sleeve and produced a small vial.
"Drink this," she said, handing it to him.
Travis took it without hesitation. The liquid was bitter, but as it slid down his throat, a surge of warmth spread through his body. His bruises vanished almost instantly, as though they had never existed.
He exhaled, relieved.
The healing elixir was no ordinary potion. It was a rare concoction, infused with the essence of spiritual herbs and enchanted waters. Only cultivators of Amaya's level had access to such powerful remedies.
She turned to leave, but paused at the doorway.
"Travis… come to my faculty later."
Her voice lingered in the air, leaving behind a trail of curiosity and expectation. Travis stared after her, questions swirling in his mind.
Why did she help me? What does she want from me?
He knew this was no casual act of kindness. Something deeper was at play.
---
Later that day, Travis made his way to the Administration Building. A sleek structure filled with polished floors, glowing crystal lights, and busy faculty members.
Wait... I forgot to ask where her office is, he realized, awkwardly looking around.
He decided to follow a teacher who seemed to be heading in the same direction. Fortunately, it led him straight to the faculty wing. Names were inscribed in elegant characters on every door.
Eventually, he found it.
Amaya Dawn – Faculty of Mystical Arts.
She was already waiting.
"Ah, you're here. Follow me," she said without emotion.
Travis walked behind her silently, nerves tingling.
They reached her private office. She opened the door and walked in without pause.
"What are you waiting for?" she called over her shoulder. "Come in."
Inside, the room was surprisingly minimal. A small closet, a sleek desk, a comfy sofa, and a tall bookshelf filled with ancient tomes and cultivation manuals.
"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the sofa.
Her voice was softer now, almost... sultry.
Travis sat down, trying to remain calm. Why is my heart beating so fast?
Then, without warning, Amaya stepped close. In one fluid motion, she straddled him.
Her soft thighs pressed against his lap, her arms snaking around his neck. The scent of violets filled his nose.
"Miss Amaya?" he whispered, caught between confusion and anticipation.
----
Travis's breath hitched as Amaya's weight settled onto his lap, her thighs warm against his. Her fingers traced the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The scent of violets and something darker—spiritual incense, perhaps—clouded his thoughts.
*What is happening?*
He'd expected a reprimand, a lesson, maybe even a cryptic warning about Becky Jin's influence. But this? His pulse roared in his ears.
Amaya's lips brushed his ear. "Relax," she murmured. "This isn't what you think."
Before he could reply, her palm pressed flat against his chest. A surge of energy pulsed between them, sharp and electric. His body locked—not in fear, but in *recognition*. The dormant qi in his dantian *stirred*, as if answering a call.
**She was probing him.**
Her spiritual sense slithered through his meridians, assessing, mapping.
Travis gasped. It felt like being unraveled.
"Interesting," Amaya whispered. Her eyes flickered open, revealing a glint of gold beneath her lashes. "You really *don't* have an Ascension Spirit."
Travis stiffened. The humiliation of the awakening ceremony flooded back—the pitiless stares, the whispers of *useless*.
But Amaya's grip tightened, her nails biting lightly into his shoulders. "Yet your qi reacts to mine like a parched riverbed to rain. *Why?*"
He had no answer. Only questions of his own: *Why help me? Why risk your reputation?*
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
Amaya moved like a shadow, untangling herself from him in an instant. By the time the door creaked open, she stood poised behind her desk, the picture of detached elegance.
A nervous apprentice peered in. "Headmaster's summons, Teacher Amaya. Urgent."
She nodded. "Leave us."
The door shut. Silence stretched like a drawn blade.
Amaya didn't look at him. "Come back to my house tonight. Midnight." Her voice was steel wrapped in silk. "And Travis?"
He froze at the threshold.
"Tell no one."