Nathan Li

Nathan Li was bored.

And when Nathan was bored, bad things tended to happen.

Not war-starting bad. Not scandal-in-the-hallway bad. Just… structural realignment of certain objects that should not have been kicked off rooftops kind of bad.

He wandered the Imperial Academy like a wolf in a gilded birdcage—shirt loose, sleeves rolled up, a sword hanging comfortably at his hip, and an expression that said I dare you to everyone and no one in particular.

They didn’t build this place for people like him.

The Imperial Academy was full of runes and rituals, lectures, and legacies. It smelled like old books and older egos. And despite all the illusion-stitched banners and animated lecture glyphs, Nathan thought the whole place needed one very specific thing:

More punching.

He passed by a group of students arguing about mana distribution efficiency. One of them flared his core as he spoke, the mana practically shaking off him like sweat.

Nathan gave him a pitying look. “If your technique’s that unstable when you talk, I’d hate to see what it looks like when you fight.”

They didn’t answer.

He kept walking.

It wasn’t that Nathan didn’t respect learning.

He just thought it ought to come with bruises.

He sighed and glanced toward the underground vault where Ethan—his infuriatingly brilliant, maddeningly composed, and very much not drinking or gambling brother-in-law—was probably still fiddling with glowing circuits and weird ideas about magic-as-math.

Vivian had married a man who could quietly undo the world.

Nathan loved that.

But he also kind of wanted to shake him until he agreed to go whoring just once.

“What’s the point of being a noble,” Nathan muttered to himself, “if you’re not allowed to go whoring? It’s practically a moral obligation.”

A pair of students looked at him like he’d set something on fire.

Nathan smiled at them sweetly. “Study hard!”

They scurried off.

He turned a corner near one of the lower courtyards and was halfway through deciding whether he wanted tea or violence when he heard the voice.

A nasal, grating voice, annoyingly abrasive. The kind of voice that needed to be summarily executed.

He turned toward a shadowed alcove tucked between two archive towers and saw a boy in violet-hemmed robes standing much too close to a younger girl in junior scholar garb. She stood stiff as a plank, eyes down, jaw tight. Her back was pressed against the wall. His hand was planted on the stone just above her shoulder.

“You don’t have to be scared,” the boy was saying. “I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to be rough.”

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Nathan’s boot hit the stone with a loud thump as he approached.

The boy turned halfway, annoyed—until he saw who it was.

“Do you mind?” he said. “We’re having a private—”

“Yes, I mind,” Nathan said. “You were talking. She wasn’t. And now I’m here.”

The girl flinched slightly, but Nathan gave her a small nod and a cheeky grin. Her expression was one part incredulous, one part panic, like she didn’t know if she was supposed to be scared or amused. She settled on scared.

The boy stepped up to Nathan. Up close, the boy wasn’t impressive. Tall. Skinny. Pretty enough to pass for noble, with expensive embroidery and rings etched with family crests. But his posture was lazy. The way he held his mana was worse—puffed, uncontrolled, leaking intimidation like perfume.

“Do you know who I am?” the boy asked, voice rising with that particular brand of performative entitlement that made Nathan’s sword hand itch.

“Someone forgettable, probably,” Nathan said, “but I am all magnanimous and stuff– you’ve got ten seconds to make me care.”

“I’m Heir-Trainee Yen of House Kaio. My uncle is the Northern Exchequer. I sit at the war table twice a cycle. I have four duel exemptions and a legal mana license.”

Nathan stepped closer, smiling.

“And I’m Nathan Li of House Li. I don’t need a license. I brought my own sword.”

He unsheathed it in one smooth draw, fast enough to make a few students nearby stumble backward. The blade sang against the stone as he leveled it directly at Yen’s chest.

“I don’t care if your uncle counts coins for the emperor himself,” Nathan said, voice low now, calm like a tide pulling back. “You don’t touch women like that. Ever.”

Yen blinked. “You wouldn’t dare draw steel on campus.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow, “pretty sure I just did you dumbass.”

A crowd had started to gather. Quiet. Watching. No one moved to interfere. Not yet.

Yen’s mana flared—defensive, shaky. Nathan didn’t even raise his own.

“You think your uncle will back you?” Nathan asked, his tone still friendly. “You think the College will protect you when that girl files a complaint and six people swear they saw you use coercive pressure casting?”

“No one’s going to believe—”

“You’re standing in front of a dozen witnesses,” Nathan said. “Wearing your clan’s colors. With your mana still spiking. They don’t need to believe her. They only need to see you.”

Yen’s mouth opened. Closed.

Then Nathan leaned forward, the blade still hovering.

“I don’t care if you’re the Jaidan Sun himself. You don’t get to corner a girl like that. You don’t get to push and whisper and hide behind your surname like it gives you permission. You do that again, I’ll break your teeth and feed them to you in sequence.”

Yen went pale.

Nathan took one step back, lowered the sword an inch—but not all the way.

“You’re lucky,” he said. “Because if my brother-in-law weren’t trying so hard to play nice with this school, I’d already have stabbed you in the leg just to see how loud you scream.”

Yen’s composure cracked.

He turned and fled without another word.

Nathan sheathed the blade and turned to the watching students.

“Go back to class. Unless any of you want to learn about dueling etiquette the hard way.”

They scattered.

The girl whispered a shaky “thank you” before hurrying off, disappearing into one of the lecture halls.

Nathan stood alone for a moment, breathing slowly, the chill of mana still buzzing faintly in his bones.

He didn’t regret it.

But he did think about his brother-in-law.

About how he’d knelt in front of their father to protect Vivian. About how he carried a strange pressure on his back. His brother-in-law could be lazing around, whoring, drinking, doing pretty much whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Vivian wouldn’t have cared. Most men in Ethan’s situation would have done just that. But not his brother-in-law. His brother-in-law was always studying, always working towards…something– focusing on stuff that Nathan didn’t understand. His brother-in-law didn’t act like a normal noble.

His brother-in-law wouldn’t have drawn the sword.

His brother-in-law would have talked. He would have been calm. He would have been careful.

But Nathan wasn’t his brother-in-law. Nathan chose to take care of problems with the sword; that was okay with him. Nathan figured that his brother-in-law was probably going to change the world. He was too smart not to. (Nathan literally didn’t understand half the stuff that came out of his mouth.) But that was okay too; his brother-in-law would probably need someone to stab things. Nathan would be ready for that.

Besides, this place was already better.

“More punching.”

As if summoned by drama, his comm crystal buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and thumbed the message open.

A flickering projection shimmered in the air before him—etched with the personal seal of General Li.

The message was short. Clean. Authority folded into every syllable.

“Nathan. You have permission to train Ethan in sword technique. Begin immediately. No restrictions. He is to be treated as a Li.”

Nathan stared at it.

Then grinned like a man who had just been handed a very sharp toy.

“Time to teach my brother-in-law how to bleed properly.”