Leona Kingscholar|redone to anypov original in bio

The first time Leona Kingscholar noticed you was in the first year.

It wasn’t because you were loud, or obnoxious, or desperate to prove yourself—traits Leona usually ignored without a second thought. No, what caught his attention was something far more irritating: effortless competence. During a sparring session out on Savanaclaw’s dusty training field, the upperclassmen had been rotating through matches with the new first-years. Leona had only been half-watching from the shade of a tree, one arm draped over his eyes as he pretended to nap while the afternoon heat baked the savanna-colored stone beneath them.

Then the murmurs started.

Leona cracked one eye open just in time to see you finish a match—quick, clean, decisive. No wasted movement. No desperate flailing like most first-years trying to impress their seniors. Just instinct, control, and the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need to show off to know they were good.

The crowd around the field shifted, voices rising with impressed whistles and low commentary. Leona’s lip curled faintly.

Great. Another one.

He’d seen the type before. Talented newcomers who strutted in like they owned the place. Usually they burned out fast once Savanaclaw’s real competition crushed them. Leona expected you would be the same.

Except… you weren’t.

By the middle of second year, it had become impossible to ignore.

you were everywhere—not in the loud, attention-seeking way some students tried to be, but in the quiet, infuriating way competence naturally attracted attention. Spelldrive practice, combat training, strategy discussions—every time Leona bothered to look, there you were again. Performing well. Improving faster than most. Earning respect without groveling for it.

Even the underclassmen gravitated towards you.

Leona noticed it the same way a lion noticed another predator entering its territory—instinctively, irritably, with the faint urge to bare his teeth. He’d lean against the practice field fence with his usual lazy posture, golden eyes tracking your movements while pretending he couldn’t care less.

It was irritating.

Not because you were arrogant—you weren’t.

Not because you tried to challenge Leona’s authority as the next housewarden—you didn’t.

No, what grated Leona was that everything about you seemed natural. Strength, instinct, control. You had the sort of ability people praised as “raw talent.”

Leona knew that phrase well.

He hated it.

At some point—Leona couldn’t pinpoint exactly when—his irritation stopped being simple jealousy.

It happened in small, quiet moments.

Like the time he caught you staying late on the training field after everyone else had left, practicing spell control long after the sun dipped below the horizon. The glow of magic flickered against the darkening sky while the wind stirred the tall savanna grass.

Leona had watched from the dorm balcony, unseen.

So it’s not just talent, he’d realized, eyes narrowing slightly.

The thought should’ve been satisfying.

Instead, it was… interesting.

Admiration was an annoying thing.

It crept in slowly, like heat rising from sunbaked stone—subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.

Leona started noticing details he hadn’t before. The way you moved during combat—efficient and instinctive, like a true hybrid relying on sharpened senses rather than flashy technique. The way other students naturally fell into step beside you, trusting your judgment without him even asking.

It reminded Leona of something.

Strength that didn’t need to be announced.

Confidence that didn’t beg for approval.

For someone who claimed he hated effort and competition, Leona found himself watching you more closely than he intended.

And when you won a particularly brutal Spelldrive match near the end of second year—securing Savanaclaw a victory by sheer persistence—Leona had felt a flicker of something dangerously close to pride.

He’d scowled the entire walk back to the dorm.

By third year, the problem had evolved into something far worse.

Jealousy was simple.

Admiration was tolerable.

But this—this strange tension that coiled in Leona’s chest whenever you walked into the room—was neither.

Leona dealt with it the only way he knew how: avoidance.

With everyone else in Savanaclaw, he behaved the way he always did—lazily sarcastic, blunt, occasionally amused when someone entertained him. Ruggie still got his usual sharp remarks. The underclassmen still received curt instructions or dismissive grunts.

But with you… Leona was colder. Sharper. More distant. Not openly hostile—he wasn’t stupid enough to make his interest obvious—but detached in a way that even Ruggie had begun to notice. Which only made the situation more irritating.

Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the open windows of the Savanaclaw lounge, casting long shadows across the worn couches and low tables scattered around the room.

Several dorm members had gathered after practice, the air filled with lazy conversation and the clink of drink cans. Leona lounged across one of the couches like a lion claiming territory, one leg draped over the armrest, lion like golden eyes half-lidded with practiced disinterest while Ruggie rambled about something that was only half worth listening to.

It was comfortable.

Predictable.

Then the door opened.

Leona didn’t need to look to know who’d walked in.

Leona didn’t need to notice the shift in the room, nor the voices lifting slightly, not even the few students greeting the newcomer. His ears flicked once in mild irritation. He could tell who it was just by your smell, the familiar smell reminded Leona of home… no no no. He wasn’t going to let himself go there.

For a moment, Leona stayed where he was, gaze fixed lazily on the ceiling as if nothing had changed.

But the familiar tension had already settled under his ribs. Warm and uncomfortable in the way a teenager would feel, not the prince of savanna springs. A possessive growl bubbled in his throat and he forced it down.

He could hear your voice somewhere across the room. Calm. Easy. The kind of tone people naturally gravitated toward.

Leona exhaled slowly through his nose.

Annoying.

Without a word, he pushed himself upright.

“Oi, Ruggie,” he muttered to his vice-housewarden, stretching his arms over his head with a bored yawn “I’m done listening to all this whining.”

Before anyone could question him, Leona stepped away from the couch and headed toward the balcony doors.

The evening air outside was warm, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant sand. Leona rested his forearms against the railing, golden eyes narrowing toward the horizon as the sun dipped low.

Behind him, the lounge buzzed with conversation.

Leona doesn’t look back. But his tail flicks once—sharp, restless—like he is now suddenly aware of footsteps that might or might not be following behind him.