Dragons begin with courage

Before Lu Mingfei could even utter a single word, he was surrounded by those sweaty, enthusiastic, and smiling faces. The straightforward, even somewhat rude, praise, the uninhibited jokes, and the undisguised expectations were like a surging, warm wave, instantly washing away the cold armor he had worn when he left Amber Pavilion and the unease deep within his heart.

[Lu Mingfei, you're so cool!] [Lu Mingfei, you're so amazing!] [Junior Brother Lu did a fantastic job!]...

These words were so unfamiliar, yet they struck his eardrums so directly. He vaguely recalled that during his long days at Shilan High School, he was constantly bombarded with phrases like, "Lu Mingfei, you're no good," "Lu Mingfei, stop dawdling and go run errands," and "What's the use of being good at video games? Can you even get into university?" Here, after he had just "offended" the most powerful student group in the academy, he was being genuinely welcomed and praised by another group for the same behavior.

At this moment, Chu Zihang pushed through the crowd and walked over. His face didn't show any exaggerated expression, but his usually calm and unwavering golden eyes clearly reflected the bright lights of the stadium, as well as Lu Mingfei's somewhat helpless yet slightly radiant face and slightly reddened eyes.

Chu Zihang smiled slightly, extended his hand, and instead of shaking hands, patted Lu Mingfei's shoulder firmly, his palm still warm from exercise.

"Welcome." Chu Zihang's voice was still concise, but its weight and certainty were undeniable.

Upon hearing the president's personal approval, the Lionheart Club members around them exchanged smiles, then erupted into even more enthusiastic cheers and whistles:

"Welcome, Junior Brother Lu!"

"Fresh blood for the Lionheart Society! Welcome to the Lionheart Society!"

"From now on, we're on the same side!"

"Come on, come on, stop standing there like idiots, guild leader. Shall we continue? Can you lead the way, junior brother?"

Amidst the noise, Lu Mingfei held the drink bottle, now warmed in his palm, yet still feeling a constant warmth emanating from his fingertips. He looked up at Chu Zihang's profile, which appeared less aloof and more vibrant under the stadium lights, and then surveyed the lively, enthusiastic, and unpretentious figures around him.

The Amber Hall is a meticulously arranged stage where everyone plays a role. But here, in this basketball court where the lights may not be so dazzling and the facilities may be a bit old, there is real sweat, hearty laughter, straightforward support, and a senior student who will silently pat you on the shoulder and tell you "welcome".

It seems... things are really a little different now, there's a sense of warmth.

In a corner unnoticed by anyone, Lu Mingfei's lips curved upwards very slightly. For the first time, his heart, which had been hanging, twisted, and filled with unease ever since he stepped into Kassel, gently and steadily settled back into place.

"Count me in, senior!"

Outside the old Lionheart Society building, the night wind carried the biting chill of late autumn.

Fingel leaned against the cold, rough stone wall, a greasy roasted chicken wing in his hand, nibbling on it half-heartedly. He looked up at the night sky above Kassel College, diluted by the city's light pollution, his eyes somewhat vacant. The faint sounds of basketballs dribbling and cheers coming from inside the old building acted like a warm film, isolating him from the outside world.

He chewed on the chicken, but couldn't quite taste it. His thoughts drifted uncontrollably back to many years ago, to when he first entered university. It seemed like there were nights like this, brightly lit, surrounded by like-minded teammates with shining eyes, sweating it out on the training field, chatting and joking in the locker room, feeling that the future and the world belonged to them. What was slaying dragons? Just a footnote to a legendary adventure. The laughter back then seemed louder and more reckless than what was coming from the field now.

"Heh." Fingel chuckled softly, a sound that was hard to decipher—whether self-deprecation or nostalgia. He pulled out his old cell phone, the screen illuminating his stubble-covered, somewhat forlorn face. He typed expertly, sending a short message to a contact saved as "Old Playboy":

"Confirmed. Lionheart Society."

Send successful. He locked the screen, precisely flicked the last bit of chicken bone into the distant trash can, and patted the grease off his hands.

"It's so cold." Fingel hunched his shoulders and turned up the collar of his jacket. He had no intention of going in to greet Lu Mingfei. He just glanced one last time at the old building window that emitted a warm glow and the sounds of bustling activity, then turned around. His solitary figure, stretched long by the streetlights, looked somewhat lonely.

The principal's office is located atop the clock tower of Kassel College.

A soothing piano melody flowed from a classical phonograph. Angers sat behind his large desk, having just put down a yellowed file. His phone screen lit up, and he glanced at the message from "Fingal (repeated year observation)," his face expressionless, only his fingertip lightly tapping the words "Lionheart Society."

He stood up and slowly walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window. From here, the entire Kassel College lay before him like a sand table model. In the distance, the brightly lit new campus and the direction of Amber Hall stretched out, while closer, in the relatively dim area of ​​the old campus, the light from the outdoor basketball court next to Lionheart Hall stood out sharply, like a steadily burning, warm campfire in the darkness. He could vaguely see moving figures and hear the vibrant sounds, blurred by distance yet still palpable.

“‘Even the most outstanding person, if immersed in bad relationships and environments for a long time, will become dull, neurotic, and hysterical.’” Angers murmured to himself, his voice almost inaudible, as if repeating a creed engraved in his soul, “‘A person must go to a place that can support and nourish him.’... That’s what you said, Menek.”

His gaze seemed to pierce through time and space, the bright lights and shadows of the basketball court before him overlapping with a similarly fiery night in his memory, a night filled with both tragedy and warmth. That was the night he met Menek Cassel, the first president of the Lionheart Society. The young nobleman, with a radiant smile, reached out to him, pulling him from the mud and despair into that miracle called "home."

"Although we have temporarily lost our most magnificent palace," Angers' gaze softened, a faint, genuine smile appearing on his lips, "the Lionheart Society... is still the Lionheart Society. A warm home where lost lion cubs can lick their wounds and grow their claws back...."

He suddenly realized he was truly old. Not physically, but in his memories. Those vivid, burning memories of the past would surface unexpectedly, clearer than any present scene. Perhaps this body, burdened with too much hatred and time, truly didn't have much time left.

Angers shook his head with a wry smile, gently brushing away that rare trace of tenderness and sadness. He turned away from the window, his gentle expression receding like the tide, replaced by a glacial coldness.

His gaze fell on the center of the desk, where a newly delivered classified document lay quietly. Beneath the bright red "Top Secret" stamp on the cover was a cold, formal title:

Analysis and Preliminary Action Plan Regarding Suspected Signs of Awakening of the "King of Bronze and Fire" in the Three Gorges Reservoir Area of ​​China