TUTORIAL TO BECOME A GREEN FLAG (BUGGED)

Chapter 3: Tsundere Damage Control

The air in the cramped, dimly lit hallway felt suffocating, charged with the ozone of residual magic and the heavy, lingering scent of Tia’s ire. Tia stood with her heels dug firmly into the floorboards, her chest heaving with the force of her indignation. Her fists were clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles had turned a ghostly white, and her eyes—usually sharp and calculating—were currently radiating enough heat to singe the very fabric of Aris’s tunic.

"Do you have any idea," Tia began, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a refined, controlled fury, "how reckless that was? You threw yourself into a vortex of chaotic mana with the grace of a brick, Aris! If that containment ward had fractured a millisecond later, you wouldn't just be standing here—you’d be a memory written in ash and regret!"

Aris stood before her, head bowed slightly, his posture a picture of defeated contrition. He was covered in soot, his cloak scorched at the edges, and a stray lock of hair hung limply over his forehead. He looked like a disaster—a beautiful, reckless, infuriating disaster.

As he shifted his weight, trying to find a place to put his hands that didn't look overly defensive, a gust of air moved between them. It brought with it the scent of Aris. It wasn't the metallic tang of the battlefield or the sharp smell of ozone. It was the scent of the detergent he used for his laundry—a crisp, faintly floral aroma of pressed cotton and sunlight that Tia had secretly found comforting for weeks.

It hit her like a physical blow. The sudden intimacy of that scent, combined with the sheer proximity of his body, sent a jolt through her nervous system that had nothing to do with her anger. Her heart, which had been hammering a rhythm of pure adrenaline, suddenly skipped a beat, then tripped over itself in a frantic, erratic gallop.

Tia gasped, her face flushing a deep, dangerous crimson. She took a sharp, reflexive step back, but her foot caught on the edge of a rug, forcing her to stumble.

Aris was there in an instant. His hands shot out, catching her by the shoulders to steady her.

The contact was electric. Through the thin fabric of her dress, she could feel the heat radiating from his palms. The scent of his laundry—clean, domestic, and utterly grounding—swamped her senses. Her brain scrambled to reassemble the logic of her fury, but the sight of his earnest, soot-streaked face made the words die in her throat.

"Tia, please," Aris said, his voice low and laced with a genuine, agonizing regret. "I know. I know I was stupid. I didn't think about the consequences. I only thought about… about making sure you weren't hit by that blast. I didn't want you to take the damage, even if it meant I had to take it instead."

Tia felt her pulse hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She wanted to pull away, to shove him off and scream about his idiocy, but her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive.

"You… you idiot," she whispered, the edge of her voice faltering into something softer, something mortifyingly vulnerable. "Do you think I need your protection? Do you think I’m so weak that I can’t handle a simple mana-burst? You have no regard for yourself. It’s infuriating! It’s—it’s honestly the most illogical, maddening thing I have ever witnessed!"

She tried to push him, but he didn't budge. He just looked at her, his eyes searching hers, looking for the anger but finding, perhaps, something else entirely.

"I’m sorry," Aris said, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her shoulder, a subconscious gesture of comfort that made Tia’s skin hum. "I really am. I know I overstepped. I know my timing was off and my execution was sloppy."

He sighed, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fleeting second before snapping back to her eyes. He looked at the way her hair was slightly disheveled from the struggle, the way her eyes were bright with a mix of fury and something that looked suspiciously like concern. He wanted to apologize properly, to make her understand that he didn't mean to make her worry, but the words slipped out wrong.

"But," Aris continued, a faint, lopsided grin forming on his lips, "you look... you look incredible when you’re scolding me like that. Your eyes—they’re like storm clouds. I’ve never seen you look so passionate, even if it is just about my own incompetence."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Tia froze. Her brain came to a grinding, screeching halt. The blood that had been circulating in her veins seemed to boil, rushing to her face until she felt like she might spontaneously combust.

"I… what?" she stammered, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Aris blinked, his brain catching up with his tongue. His eyes widened as the realization of what he’d just said hit him. "No, wait—that’s not—I didn't mean it like—"

"Passionate?" Tia echoed, her fury finding a new, terrifyingly sharp focus. She shoved him hard, breaking his contact. He stumbled back, hitting the wall behind him with a dull thud. "You think my legitimate concern for your survival—my absolute, righteous anger at your suicidal tendencies—is passionate?"

"Tia, listen—"

"No, you listen!" she stepped into his space again, her finger jabbing the air between them. Her heartbeat was so fast now she felt dizzy, a mixture of rage and the terrifying reality that he had just complimented her while she was mid-rant. "I am not here for your amusement! I am not here to be your 'passionate' spectacle when you decide to play the hero! You smell like laundry and stupidity, and you clearly have no idea how to handle a woman who is genuinely worried about you!"

Aris stared at her, his face a complex map of embarrassment and dawning awe. "I'm sorry. I really am. I just—I really like your eyes. Especially when you’re yelling."

Tia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The sheer audacity of the man! She felt the urge to hit him, and the urge to hug him, and the urge to simply evaporate into the floorboards to escape the crushing weight of her own racing heart.

"You are," she hissed, her voice trembling with the effort of not collapsing into a heap of confused emotions, "the most frustrating, insufferable, ridiculous person I have ever had the misfortune of knowing."

"I know," Aris said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He didn't look away. The air between them was thick, the smell of his laundry now mingling with the scent of her own perfume—a delicate, floral contrast to his crisp, clean scent.

Tia pulled her composure around her like a shield, though she knew it was paper-thin. She straightened her dress, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and glared at him one last time, though the bite had left her eyes.

"We are going to the infirmary," she commanded, her voice regaining some of its icy, professional authority. "And then, you are going to sit in the corner and think about why 'I wanted to save you' is not a valid excuse for nearly dying in front of me. Am I understood?"

Aris nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Understood, Tia."

"And stop smiling at me like that!" she snapped, spinning on her heel and marching down the hallway.

"Like what?" he asked, trailing after her.

"Like you know exactly what you’re doing!"

As she walked, Tia could hear his footsteps behind her, steady and rhythmic. Her heart was still erratic, still thumping against her ribs in a chaotic dance, but as she smelled that faint, lingering trace of his laundry on her own clothes, she found that, for the first time in an hour, she wasn't actually thinking about the danger.

She was just thinking about the fact that he was behind her. And that, she decided with a final, frustrated sigh, was the most dangerous part of all.