The Invincible Young Master

Inside the dim cave, the flicker of a bonfire cast lively shadows on the jagged stone walls.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and damp earth, while the man's shadow loomed large, wavering against the fiery backdrop. His voice broke the stillness, rough and frustrated. "Damn, why is this woman so tight?"

His voice grew louder, more insistent. "Why won't she open her mouth?"

A soft groan escaped from the woman, her eyes fluttering open. Pain throbbed in her head, and her vision blurred as she struggled to make sense of where she was.

Slowly, everything sharpened, and the fog in her mind cleared just enough for her to make out the figure of a man leaning over her.

Instinctively, panic surged through her veins, her body reacting faster than her mind could process. Her hand flew up, fueled by desperation, and with a sharp crack, her palm connected squarely with the man's cheek.

The impact echoed through the cave, piercing the otherwise silent space like the snap of a whip.

He reeled back, momentarily stunned, his golden hair catching the light from the fire, shimmering in fiery streaks.

He touched his cheek, disbelief etched across his features as he rubbed the growing red mark. His expression was a strange mix of surprise and amusement.

"Woman," he muttered, his voice low with incredulity. Taking a step back, he studied her more closely. "This is the first time anyone has ever slapped me."
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The woman, now fully awake, had scrambled back against the cold cave wall. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it thudding in her ears.

Her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings, before locking on him with suspicion. He wasn't a monstrous beast, as her fear had led her to believe, but there was something about him—his posture, his confidence—that made him more than just an ordinary man.

His golden hair fell messily over his forehead, lending him a rugged, almost careless allure, though the lingering trace of the slap on his cheek made him look somewhat less imposing than before.

For a moment, he seemed more curious than angry, his irritation laced with a playful edge.

"Is this how you treat someone who saves your life?" he asked, still rubbing his cheek.

"Saved my life?" she repeated, bewildered, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked around the cave. She recalled nothing but darkness and the terrifying vision of a giant creature looming over her, ready to devour her whole. The image was still vivid in her mind. How had she ended up here?

"Yeah, you collapsed right in front of my path." He gave her a mock frown, crossing his arms as if he were the wronged party. "And I carried you here."

Her confusion deepened as she tried to piece everything together. The last thing she remembered was that monstrous beast.

"What were you doing atop me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, her tone sharp and defensive.

Spark raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

His eyebrow arched, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"What? You think I was trying something funny?" he teased, leaning casually against the cave wall. "I promise you're not my type. Besides, you're practically a washboard."

Her eyes dropped to her chest instinctively, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she realized the state of her torn clothes. The fall had ripped her garments, exposing more of her underclothes than she had expected.

She quickly crossed her arms, pulling her cloak tightly around her, trying to hide the revealing tears in her outfit.

Spark chuckled at her reaction. "Relax, there's nothing there for me to see."

Her glare intensified, and she started to push herself further away from him, her eyes still locked on him warily. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I was just trying to feed you a pill," he said simply, his tone more amused than defensive.

She blinked, thrown off by the unexpected response.

"A pill?" she echoed, her skepticism clear.

"Yes, a pill," Spark repeated, sounding amused at her disbelief.

With a casual flick, Spark tossed a small object toward her. Reacting on instinct, she caught it mid-air and examined it closely.

Her sharp eyes immediately recognized the polished gleam of a high-quality healing pill—no ordinary medicine. The fact that he had such a rare item at his disposal made her even more wary.

"See?" Spark continued, crossing his arms. "I was just trying to be nice and feed it to you. But your mouth wouldn't budge—like a stubborn clam. Then you had to go and slap me awake from my act of heroism."

She hesitated, still processing his words. The whole situation felt surreal, and yet his explanation seemed sincere, albeit delivered with his trademark cockiness. Finally, she muttered, "You're serious?"

Spark's grin widened. "Would I lie to someone who slaps as hard as you?"

The absurdity of it all made her relax, if only slightly. She took a deep breath, tension easing from her body. There was no malice in his eyes, only an odd sense of humor. After a brief pause, she said, "Thank you."

"There we go, progress! You know, gratitude suits better than slaps." He rubbed his cheek again with an exaggerated wince.

She couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips, though she quickly masked it with her usual stern expression. The man, despite his teasing nature, had helped her when she had been vulnerable. That much was clear.

She swallowed the pill, feeling its warmth spread through her body, slowly restoring her strength. Leaning back against the cave wall, she let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation settling over her.

"So," Spark began, settling across from her, his grin never fading. "Got a name, or should I just call you 'the stubborn lady who slaps like a mule'?"

After a long moment, she sighed. "Amelia."

"Amelia," Spark repeated, committing it to memory. "Everyone calls me Young Master, but seeing as we've just met, you can call me Spark."

Amelia's eyes narrowed slightly as she heard his name.

"Spark, hmm?" she nodded, committing it to memory. "I'll remember your... favor."

Spark's grin widened, but before he could respond, she added sharply, "Now, could you stop staring at my 'practically washboard body'?"

He blinked, taken slightly aback by her bluntness, and then let out a hearty laugh. "No need to remind me. That image is burned into my brain now."

Amelia rolled her eyes, her exasperation evident. "And could you go outside? I need to change."

Spark stood up, still grinning as he made his way toward the cave entrance.

"Fair enough," he said. "But just so you know, I was only looking because I thought I saw something move. Maybe a spider's found a new home."

She threw a glare at him so sharp it could cut through stone. He laughed again, raising his hands higher.

"I'm going, I'm going!" He quickly exited the cave, his laughter echoing behind him as Amelia shook her head in exasperation.

With Spark finally gone, she let out a small breath of relief and hurriedly began to change, muttering under her breath, "Insufferable guy."

After some time passed, Spark made his way back into the cave. The firelight flickered softly, casting long shadows across the stone walls.

As he stepped in, his eyes landed on Amelia, now dressed in a clean red dress that seemed to glow even more vibrantly in the light of the bonfire. Her silver-white hair cascaded down her back, catching the warmth of the flames, and her pale complexion looked more radiant against the dark backdrop of the cave.

For a moment, Spark paused. Before, He had only seen her haggard and battle-worn, with torn clothes and exhaustion etched across her face. Now, however, she looked entirely different—graceful, calm, and undeniably striking.

"I didn't realize you were quite the looker," Spark remarked, raising an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

Amelia tilted her head slightly, her silver-white hair shimmering in the firelight as she studied Spark's face.

"Do you say this to every woman you meet?" she asked with a raised brow, her tone both skeptical and amused.

Spark chuckled, a glint of mischief returning to his gaze. "Only to those who almost die in front of me and then wake up looking like they walked out of a painting."

As the fire crackled softly, their conversation ebbed and flowed in the warm glow of the cave. Spark leaned casually against the wall, but something gradually drew his attention away from their exchange.

His eyes drifted down to Amelia, taking in her fresh, clean attire—her red dress gleaming almost vibrantly in the firelight. Then, his gaze traveled down to his own appearance. He blinked in realization, frowning slightly at the state of himself.

His once-pristine outfit was now covered in dried mud, his sleeves frayed, and his robes had deep scratches across the fabric from when he'd barely dodged those thorny branches.

A long sigh slipped from his lips. With a glance back at Amelia, he asked, almost sheepishly, "Hey, by any chance... do you have any spare clothes?"