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As she strolls through the halls of the Academy, lesson plan scrolls tucked under her arm, Mai reminds herself that today is just another day.
She’s not bothered that, after four years on the job, the headmistress, other teachers, and students still don’t know. Why should anyone know—or care, for that matter? It’s not like she cares herself. As a grown woman of twenty-three (technically twenty-two until noon), she’s long since past the age when she even should care about something as trivial and meaningless as her birthday.
There are a dwindling number of people in her life who remember to say something anyway: her mother, Tom-Tom, Aunt Mura, Ty Lee—her letter never fails to arrive two weeks late—and a certain Water Tribe ambassador who always passes by to talk to her through the bars of the front gate while her kids are having lunch in the courtyard.
But to everyone else, it’s just another day. And she’s fine with that.
“Good morning, Sifu Mai!” her class sings as she steps into the room.
“Good morning, assorted gremlins,” she replies with a sly smile, earning a chorus of giggles. Each day she has a new facetiously derogatory greeting for them, brainstormed with Sokka over lunch; most go over the girls’ heads, but they’re sharp enough to recognize her humor by the dryness of the delivery. “Who wants to learn about the architecture of the Grand Temple of Agni today?”
None of them do, of course—no less than she wants to teach them about it.
They are, however, quite amenable to the idea of gluing popsicle sticks together to build their own Grand Temples.
“Sifu Mai, look! See how tall my temple is?”
“Keep adding to that spire, Oki, and you’ll hit the ceiling in no time.”
“Can I have more popsicle sticks, Sifu Mai?”
“Here you go, Yoku.”
“Sifu Mai…I don’t think anyone will be able to fit inside mine.”
“That’s alright, Chisai. We can go outside later and recruit a few beetles to visit your temple.”
“Over here, Sifu Mai! Look at the flying buttocks I built in my temple!”
“Very impressive, Oshiri. I nearly mistook them for flying buttresses.”
With the construction projects well underway, Mai notices a debacle unfolding in the back row—one of her quiet, diligent pupils reinforcing the foundation of what appears to be the most structurally sound popsicle temple in the room.
“You’re putting a lot of thought into this, Nori,” she says, kneeling by the girl’s desk. “I hope you take your temple home to show your parents at the end of the day.”
“Thanks, Sifu,” she whispers back, giving a small, proud smile. “I really want my dad to see this. He works at the Red River Dam. He likes building things, too.”
It’s then that she notices the problem Mai came over to help her with, and her eyes grow wide.
“Uh oh...”
“Don’t worry—I’ll help.” Reaching out, Mai pinches the strands fallen from Nori’s topknot, drooping between her head and the temple. By the looks, the lock of hair is glued to the base of a critical support beam. “Would your parents be upset if I trimmed your hair?”
“My mom might be mad about it, but I don’t mind! I just want to save my temp—”
“Attention! Attention! I have a special announcement!”
As Headmistress Shihan’s warbling voice carries down the hall, Mai suppresses a glower—whatever the announcement is, it’s going to get in the way of their architecture lesson.
She stands and glides over to the doorway, spotting the stout headmistress hurrying her way. On the opposite side of the hall, Sifu Ni and Sifu Mittsu, the Second-Year History and Third-Year Poetry teachers, pop their heads out of their classrooms.
“What’s going on?” Mai asks, eyebrow arched.
“I haven’t the faintest idea!” Sifu Mittsu tilts her head back to peer at her through matronly spectacles. “My students were on the verge of perfecting the art of the haiku when this disturbance interrupted our lesson!”
“Well, my students were reading about the great legal reforms of Fire Lord Bengoshi!” whines Sifu Ni. “No doubt their ignorance will doom them all to become criminal delinquents!”
Rolling her eyes, Mai shakes her head, ignoring the lamentations of the Academy’s two most melodramatic harpies—and by that time, Headmistress Shihan has made it to their doors, gasping for breath.
“Special…announcement!” she wheezes, doubling over. “Guest speaker…visiting…great war hero! Highly…decorated…and…very famous!”
“Wonderful. When’s he getting here?” Mai drawls. She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe, already accepting that her day is about to become a lot more tedious. There aren’t too many Fire Nation war heroes whose reputations survived Zuko’s reforms, and the few who did are notoriously boring.
“Ten minutes,” the headmistress rasps. “Received a letter…a short while ago…written on…the Fire Lord’s stationary. Gather your students…organize them in the courtyard…in an orderly fashion.”
“How exciting!” Sifu Ni chirps, clapping her hands as she turns back into her room.
With a long sigh, Mai does the same, finding her students still busily constructing their Grand Temples.
“Alright, you miniature menaces—we have a surprise guest speaker arriving in a few minutes. He’s a war hero sent by His Royal Inconsiderateness, Fire Lord Zuko.”
As expected, they offer up a collective groan, voicing a number of questions she would like to air herself.
“Do we have to?”
“Can we finish our temples first?”
“Are we getting a snack after?”
Mai waits for the storm to pass before continuing; she refuses to try talking over a horde of whining five year-olds.
“The headmistress asked that we assemble in the courtyard ‘in an orderly fashion’...which, of course, we should do…” She steps over to the far end of the classroom and throws open the back door. “…unless you’d prefer to take a shortcut.”
A smile tugs at her lips as the girls spring out of their seats and make a mad rush for the door, squealing in excitement. The prospect of running around outside, even with a set destination, is enough to draw their attention away from their temples—except for one girl, still sitting in the corner.
“Coming, Nori?”
“I’d like to, Sifu Mai,” she squeaks, holding up the half-finished project tethered to her scalp, “but I can’t. What do I do?”
“That’s right…I forgot about your…predicament…” Given how sensitive some of the parents can be, she’s reluctant to trim her hair with one of her knives—and she’d rather not let anyone know, even tight-lipped Nori, that there are several dozen of them stashed in her desk and concealed on her person. “…could you carry it with you? Just for now?”
“Sure!” She hops off her chair, cradling the popsicle stick temple to her chest as she scurries out the door after her classmates. “Thanks, Sifu Mai. You’re the best.”
“Don’t mention it, kid.”
Some effort is required to shepherd them towards the courtyard, but this class is a relatively well-behaved bunch. Despite the critical glances from the other teachers—right now, there are more than a few directed at her for allowing her students to frolic around like fluttermoths—Mai has garnered enough respect to feel secure in her role as an authority figure.
After all, a piercing snap of her fingers is all she needs to bring order to the band of roving First-Years.
They stop their chatter and games to claim seats on the courtyard benches, nudging and jostling each other for space—except Nori, giving herself as wide a berth as possible for the sake of her temple.
“Scoot over,” Mai says, flicking her hand towards Kusa. The girls in the third row make room, saving her from having to sit with the other teachers on the benches nearest the podium.
When the front gate creaks open, a hush falls over the courtyard, silencing hundreds of students—but only for a moment. As soon as the first pair of Imperial Firebenders march in, carrying a long table between them, an excited murmur travels through the assembly. Mai has to admit that she’s fairly curious herself—more so when the second table, third table, fourth, fifth, and sixth all arrive one after the other, each placed end-to-end across the paved center of the yard. The guards march out as swiftly and silently as they entered, leaving her to wonder just how much clout this ‘war hero’ has with Zuko to order his elite troops around like servants—and if she’s ever met the guy.
From her angle, Mai can’t see very far through the gate, but others can; a giddy whisper catches in the middle section and infects the entire courtyard in a matter of seconds, requiring a brisk shush from the headmistress as the man of the hour steps over the threshold. Poised with a haughty nonchalance, head held high and hands clasped behind his back, he stops to survey the students.
“General Wang Fire!” Shihan gushes, offering the crispest, deepest bow Mai has ever seen from her. “Welcome to the Royal Fire Academy for Girls! We are honored by your visit!”
The students and teachers, Mai included, stand and bow to the bearded general as he mongoose-goosesteps towards the podium, boots clapping against the pavement.
“Good morning, small and large female citizens of the Fire Nation!”
His voice is a deep, booming baritone; his ill-fitting armored mantle bounces with every step; the countless medals on his chest clink and jingle, reflecting the morning sun.
General Wang Fire is the most impressive, imposing imposter that Mai has ever seen. Anyone with the surname ‘Fire’ must be of such an ancient aristocratic bloodline that they’re second only to the royal family in prestige; but, given that Mai grew up among the heights of the Fire Nation nobility, she sees the strutting buffoon for exactly what he is.
Or at least she knows what he isn’t—a high-ranking, well-decorated war hero.
(Then again, only a career military man would make the mistake of referring to an audience of women as ‘small and large’…)
At the podium, he raises both hands and brings them down on the wood with an echoing splack!
“Today!” he bellows, leaning forward over the podium as if he’s about to deliver a rousing speech to soldiers preparing to storm a heavily fortified Earth Kingdom beach, “I stand before you with a burning in my heart and an aching in my belly! I fear for the future of the Fire Nation! Your—our people have lost their way! Forgotten the ancient traditions! Spat upon the graves of our ancestors!”
Narrowing her eyes, Mai traces her finger along the blunt edge of the knife concealed within her sleeve. A farce, she can tolerate—where this speech seems to be headed, not so much. Why an old-guard imperialist hardliner would choose to stir the proverbial pot at a girls’ school of all places, she hasn’t the faintest idea; whatever the case, Wang Fire is more than he seems.
To Shihan’s credit, the headmistress begins to rise from her seat, lifting a quavering finger in objection—but the booming voice of the general knocks her right back onto the bench.
“Disgrace! Shame! Culinary crimes of the worst sort!” He shakes his fist, eyes wild with passion, and throws a sweeping gesture back towards the gate. “Heed my words, and honor the palates of your forefathers!”
Mai is starting to think he’s just drunk out of his mind, whoever he is. The general must have misplaced half his vocabulary in his stomach, and others are taking notice: teachers glancing between each other, older students whispering in confusion, younger ones scratching their heads.
And then a pair of Imperial Firebenders returns, each carrying a huge gilded platter.
Mai can’t quite see what’s on them, but when the wind shifts and her nose catches a whiff, her mouth starts watering.
“Karaage!” the general announces, clapping his hands against the podium again as the guards place the platters on the first table. “Introduced before the unification of the Fire Nation by the capricious Warlord Karaage! The warlord was campaigning in the northern highlands when one of his cooks served him fried chicken tortoise for the first time—and he loved the dish so much that he promoted the cook to commander of his armies! Shortly thereafter, he suffered a crushing defeat, and his head was mounted on a pike…however, the clever cook bargained for his life with the recipe, thus ensuring that Fire Nation posterity would remember Warlord Karaage for his favorite meal rather than his lack of common sense!”
Students and teachers offer a round of applause as the smell of fried chicken wafts throughout the courtyard. Despite his odd introduction, Wang Fire has quickly captured the hearts, minds, and stomachs of the whole school. Skeptical as she still is, Mai reserves her judgement.
“Takoyaki!” he calls next, prompting the arrival of another set of guards. “Legend says that a poor Fire Nation fisherman, Takoyaki, traveled far and wide to find a meal that would satisfy his pregnant wife. Her nausea was so terrible that she barfed up everything he put in front of her! After praying to Tui and La for aid, Takoyaki managed to catch a sharktopus in his net! He went about filling dumplings with its meat, and his wife was able to keep down every bite! Unfortunately, his son was born with fins, gills, and two sets of arms and legs…but nonetheless, Takoyaki’s love for his wife bequeathed a supremely savory recipe to the Fire Nation!”
While a number of the teachers and older girls swoon at the story, Mai squints across the courtyard. Something about the mention of Tui and La—and the crude use of ‘barfed up’—strikes her as familiar. Not at all familiar, though, are the two dishes he’s introduced; if they’re historical Fire Nation recipes like he says, they must be from before Sozin’s reforms ‘modernized’ the nation’s diet to rely on mass-produced foodstuffs.
Whatever the case, having only had a cup of onion soup for breakfast, her own stomach is starting to rumble.
“Here comes a personal favorite of mine: Nabe!” General Fire flashes a broad smile at the two deep, broad-rimmed bowls carried down the path. “Lady Nabe of the outer islands was betrothed to an old rival of her family. Seeking vengeance for her father’s murder, she sought to kill her husband in the most devious way she could imagine! Each night, she added a new ingredient to her stew: turtle duck, hippo cow, squirrel quail, turnips, fish, and cabbage! On the seventh night, she added a slow-acting poison, and her husband never knew the difference until he woke up! Or didn’t wake up, actually…but don’t worry—I promise that this nabe is poison-free!”
Throughout most of his monologuing, the general has been facing the teachers’ bench. But when he turns to introduce the next dish, he does a quick double-take at Mai sitting with her First-Years—and for a moment, she catches his eye.
Those eyes are blue.
If any question remains as to whether General Fire is at all who he claims to be, that settles it—and what’s more, Mai has a budding hunch who he really is.
Through the next two history lessons, she watches his mannerisms, studies the wild waving of his hands, monitors the bouncing of his brows, notes the authentic passion for the food he’s reintroducing to them and the furtive glances he throws her way.
Once Fire Sage Udon’s spicy noodles are set on the fifth table, Wang Fire ushers in a final dish.
“Last but certainly not least, ladies…” he starts, tossing a wink in Mai’s direction. “…this recipe doesn’t have its roots in ancient history or tall tales, but it is the favorite dessert of the Hero of the Boiling Rock! Today happens to be the birthday of the fearless lady who saved Fire Lord Zuko and a number of other prisoners from plummeting to their deaths—including the legendarily handsome and brilliant Water Tribe warrior, Sokka! Bring your hands together for the Academy’s very own: Sifu Mai!”
The courtyard erupts in cheerful applause, bombarding her with a volley of congratulations and well-wishes.
“Happy birthday, Sifu Mai!”
“Happy birthday! How old are you, Sifu?”
“I had no idea you were birthed like the rest of us, Sifu Mai! Happy birthday!”
Mai doesn’t care about her birthday; she doesn’t care about anyone else caring about her birthday; and she never would have asked for this much attention all at once.
But, nevertheless, she decides against flinging a knife between the general’s eyes. It is a nice gesture, and she’s not doing a great job of completely keeping the smile off her face, flustered as she is.
General Wang Fire cups his hands around his mouth and shouts over the clamor:
“Honor your sifu’s birthday, renew your cultural heritage, and dig in!”
Exercising some tactical maneuvering, Mai gathers her First-Years and ushers them towards the tables, narrowly edging out Sifu Ni’s Second-Years. When they all have plates and chopsticks, she steps back, waiting to get in line after all the students have been through.
The headmistress passes by to wish her happy birthday, as do the teachers and older girls—some of whom she catches mooning over the general, listening to them chatter at a distance.
“He is rather dashing for an older man.”
“He’s not that old! The beard ages him, that’s all.”
“I think it makes him look tough and rugged! And those lovely eyes…”
“Do you think he’s married?”
“Surely a famous war hero and culinary historian has a wife.”
“Hey, don’t set fire to my festival!”
“I think I’ll talk to my father about a betrothal tonight. ‘Henjin Fire’ has such a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”
Covering her mouth, Mai snickers to herself—but grows confused when the girls start glancing past her, dreamy-eyed and swooning.
“Sifu Mai,” says an artificially deep baritone. “I went to the liberty of preparing you a plate myself.”
She turns slowly—first just her head, peering over her shoulder, then the rest of her body to face him fully. Looking up at his slightly crooked beard, she regards him with a tight smile.
“Thank you, General. That’s very kind.” She glances left, then right, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You and I need to have a word—in private.”
There must be a glint of danger in her eye, because the color drains from his face all at once.
“In…private…?” he murmurs back, the baritone suddenly gone.
“Yes, private.”
“And by ‘private’ you mean…?”
“Not the military rank, General.”
“Like, just the two of us? Without any witnesses?”
“No witnesses.”
“Oh. Well…” His eyes flicker around the courtyard. “…as you can see, I’m somewhat engaged at the moment, so I don’t think ‘private’ is going to happen unless—”
In a swift, smooth motion, Mai flicks her wrist to summon a throwing knife from within her sleeve and snaps her forearm across her ribs to fling it sideways. She doesn’t need to watch what happens next; instead, she listens for the click! of steel clipping a porcelain bowl, the shriek of a middle aged-woman being splattered with nabe, and the gasp of students and teachers around her.
“Look what your dramatic gesticulating has done now!” barks Sifu Ni, jabbing her finger at the woman ahead of her in the buffet line. “And in front of General Fire, too!”
“Don’t blame me for your mess!” huffs Sifu Mittsu. “Clumsy wench casts blame. But her own hand is at fault. See how she flails?”
“Was that a haiku, you petty skank?!”
Ni lunges at Mittsu, tackling her onto the grass. At once, the prim, proper professors descend into slapping, clawing, and hair-pulling while every pair of eyes in the courtyard fixes on the brawling educators for a few crucial seconds.
As much as Mai wants to stick around and watch—Ni and Mittsu have hated each other for years, so she likes to think her knife merely catalyzed the inevitable—she has more pressing business.
“This way, General.”
“Did you just throw—?”
“Oh, no—I would never. Your eyes are playing tricks on you.”
Seizing the collar above his mantle, she swipes the plate from his hand, balances it on little Yushoku’s head, and drags him away from the tables, navigating past distracted students as they jockey for a view of their teachers wailing on each other. By the time Shihan’s frantic yelping interjects, Mai has managed to pull Wang Fire across the courtyard to the seclusion of a thick-trunked oak, plucking her knife out of the bark and pushing his back against the tree to hide them both.
“Explain yourself—and quickly.”
“Um…well…what’s there to explain?” he stammers, flashing her a wincing smile. “I’m a highly decorated Fire Nation general giving an impromptu lesson on culinary hist—”
“If you’re a general, I’m a komodo rhino,” Mai snaps. She raises her brow and tightens the grip on his tunic, making him flinch. “Did you really think I’d be fooled by the fake beard? We’ve known each other for the better part of a decade, so there’s no way you thought this charade would work on me—or that I would appreciate being outed on my birthday.”
Sokka takes an anxious gulp and wets his lips.
“Okay, so…in my defense, this disguise has worked before. And I only needed it long enough to get a chance to talk to you like this…so I guess it did work, actually!”
“Be careful what you wish for.” She tries very hard to sound menacing, but that’s rather difficult when faced with his bright, cheeky smile. “Why the spectacle?”
“It’s…uh…complicated. Not exactly sure where to start…”
“Let’s start with you strutting through the gate thirty minutes ago.”
“Right…the gate…” The remaining unease in his eyes ebbs away, replaced by a soft pleading. His hand reaches up to take hers, coaxing her fist open to release his tunic but keeping her hand over his chest. “…Mai, every day, I spend my lunchtime talking to you through the bars of that gate…about fun lesson plan ideas or silly insult-greetings for your students or drama between the other teachers…and, believe it or not, that hour is the best part of my day—by a mile! Politics and international relations and all that other ambassador-y stuff…it’s pretty stupid, honestly. I’d trade my world for yours in a heartbeat.”
Mai finds her lips curving into a smile, feeling that same steady heartbeat beneath her palm.
“So you invented the alias of ‘General Wang Fire’ and stole Zuko’s stationary to plan a lecture on long-forgotten Fire Nation dishes…because you wanted to visit the school? You do realize you could’ve just asked for an after-hours tour? Or applied as a visiting professor?”
“Yeah, yeah…I know,” he sighs, glancing away, “but that’s only the half of it. Truth is, this whole plan was spur of the moment as of this morning: While I was on my way to a trade meeting, I overheard Lo and Li talking about your birthday being today…and how you’re going to end up as a…well, you know…spinster…”
“Spinster? That’s rich coming from those nasty old hags.”
“Yeah, for sure…but still, they were going on and on about how you used to be one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the world! But now that you and Zuko have been broken up for a while and your father is in prison and your family lost all its money and prestige and influence, you’ve kinda been…forgotten…”
She nods, but no sting comes from his words alone—while she wishes her father wasn’t locked up for vague logistical reasons, the rest doesn’t bother her much at all—rather, it’s what he isn’t saying.
“You started pitying me? That’s what this is, isn’t it? A pity party for a rapidly aging schoolmarm?”
“What?! No! Absolutely not!”
“Don’t lie to me, Sokka,” she hisses. “I could expose your lies in a second.” To prove her point, she draws her knife again and makes to shave his beard, peeling it off his face with the blunt edge. “Tell me the truth—I want to know how you really feel.”
She’s too consumed by her wounded pride, glaring daggers at him—literally, more or less—that she misses the way he wets his lips, eyes falling to her mouth; her own reflexes fail her as he cups her face and kisses her, all in a motion as smooth as her framing of Sifu Mittsu.
By the time he pulls back, beard hanging loosely off half of his face, Mai is both throughly confused and very clear on where they stand.
“I don’t pity you,” he sighs, letting his hands fall over her shoulders to hold her arms. “I just think you deserve some recognition at least once a year…and I don’t think you deserve to be a spinster. I’d like to address that personally, if you’ll let me. This ‘spectacle’ is my attempt at sneaking through the front gate, so to speak—literally and figuratively.”
Gently rapping her fingers against his sternum, she relaxes into the embrace, smoothing the beard back over his cheek; there’s no denying that the more time she’s spent with him, the more he’s grown on her—both Sokka and Wang Fire—until now, she finds his company perfectly unobjectionable.
“I’ll consider it.”
“Uh…okay. That’s better than a no, I guess. Can I ask how long you need to—”
“Done.”
“Done considering?! Already? So what’s your—”
“Yes.”
She winds her fingers through his beard while a broad smile emerges beneath it—but just as she’s rising up on her toes to kiss him again, his eyes shift over her shoulder and grow wide.
“Monkeyfeathers—that’s going to be a problem.”
Mai whips her head around to see a small girl standing behind them, cradling a popsicle stick temple in her arms.
“Nori…” she begins, slowly disentangling herself from Sokka and taking a step back. “How much did you…?”
The question becomes moot when half his beard slips off his face again, and Nori’s jaw drops—followed a second later by her temple, hitting the grass and crumpling into a heap.
“Ouch,” she whimpers.
🚸
Gathering the spare popsicle sticks into a bundle, Mai slips them back into the carton and sets it in the box with the others; considering how much of a success the temple-building activity turned out to be, she fully intends to repeat it the following year with her next class.
She does love teaching at the Academy—a place where the people care about her and she can’t help but care about them—and sees herself here for years to come.
(Additional visits by a food-obsessed general will only encourage her to stay.)
Placing the box behind her desk to be stored away later, she pops a bite of leftover karaage into her mouth and watches Wang Fire, his beard repaired with a bit of glue lent by Nori, help with final repairs to the Grand Temple.
“There you go! I think that should do it!”
“Thanks, General Fire!” she squeaks, beaming brightly at her restored temple—now finished and free of any inconvenient strands of hair. “It looks great. I can’t wait to show it to my dad! He’s going to love it.”
“Then you’ve got a great dad, kid.” He pats her on the head, admiring their handiwork. “You should be proud of yourself—the design was yours, you know. But, uh, don’t forget…” Tilting his head, he gives her a pointed, side-eyed look.
“Oh, right!” she whispers, glancing around the room to make sure no one has snuck up on them. “I’ll keep your secret, Mister General, sir. I triple pinky promise!”
“Not sure how a triple pinky promise works if we only have two hands, but I trust you—thanks, Nori. Now get your masterpiece home safe!”
She hops off her chair and scurries across the room, stopping only at the threshold to wheel back around.
“Have a good night, Sifu Mai! Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, Nori. See you tomorrow.”
With her classroom deserted and the school emptied out for the day, Mai boosts herself up onto her desk and crosses her legs beneath her skirts, turning her attention to Wang Fire.
“So, General…” she drawls, raising a cup of reheated nabe to her mouth and pinching out a chunk of grilled squirrel quail with her chopsticks, “…when you said you were going to personally prevent me from becoming a spinster, what exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well, I guess that depends.” Sokka weaves between the desks, closing the distance; grin as koala-sheepish as it is sly, he begins peeling the beard off his face again. “Would you prefer to join yourself to the illustrious lineage of General Wang Fire, or will a humble peasant from the Southern Water Tribe do?”
She snorts, amused, and makes space for him to lean up against the desk beside her. “That depends on whether you’re willing to wear that beard whenever we—”
“Attention! Attention!”
Mai bites her lip—albeit not in a playful way—as Sokka draws back to a more professional distance, frantically repairing his beard. Headmistress Shihan’s huffing and puffing proceeds her by several long seconds before she hurries into the room, waving a sealed scroll.
“General…Fire! A message…from…the Fire Lord!”
“Uh oh,” he mutters under his breath as Sokka; then, summoning the general’s baritone, says, “Thank you, Headmistress! I am indebted to you for delivering this correspondence from his Royal Fieriness! A thousand flameo blessings upon you and your family!”
“Oh! Well…thank you, General!”
Sokka waits, one arm folded behind his back in stately fashion, but she doesn’t budge; Shihan shuffles her feet giddily, clasping and unclasping her hands in anticipation of the letter being read aloud.
“Alright then…” Wang Fire sighs, breaking the seal. He unfurls the scroll, holding it out at just the right angle for Mai to read as well:
Sokka,
You just had to take a bad day and make it worse, didn’t you? Not only did you resign out of nowhere, but I’m just now figuring out that you appropriated my stationary to order around the palace cooks and Imperial Firebender Corps! All so you could throw some ridiculous banquet at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls! What’s wrong with you?! Under my father, those crimes were punishable by death, you know!
But I’ve also learned that there are two openings on the Academy faculty, one in the history department and the other in the poetry department. Since you seem to like that place so much, I’m going to tell the headmistress that you can fill in for both those positions for the rest of the school year. Unless you’d rather pay back the royal treasury for all that food?
-Zuko
“Rude…bossy…jerkbender…”
“What was that, General? I couldn’t quite hear you…”
“Um…nothing, Headmistress…” He twists his mouth into a businesslike frown and quickly crumples the letter into his pocket. “…the Fire Lord is formally recommending me as an interim teacher for history and poetry—at my own request, of course.”
Shihan springs forward to take his hands, practically jumping up and down.
“General, that’s wonderful! I’ll have the papers drawn up at once! This is so exciting! We’ve never had a teacher of such eminence at the Academy before! And you’ll be right across the hall from Sifu Mai!”
Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he twists his glower into the faintest of grins, hidden well beneath his beard; mirroring him, Mai lets her head roll to the side, smile soft and coy.
“Sounds like we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, Sifu Fire.”