If "flammable" and "inflammable" mean the same thing, who decided that was a good idea?
(A passing philosophical musing.)
***
So, the question of choice. I really did have several possible paths forward—but the number of options where things ended well for me personally was… limited.
Tell everything to Lord Ozai? Yeah, right. As if anyone would even let some street brat onto the threshold of the Fire Lord—even if he was an admiral's son. And even if they did, what then? Tell him about the Avatar? And what would that accomplish, aside from the perfectly reasonable question: "And how exactly do you know all this, boy?" After that, it's either the local madhouse (assuming they even have one here), or something closer to Gestapo dungeons—and no "important father" would save me from that.
Besides, nobody's going to let some isekai'd guy with a laptop anywhere near the President. At best, you'd get a fleeting audience at some general assembly—which, obviously, isn't exactly conducive to broadcasting the Truth. And I've already outlined the likely consequences for myself.
Option two—keep "leveling up," this time focusing on bending. It's a good plan, and I even have some rough ideas, but the problem is that the Avatar isn't someone you can handle solo. The damn raid boss twisted even Ozai into a knot while he was buffed by the comet. Sure, Aang isn't quite that strong yet, but I'm no master of firebending either, not even close.
Which leads to a simple conclusion: taking on Aang alone would be idiotic. I need a team—preferably a well-rounded one. And where exactly am I supposed to find that, with only six months to a year left, according to my most pessimistic estimates?
The army, of course!
That's just enough time to build at least some kind of reputation. Granted, the idea of heading to the front lines doesn't thrill me, but given my lineage, a military career is the fastest way to gain the human resources and influence I need. On top of that, military intelligence and maps provide far more information than civilian sources—which means I can narrow down the search area for the dragons and the library even further.
After weighing my options again and convincing myself that the army route was the most promising (Well, it's not like I can hire mercenaries—I don't have the money for it, and their loyalty would be questionable at best), I set off to pay my "respects" to my father. Either way, I needed to visit the old man—it had been nearly two years since he'd last seen his son.
After digging up my old stash without any trouble, I headed for the port. From there, I boarded a steamship and set course back to my homeland—the Ember Island.
Well, to be precise, one of the Chan family's residences. It just so happened that the young slacker preferred to hang out at that particular resort. His father, returning from his campaigns, also tended to choose the beach house over the residence in the capital.
The week-long journey aboard a fairly crowded ship (after all, I was heading to a resort) I passed by practicing the flute and playing pai sho with my fellow passengers. I'd learned to play that strange hybrid of chess, checkers, go, and shogi from Master Piandao. He'd also gifted me a game set that included a rather unusual tile—one bearing the image of a white lotus.
As it turned out, this so-called 'club of shared interests' was exactly that—a gathering of people from all walks of life, nations, and ages (though most were well into their forties or fifties): philosophers, musicians, tea masters… all kinds of people. From time to time, they—and now we—gathered to exchange knowledge and simply enjoy the company of interesting people.
While there were outstanding warriors and benders among the 'old masters,' it wasn't considered proper to discuss the art of war at these gatherings. Still, I picked up a few flute lessons, significantly improved my calligraphy, and got much better at pai sho… yeah.
A week later, I stepped onto the soil of my home island and hurried to my father's estate. Heh… the initial reception wasn't exactly warm.
"Who are you, and what do you want in Admiral Chan's residence?" a short woman in her thirties demanded, eyeing me warily.
"Lintao, don't you recognize me?" Though, to be fair, it wasn't surprising—I'd left as an awkward teenager and was returning… well, not quite a giant, but definitely a solid, well-built young man.
"Y-young master? Is it really you?" the servant asked uncertainly.
"Yes. I've finally come home. Is Father in?"
"Yes, Master returned last week," she replied.
Lucky. He could have been off sailing somewhere for months yet.
"I'll be in his study. Bring lunch there in an hour."
"As you wish, young master," the servant bowed and hurried off. I'd bet good money that within three minutes, my return would be known by the entire household—if not the whole island.
A minute later, I was standing in front of my father's study door.
Was I nervous? A little. Not about meeting my parent—he wasn't someone I truly perceived as one—but about the conversation ahead, and the request I was about to make.
According to my memories, Admiral Chan should be damn near pissing himself with joy that his wayward son had finally gotten his act together. But how would it actually go?
After knocking, I stepped inside.
Behind the desk sat a man in his fifties, already almost completely gray-haired, yet having lost neither his build nor his military bearing. Hearing the knock, the commander of the Eastern Fleet raised his head from his papers and turned his gaze toward me.
"Father," I said, giving a slight bow.