”Marquise Rougedior, your new look is astonishing. It exudes a charm that perfectly blends your doll-like femininity with the assertiveness of a seasoned warrior. I’m so envious—please, share your secret with me.” Unlike the modest wooden bleachers surrounding the Ellipse, three towering concrete pillars upheld a grand platform that loomed over the eastern straightaway—a private place where the future elites of the Holy Rolandish Empire could admire the spectacle below without mingling with the plebeians beneath. Overall, events like Miraval Scramble matches provided the perfect environment for young nobles to sharpen their greatest political weapon—socialization. That day, FF-Class ’Data Analyst’ Katrina Welf had locked her eyes on her target, S-Class ’Dust Symphonist’ Ælfgifu Rougedior—the only remaining obstacle standing between her and a new doll to play with.
”Miss Welf, thanks for your candid words, but ‘astonishing’ isn’t the right word for my disfigured face,” the doll said, sorrowfully tracing the three cracks running across her porcelain. Despite her promise to stay strong for Ysoline, enduring everything alone, without anyone to confide in, had proven far more difficult than she’d imagined—the subtle stares and whispers still stung her heart, no matter how hard she tried to ignore them.
”Shall I remind you that men proudly wear their scars like trophies?” Katrina’s bluish lips stretched into a broad smile, one that gave the Marquise a warm illusion of empathy. ”So I fail to see why we should be ashamed of ours, am I right?” She concluded, gently caressing her arm.
Cold.
The ’Dust Symphonist’ shivered as goosebumps spread across her skin. She raised her amethyst eyes and met the icy ones of the ’Data Analyst,’ and, in that exact moment, a feeling surged from the deepest corners of her heart—an overwhelming urge to bare her soul. ”Miss Welf, may I ask you to keep a secret? A big one…something that could ruin my reputation forever?” Ælfgifu’s mind yelled at her to stop, but her heart raced as if her very life depended on the confession.
”Firstly, call me Katrina,” she gently guided Ælfgifu’s hand over her heart. ”Secondly, it takes a lifetime to build trust, but only an instant to destroy it. That’s why there’s no asset more valuable than your friendship.” As she spoke, the Arpine lady pressed a hidden switch beneath her clothes, stealthily activating a recorder.
”Three days ago…I wa—KAFKA!” The Marquise abruptly abandoned a now seething Katrina, rushing toward the newly arrived guest on the grandstand.
”Good morning, Ælfgifu. As always, you look wonderful today,” greeted SS-Class ’World’s End Architect’ Kafka Rustaveli, now standing on his feet.
”Kafka, you’re walking already?!” Ælfgifu warmly embraced the young man, their first moment together since that day at the hospital. It was a hug that took a great amount of time and tears, one that both wished could last forever.
”Today, I woke up perfectly fine. Sadly, the same can’t be said for Shadow Eye.” As he spoke, a wheelchair rolled forward, carrying the paralyzed body of S-Class ’Martial Critique’ Lunátawe Anùli—suspended at an unknown point on the line that separates life and death.
”Pessimism is the antithesis of any effective therapy,” chimed in the woman pushing the wheelchair. ”Yesterday, your classmate showed small, yet remarkable signs of progress, and that’s why I’ve consented to bring him here today.” DD-Class ’Mindhunter’ Madeleine-Elizabeth De La Tristesse-Moyens was instantly swallowed by the intense stares of the male students in the grandstand, stunned to see, in real life, the heroine of many of their dreams.
Meanwhile, the Marquise was visibly shaken from the strain of simply standing near Lunátawe. The decorticate posturing twisted his once-proud physique like a crooked tree, lagophthalmos robbed the face of his humanity, and the facial droop let a stream of drool leave a wet stain. It was a horrific sight, one that shattered the memory of the great warrior who had first caught her attention when the first time ’World’s End Architect’ brought him to Château Rouge. And now, she felt guilty as her noble pride allowed ignoble thoughts to spread throughout her mind.
”Kafka, I sincerely appreciate your efforts and the help you’ve provided to your friend over these past few days,” Madeleine praised. ”So, for these few hours, enjoy yourself. I’ll take care of Shadow Eye as I did with you.” Her hand caressed Kafka’s cheek as she leaned in, whispering something in his ear that made the Archeodux blush. The ’Mindhunter’ chuckled as an irritated Ælfgifu swiftly stepped in, grabbing Kafka by the arm and dragging him away from her, leading him toward a quieter spot.
After that, the rest of the nobility took their turn to greet the ’Martial Critique,’ including Chad, who somehow managed to climb back up the towering concrete column despite his twin sister’s mighty arms squeezing his neck. “Wait a minute…where’s Mikhail?” Asked the Scion of the Holy Rolandish Empire after having tied and gagged Bradamanthe to her wheelchair to buy himself a moment of peace.
“Mr. Yazov is still recovering in his hospital room,” Dr. Moyens replied with a note of frustration in her tone. “Let’s just say that due to a couple of unforeseen circumstances, his recovery will take longer than anticipated.”
”He’s mad—MAD!” The ’Fullmetal Maiden’ barked after freeing herself from the gag. ”This morning, I passed by his room, and guess what I saw through the door he’d left open? That stud, talking to himself—all alone! He was yelling at his mirror, begging it to leave him in peace. Then he collapsed, convulsing and screaming in pain—’NOOOO, I DON’T WANT TO DO IT, GO AWAY!’” She did her best to mimic the terrifying, yet funny facial expressions of the ’4th-Wall Breaker.’
”How many times have I told you that snooping around is inappropriate for a woman of your status?” Chad scolded, pinching his sister’s nose as punishment.
”Miss Rolandsson is telling the truth,” Armen chimed in. ”I’ve stopped counting how many times I’ve seen Mr. Yazov talking to himself. And last night…let’s just say he did his worst. I’m afraid the virus might have permanently damaged his brain.” The ’Recruit’ bitterly sighed. Speaking ill of a friend was something his mother had never taught him to do, but the signs had grown too disturbing to ignore.
”You’ve nothing to worry about. Even in the worst-case scenario, I should have observed variations either in brain activity or in the Mana Spectrum.” Madeleine disclosed, adjusting her glasses. ”The root of Mr. Yazov’s illness is rooted where modern technology or techniques still fail to reach—his consciousness. It takes great strength to bend steel, but even more to straighten it. So, I’ve to ask you to be patient—time alone will heal his abstract wounds.” With that, the ’Mindhunter’ lounged on one of the many sofas lining the area near the bar counter. She rested her feet atop Shadow Eye’s unmoving legs, then opened her freshly published book—released just that morning in all the best libraries of the Empire—so that anyone glancing at her slender legs could also see the title on the cover—Drowning in the Toxic Love of a Self-Destructive Man.
“I’m hungry! Buy me a burger—NOW!” Bradamanthe yelled as she thrashed against the ropes binding her. Despite the grandstand being dotted with tables full of drinks and finger food, it severely lacked anything capable of satisfying the daily caloric needs of such a strong girl.
“This isn’t a real stadium,” Chad rebutted as he reinforced the knots on the wheelchair. “How the hell am I supposed to fin—”
“Burger! Pizza! Coconut! Cola! Beer! Wine! Blood test! Tax advice! Foot massage! Anything you might desire is here at the right price!” The voice of a vendor echoed up from beneath the tribune. The ’Hero’ blinked a couple of times, then smirked—silently thanking his unusually high [LUK]—as he signaled for a nearby guard to escort the hawker to them.
”Since I’m paying, do you want anything, Armen?” At first, the farm boy awkwardly waved his hands in refusal, but after the ’Hero’ reminded him that it was an official order from the future ’HRE’s’ Emperor, he reluctantly asked for an iguanodon kebab. ”Anicet? Astary? Anything?”
”I came here solely out of respect for my knights, who now fight for my honor on the battlefield. What would they think if they saw me fraternizing with my sworn enemy?” Anicet’s back arched slightly, fixing his eyes on the distant horizon. ”However, since refusing hospitality would be a greater stain upon my honor—cotton candy, please.” It had been years since his friend Rinaldo had forced Anicet to taste that delicacy, and although his expression remained as stoic as ever, deep down, he couldn’t wait to try it again.
”Anything I might desire?” Astary’s lips curved into a wicked smile, her skin gleaming with anticipation. ”The food will no doubt be of such poor quality that ordering any of it would be pointless. However, watching him fail to please me? Now that will be worth every single Starling.”
”Ahem…are you sure about that, my Queen? If I recall correctly, last time I did keep my promise, didn’t I?” Astary’s radiant glow instantly dimmed at the sound of that familiar voice.
”You? AGAIN?!” She shrieked, her pitch sharp enough to perforate an eardrum.
”Jacques?! What a surprise, I didn’t know you got a job here,” Chad cheerfully exclaimed, shaking his hand.
”Just temporarily,” replied FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux, casually speaking despite the multiple glares now directed at him. ”Even a friendly match needs food, and the idiot who organized this event forgot to plan for it. So, I got sent here to handle the emergency.” However, it didn’t take long for a real emergency to arise, as both Anicet and Ælfgifu’s confused expressions began to worry the ’Javelinist,’ whose nonchalant whistles weren’t soothing the atmosphere.
”MY BURGER—NOW!”
”Just a moment, my Princes—”
”DON’T CALL ME PRINCESS!”
”Forgive me, I should have realized that years of cheap literature have stained the term with values, styles, and behaviors alien to you.” Jacques declared with a hand over his heart, then he noticed Bradamanthe’s long and thick braid. ”So…what about…Valkyrie?” Her silence and lack of violence confirmed that it worked.
After a breath of relief, Jacques put the metallic box he’d been carrying on his back onto a nearby table, turning the knob to the icon shaped like a burger and opening the lid to reveal a row of succulent patties sizzling on a hot grill. Using a pair of tongs, the Javelinist stacked two burgers inside three slices of Hegelian bread, added a bed of Solfält krauts, topped them with three yellowish slices of Bayerkäse bheese, and finished it all off with a generous squirt of golden sauce from a squeeze bottle. Then, he knelt like a devoted faithful before his goddess.
”Oh, my great Valkyrie, I beg you to accept my humble offering to your magnificence.” He raised the burger as if it were his firstborn. ”I’ve taken the liberty of adorning my sacrifice with a creation of my own, crafted from thirty-seven ingredients in total—twelve banned in Western Chaotia, twelve banned in Eastern Chaotia, twelve banned in Euralia, and one final ingredient banned in all of them. I’ve call it—the Chaotia’s Special.”
The ’Fullmetal Maiden’ broke her ropes with a single stretch of her arms, launching herself at the burger like a Griffin diving for its prey. However, the moment she took her first bite, she froze. ”What…this is…” For a few tense seconds, her stunned expression made the ’Javelinist’ question whether he’d overdone the belladonna dosage, but then, her face lit up with pure amazement. ”PEAK!” An explosion of flavors danced across her tongue, and all decorum vanished as she started devouring the burger like a feral dog. The scene was so uncivilized that Chad instinctively stepped in, using his body to shield his sister from the horrified stares of the nobles in the stands.
Jacques closed the box, twisted the knob, and pulled out a fluffy roll of pink wool. ”Here, A…I mean, my Prince of Darkness.”
After a brief but scrutinizing glance at the vendor’s face, the Nixie prince dismissed his suspicions as too unlikely and accepted the cotton candy.
The enchanting sound of its preparation, its cheerful look once spun onto the stick, its pleasant aroma that preludes paradise, its softness to the touch, and, most obviously, its sweet taste—a wonder for all five senses. How could a society so numb, greedy, and cynical produce its antithesis? The only beautiful thing in this rotten world.
Then, suddenly, a hand rushed in and stole a chunk of his cotton candy. The culprit turned out to be Astary, who offered him an unapologetic smile—her light beaming like the sunrise.
Two things, I guess.
”Now, it’s your turn, lovebirds?” Jacques teased, making Kafka a little red. However, Ælfgifu didn’t laugh—her amethyst eyes remained fixed on the vendor.
”Any problem, El…I mean, my Marquise?” He mumbled, avoiding her penetrating gaze. ”Oh…it’s nothing.” She finally exhaled, dismissing whatever thought had just crossed her mind.
Good. It was risky, but making the first move is always the winning one.
”You can’t be him—you’re too ugly.” She guffawed at her own idiocy. ”Anyway, for us, two portion of Auxerine fries with mayo.”
You fucking wh—
”Just a moment.” With another twist of a knob, Jacques pulled a wooden plate shaped like a gondola from the box, one filled with golden jewels fried to perfection, generously bathing them in white sauce as she requested, all while, somehow, holding back the urge to split inside. Kafka took one of the fries and gently brought it to Ælfgifu’s lips, who mirrored the gesture. The couple bit into their chips at the same time, their eyes tenderly locking for an everlasting moment before they both burst into liberating laughter.
”Here is the kebab.” Jacques hadn’t even had time to hand the order to Armen before Bradamanthe swooped in and snatched it away.
”Miss Rolandsson…why?” Armen asked, heartbroken.
”Only the strong survive—learn to be one,” she declared, smugly. However, before she could sink her teeth into the stolen prize, the ’Recruit’ obeyed his princess’s orders, kicking the side of her wheelchair and catching the kebab mid-air as the ’Fullmetal Maiden’ toppled to the ground. ”YOU’RE DEAD!” As the reputation of the Imperial Family sank to depths previously thought impossible, Jacques turned his attention to the Lawfullian Princess.
”What I eat is strictly controlled by my personal dieticians,” declared SS-Class ’Time Samurai’ Tsuki Hakka. ”So I won’t consume any of the garbage you’re calling food. However…” She narrowed her almond eyes, intrigued. ”I am interested in the blood test. How do you even intend to perform that in a stadium? I mean—it’s impossible.”
”Challenge accepted,” Jacques replied with a confident grin as, once more, he twisted the knob on his vendor box, pulling out a dot-matrix printer that featured a small clip attached by wire. ”Here you go, my Moon Princess. It’s a brand-new tech—just a single drop for a full diagnostic.” He gently clipped the device to her index finger, a faint click signaling the tiny needle had collected the blood sample, and after a minute of constant whirring, the printer spat out a strip of paper with the results. ”Oh shit, you’re right…I got scammed.” He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. ”According to this little shit, a skin tumor is forming due to your elevated levels of Lactate Dehydrogenase. Pfft—what a load of bullshit.” With a shrug, he crumpled the printout and threw it over the edge of the grandstand, hitting Derserk beneath on the head. ”You’re an Essentia. To get levels that high, you’d have to bathe in anteater milk for like…ten days straight, I guess.”
As a visibly shaken Tsuki could be seen furiously typing an [Email], Jacques gulped and turned toward the one client he had been hoping to avoid. “Your turn…my Queen.”
“Why am I last?!” Astary barked as she stole another piece of Anicet’s cotton candy.
“Obviously…ahem…to give you my full attention.” Jacques attempted a friendly smile—it was not reciprocated.
“Ugh, whatever. Just give me an umbrella.”
Jacques blinked out of confusion. He looked at her, then raised his head, scanning the sky for any hint of clouds. Finding none, he scratched his chin in confusion. “My Queen…I would never dare to imply anything…but…perhaps—just perhaps—there’s a small chance something is…I don’t know…inhibiting your perception of the current meteorological conditions.”
“It’s for the sun, you idiot!”
An umbrella for the sun? Fucking Starshitters and that sewer they call a motherland.
“R-right…but…ahem…the sun is a star, so technically sunlight is also starlight, and…you know…you’re literally made of it.”
“Shut up and just do what I told you!” Jacques made a military salute, handing Astary a small metallic cylinder from his [Inventory]. ”What’s this?”
”Your new cutting-edge umbrella. Please click on the top.” After a click, three slots slid open along the cylinder, releasing an indago stream of Twilight Butterflies, forming a shimmering cloud that hovered above Astary’s head. ”Umbrellas are, by all means, inefficient,” Jacques began. ”You have to hold them constantly, and since rain comes from all directions, complete protection is nearly impossible. That’s why the client I’m representing has found a way to revolutionize the entire concept. Mr. Cosmatern, may I ask you to step beside her for a moment?”
”I don’t kno—” Astary didn’t wait for Anicet’s courtesy, gently leaning onto his shoulder—he could feel the rhythm of her breath, and she his. Moments later, more butterflies emerged from the cylinder, joining the swarm and expanding the glowing canopy of fluttering wings above the mesmerized couple.
”The idea behind this product is simple. By embedding a Programmed Dungeon inside the cylinder, we can breed thousands of butterflies to automate the functions offered by a classic umbrella. It’s easily rechargeable too, since he insects feed on semi-liquid substances with high Mana concentration—for example, Wasp Honey.”
Two butterflies separated from the swarm—one delicately landed on Anicet’s left index finger, the other on Astary’s right. Wordlessly, the two teens brought their fingers together, and the butterflies began to loop in an elegant dance before meeting in a gentle touch of their proboscises—a soft contact that resembled a kiss. Then, the eyes of the ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ and the ’Shining Star’ locked onto each other, and some unknown force made it impossible for them to look away.
Thirty-Six was right, this toy is wonderful. And now my evil plan is complete—kekeke!
However, Jacques’s enthusiasm was short-lived. The ’Hero’—having just finished chaining his sister once again—was now striding toward them, and the sound of his approaching steps frightened Astary. She abruptly moved away from Anicet, her skin blazing so intensely it incinerated her butterfly. The Nixie Prince remained silent as his eyes tracked the charred insect as it fell to the ground. Then, his own butterfly—faithful to its soulmate—fluttered toward her, only to burn as well, just in time for Chad’s oblivious foot to step on their ashes.
Oh, come on, Anicet…just three more weeks, I guess.
”Chad, do you want anything?”
Chad’s diamond eyes locked onto Jacques, so wonderful that the ’Javelinist’ momentarily forgot how to breathe. Then, the Scion of the Holy Rolandish Empire touched Jacques’ stomach with a finger, ambiguously smiling at him.
”You.”
The word triggered an immediate retreat, Jacques’s contact lenses almost falling from his bulging eyes. ”Ehm…I’m very honored by your offer, and of course, I’ll patriotically obey any order from my Emperor. However, numerous studies by highly respected professionals clearly demonstrate that such…private engagements are counterproductive in workplace dynamics. So, let’s not ruin our beautiful relationship—okay?” He babbled, nervously preparing his [ChariotJavelin] to escape.
”Eheh! I was joking, bro. You should’ve seen your face—too funny!” Chad laughed, handing Jacques a crisp banknote. Jacques, still flustered, shook his head and returned three of them, refusing any tip. ”By the way, what courses have you chosen?” Chad asked casually, but the moment Jacques’s answer reached his ears, his eyes sparkled with awe. ”We’ve chosen the same exact courses? It seems destiny wants us together, my bro.”
”A stalker, you mean?” The ’Shining Star’ interjected, recalling too many many weird encounters with the ’Javelinist.’
”Asty,” Chad began, his tone full of patience. ”Do you remember when you tried to stab Jacques with that pencil? Out of sheer spite, I switched my course list without telling anyone—not even you.” He leaned forward, putting pressure on the girl with his majestic eyes. ”At that very moment, Jacques was on a stretcher, leaving Stoner’s Passion for his brain surgery. So tell me, how could he have changed his courses from a hospital bed?”
Astary didn’t even bother to open her mouth, recognizing how forced his accusation was. Still, someone grasped another truth from the words of the ’Hero.’
”What cheese is in the making between you two?” From behind Jacques, Katrina whispered in his ear, but he ignored her, continuing to clean his vendor box.
”It’s none of your business, and if I were you, I’d interrogate Elf-Gf before it’s too late.”
”While you were humiliating yourself for a couple of Marini, I had a few words with Dr. Moyens, obtaining many useful insights.”
”Firstly, no honest job should ever be called humiliating because work is the only true source of dignity.” Jacques firmly declared. ”Secondly, that woman isn’t exactly what I’d call a reliable source.” He glanced in disgust at Dr. Moyens.
”What? You’re not falling for her womanly charm like every other guy here?” The ’Data Analyst’ pointed at the ’Mindhunter’s’ many admirers who forgot about their patriotism to admire her long legs, dreaming one day to be the protagonist of her bestsellers.
”She’s undoubtedly beautiful,” Jacques admitted. ”But somehow, I just know that I’m not her type. I’m too…” He paused, searching for the word. ”Sane?”
”Ahah! So you do know!” Katrina clapped at her classmate. ”She’s a cannibal who devours broken men for the sake of her books. The more deranged the prey, the better her sales.”
”Yeah…that.”
”NOOO! IT CAN’T BE HAPPENING! WHY?!” Llywelyn’s desperate screams echoed across the stadium, prompting the attention back on the Ellipse. Draig had lost the ball, and now the Evernightmare Impalers were now thundering toward the finish line, about to secure a decisive point. However, the Armed Knights, having regrouped in the center, decided on a head-on charge, racing straight at the Nixie formation in a desperate attempt to stop them.
The two teams collided in a brutal clash—horns ringing against horns, truncheons striking, hooves tearing through the dirt—giving Lady Syrmashy a golden opportunity and she wasted no time in seizing it, charging straight at Basarab. The quarterback of the Impalers, unable to defend himself—no player could realistically swing a Mirâton and keep the ball on it—chose the only option he had, passing the ball forward—just as Azhura had predicted.
She threw herself into the path of the ball, ready to intercept—just as Basarab had predicted. At the last moment, he twisted his wrist and smashed the ball backward to his deputy. Now no longer unarmed, he challenged the ’Lost Translation’ to a brief duel that ended the moment his powerful strike landed in her stomach. Yet she didn’t fall—their eyes locked as their horses rode in opposite directions. However, in that fleeting moment, the ’Moonless Night’ glimpsed something weird on her face—a sneer.
*FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!*
Miss Sinclair’s loud whistle stopped the game. “ARMEDIA HAS CONQUERED THE BALL—TIME OUT!” Basarab hastily turned around, witnessing the unthinkable—Azhura’s deputy sat tall in the saddle with the ball secured on his Mirâton, both laughing at him.
Silence fell over the field. Knights on horseback, those still on the ground stood, and even the students on the benches, all holding their breath as the red-haired referee reached her Tigress, aimed at the sky, and fired a golden bolt that erupted into a massive phoenix, its wings stretching wide above the stadium before exploding into hundreds of golden fireworks that rained down on the stunned spectators. Then, she filled her lungs and roared—
”SCRAMBLE!”
