“…Rumble?” Oshira asked, overwhelmed by the wave of enthusiasm that had engulfed the stadium the moment that single word was uttered.
“It’s the mechanic that gave the game its name, and, by far, its most popular part, happening when all three teams possess the ball in the same round. But first, Derserk, I’m tripling everything I’ve lost—Draig is always the strongest foe during a Scramble.” The ’Raging Hornet’ firmly shook the ’Gravedigger’s’ hand before sprinting toward the toilets, together with half the audience.
”Ælfgifu, give me five minutes,” Kafka said before joining the queue, leaving the Marquise free to be preyed upon by the many predators of the grandstand. At the same moment, several Scions from the most prestigious families of the ’HRE’ rose, glancing at each other to decide who would make the first move. However, while the little dogs hesitated, the big wolf stepped forward, stealing the prize from under their noses. He sat beside the ’Dust Symphonist,’ his enormous body eclipsing the petite doll, sneering as he slid his hand over her thigh.
”Your boyfriend is so clingy. For a moment, I thought he’d never leave you alo—AAAAAH!” His tone, grating enough to enrage even an ascetic, twisted into a high-pitched shriek as he felt hell itself burning on his hand.
”What do you want, Sergei?” The stench of burning flesh mixed with the searing pain of his hand melting within hers deflated the nobleman’s ego, now begging for his life like a filthy plebeian. But only after tasting in full his desperation did she finally let go.
”ARE YOU MA…” A single homicidal glance silenced him. His emerald eyes shimmered as the sand within her three large scars began to stir faster and faster till it glowed red—the heatwave wasn’t the reason why he was sweating. ”I-I k-know you’re a Class S, b-but you shouldn’t t-threaten people like that,” he stammered, scooting one seat away. ”I just wanted to say that yesterday, when I saw your wounds, I got really worried. It’s obvious you deserve a real man by your side. Someone who can protect you—like me.” He gulped, still rubbing his burning hand—this wasn’t how he had imagined the conversation would go. However, it ended exactly the same way.
”You know what? Okay. I think you deserve a chance to prove yourself. But not now, there are way too many eyes on us. I’ll send you an [Email] with the time and location for our date, avoiding any nasty rumors, shall we?” A-Class ’Deontological Killer’ Sergei Vlasenko couldn’t recall the last time one of his many attempts with Ælfgifu had actually worked. Nevertheless, he gave her a nod of approval before walking away, leaving more confused than ever.
I’m sorry, Kafka, but a Korinthian spy who toyed with Ysoline’s heart to lure me out is now hiding among the students.
She clenched her fist, exuding an aura of fierce determination as her scars’s sand glowed as amethyst as her eyes.
My friend died for me, so the least I can do is sacrifice my own body to avenge her…to find her killer I have to…
Ælfgifu closed her eyes, steadying her breath to find the strength to pledge to the Holy Trinity—
Date all the most beautiful boys in the Miraval Academy!
The Marquise De La Marche had made a vow, one she would have to keep to the bitter end.
”Hey, you…Jessie, right?”
”It’s Jacques, my Queen.”
”Uh, whatever. How much for the Butterfly Umbrella?” The ’Shining Star’ asked, absentmindedly playing with the butterflies resting on her glowing arms.
”Technically, it’s still a prototype, so, before its commercialization, the bureaucrats need to finish their paperwork. Nevertheless, advertising is a different matter, and if a high-status celebrity like yourself were to act as our official spokewoman—promoting it within your exclusive social circles—then you might as well consider that umbrella as yours,” Jacques proposed, eager to secure a deal that would guarantee his 3.7% cut of the profits.
”I agree, and tell your client he’s very lucky. The last time I advertised a product, it became the best-selling item in the entire Constellation Archipelago—my subjects adore me.” She concluded as she tossed her golden hair, her chin proudly high, all while Jacques grimly remembered the sleepless nights, thousands of Marini spent on gifts, and all the blood, sweat, and tears it had taken to convince the ’Shining Start’ to endorse his coffee machines.
She’s absolutely right. Astary is like a golden suppository. She’ll bring you a lot of benefits, but first—you have to shove her deep up your ass.
Next, the ’Shining Star’ positioned herself in front of the grandstand wall, projecting her light onto it to create a makeshift mirror in which she could admire herself and her new purchase. ”A little unorthodox, but as always, I’m goergeu—” As the ’Shining Star’ admired herself on the wall, her inflating vanity intensified her glow, luring the butterflies en masse to her skin, promptly a frightened Astary to release a sudden flash of light that instantly incinerated the insects. "You\dots" Now completely covered in soot and exuding a burning scent, the Starfolk lady turned to face the soon-to-be-dead man.
”Well…I admit that perhaps putting moths over a human torch wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever ha—ACK!” Sadly for Jacques, she didn’t share his sense of humor, and the now-empty cylinder crashed squarely into his nose, taking a third of his [HP].
Meanwhile, on the field, thirty-six knights were haphazardly distributed in the Arena—the center of the Ellipse—waiting for Miss Sinclair’s signal to begin the hell. The air was thick with tension, and it didn’t take long for the first dispute to break out between two players—one from Draig and one from Armedia. The quarrel began over something trivial—neither liked the way the other was staring—but quickly escalated from insults to blows, as they began swinging their Mirâtons at each other.
*Bang!* *Bang!*
The ’Everlasting Spring’ settled the dispute with two bolts, each piercing the left eye of the students and unhorsing them. “No violence is allowed before the Scramble,” she spat at both players writhing on the ground. “You’re both out. Congratulations to Nixieland—you starts with an extra player.” The two disqualified knights tried to rise, but the third bolt of her Tigress reminded them that no one left the field until the show was over—even if that meant being trampled by horses. “Three! Two! One!” Another golden bolt was shot in the sky. ”SCRAMBLE!”
The Scramble Knights began riding their horses throughout the Arena—its size was a little too small for such an amount of players—beating the hell out of every opponent they encountered with their Mirâtons. No ball, no formation, no strategy, just pure chaos—from the left, right, front, and rear, players had to defend themselves from enemies attacking from all directions, making friendly fire a constant threat. This brutal ode to savagery lasted only a few minutes and could end in one of three ways. Firstly, if two of the three Quarterbacks signaled surrender, the remaining team would earn one point. Secondly, if time expired and a team had more riders still in the saddle—or was the only one with players left—three points would be awarded to them. The third one…
”Looks fun. My brothers and I used to wrestle like that. Mr. Diaz, do you think I could join the Zavagrad team?” Casimir asked, imagining himself proudly wearing the Zaverin Crow on his back of his emerald-green Plated Gear.
”No, you can’t!” His professor yelled, hunched over and furiously biting his nails. ”Now shut up, I need to focus—my paycheck is on the line!”
Don’t worry, kiddo. There’s no doubt that demon girl is going to win.
Himself tried to soothe Derserk’s ever-growing doubts. “She looks so fragile amidst these gorilla-sized boys…are you sure? This bet is worth three times what I make yearly at the Blue Bird Experience.”
Why do foolish mortals always question their superior beings, no matter how many miracles we perform? Kiddo, listen up. There are secrets about this world you pathetic beings couldn’t even begin to conceptualize with your limited brains. How do I know who’s going to win? Because I can see it—my sister’s blessing!
The Draigesque Knights were as at ease amidst the chaos as fish in water, but their impetus often made them easy targets, and their armor was usually the first to break. The Evernightmare Impalers, in contrast, adopted a more cautious approach, regrouping whenever possible. Yet, the many who failed to regroup in time were swiftly crushed by the shepherds’ fury. The Armeds took an opportunistic route, preferring to let the other two teams clash before backstabbing the victor. Unfortunately for them, the gap between theory and practice proved to be abysmal. In the end, all three teams had equal chances to victory, a perfect equilibrium that only spiced up the performance for the frenzied crowd, which erupted into choreographed dances and chants.
”Technically, Class F, Class E, and Class D students are eligible to join any Miramble team—the only official requirement is that their families can’t afford a Griffin. But, realistically, unless you’re Class C or B, you won’t survive taking hits from players with [STR > 250]. Azhura, a Class D, is the only exception I can think of,” Mr. Al Córdoba clarified, regretting having to crush the ’Scarecrow’s’ dreams.
”Just one final question, are Scramble Knights popular with girls?” Casimir’s ears perked up as he asked that.
”Popular?” Mr. Diaz guffawed. ”Kaz, listen to me. I’ve seen the ugliest, dumbest, and most awkward motherfuckers end up with hot princesses after winning a couple of bowls! This sport is the only way plebeians like us can compete with nobles.” The ’Raging Hornet’s’ words sparked an interesting idea inside his student’s mind.
Two of the four minutes—each one stretching into eternity—had passed, and more than half the knights now lay sprawled on the ground—their faces marked with hoofprints and stained by vexation—while those still on horseback were vanishing into a growing storm, kicked up by too many hooves running around in such a small area. Within the duststorm, sight was no longer a sense to rely on, and now no player could afford the luxury of wondering whether the silhouette before them was friend or foe—in the stands, the crowd no longer knew whether to cheer or grieve. Eventually, as more knights fell, the cloud began to thin, revealing a breathtaking sight. Only three riders remained on horseback—Hywel, Basarab, and Azhura, the three Quarterbacks.
”Wait a minute…that means…” Carmen gasped, and the entire stadium fell into stunned silence, all eyes fixed on Miss Sinclair as she raised her Tigress and fired a platinum bolt into the sky. Just before it exploded, her voice rang out across the arena, and the crowd erupted, screaming those exact words in unison—”ROYAL SCRAMBLE!”
“…Royale…Mumble?”
“If the last three knights are each from a different team, the time limit is removed, and the Scramble continues until only one remains,” the ’Ego Witch’ explained. “It’s a very rare event, Shira.” While Scrambles weren’t an uncommon event, a Royal Scramble, and one where only the three Quarterbacks remained, was a thermodynamic miracle.
“DRAIG! DRAIG! DRAIG!” The ’Fisherman’ screamed until he was hit with the [Malus.Dysphonia], turning all his words into mere whispers. Fortunately, using his [Wire] to force the ’Technocrat’ to scream in his place turned out to be really easy.
“C’mon, Anicet, you’re his king.” Astary laced her fingers with his, staring into his thin black eye-balls with her large golden eyes, and after some awkward mumblings, Anicet complied, giving Basarab an uncomfortable wave.
“H…hel…ppp—” A narcissistic Shadow Eye tried to revolt against the role the Author had written for him. Thankfully, the crowd’s deafening cheers drowned out his pathetic pleas, allowing Madeleine to swiftly put down his rebellion while everyone else’s attention was locked on the field.
”Lady Syrmashy is going to win,” Jacques flatly declared to Katrina while busy trying to fix his blood-test machine.
”You’re delusional,” the ’Data Analyst’ shot back, although she made no attempt to propose a bet. And her confidence was quickly validated on the field as Hywel and Basarab formed an alliance to launch a coordinated pincer attack on Azhura, prompting the Arpine lady to reward Jacques with one of her malicious smirks. ”See? A Class D might even be the smartest person alive, but mind alone can’t decapitate a god.”
”Sure, dudette.”
Lady Syrmashy struggled to defend herself from both sides—balancing the wild strength of a Draigesque with the precise finesse of a Nixie wasn’t the easiest task on horseback—and despite her outstanding dodges, it soon became clear she couldn’t keep up for long. Hence, she decided to bet her last strength on a last strategy, retreating toward the center of the Arena—the midpoint of the segment connecting the Ellipse’s foci—and bracing herself for the two ’Grim Reapers’ coming from front and rear. But, as their Mirâtons swung toward her, she suddenly dropped on her horse’s side, causing the two attackers to strike each other instead.
”NOOOOOOOO!” Llywelyn and Mr. Diaz screamed in unison, as the Quarterback of the Dreamcatchers capitalized on the chaos to land a clean blow on the back of Hywel’s neck. Enraged, and confused, the Draigesque Knight turned on his former ally, believing he’d been betrayed.
”IDIOT!” Basarab shouted, barely parrying Hywel’s strike while his eyes lost sight of the ’Lost Translation.’
She’s behind me, isn’t sh—
*THUMP!* *THUMP!*
A hit on his neck was the answer, immediately followed by a strike to the face from Hywel. The ’Moonless Night’ didn’t fall, but his heart was left exposed, and the other two Knights wasted no time, striking simultaneously at it.
*THUMP!* *THUMP!*
Basarab’s Plated Gear cracked into hundreds of pieces, assuring his elimination from the Scramble.
”TAKE TH—”
*THUMP!*
The ’Hot Head’ hadn’t even the time to rejoice because a sudden blow shattered his neck guard, knocking him out of the match as well.
”NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Llywelyn and Mr. Diaz’s screams of despair signaled the end of the Royal Scramble even before Miss Sinclair’s final bolt did.
According to the rules, by triumphing in the Scramble, Armedia had secured all the remaining points for the set, officially winning the match. As the Armed Knights surrounded her in celebration, Lady Syrmashy pointed her Mirâton at the grandstand, whispering something clearly inaudible from that distance.
”How did you know she was going to win?” Asked a stunned Katrina.
In response, Jacques ripped the printout from the dot matrix machine, and the first thing the ’Data Analyst’ noticed was the erratic pattern along the vertical sheet. For most of it, the line fluctuated normally, spiking up and down no more than a few centimeters, but in certain areas, it had gone completely wild—the ink forming rough spikes that nearly blacked out entire sections of the page.
”She cheated!”
