"For the past year," Mistblade said quietly, her tone as measured and even as ever, "I’ve barely used [Endless Autumn: On the Chessboard]. With the intelligence network I’ve built and my own analytical ability, I can already determine precisely who benefits the moon fox clan’s future and who doesn’t.
"I don’t need a skill to tell me who’s a piece worth keeping and who’s a piece to sacrifice. Even Orpha has praised me many times for it."
Her voice was steady, magnetic, with that natural rhythm that made even the dullest of subjects sound like poetry. It was the kind of voice that made people want to keep listening, no matter what she said.
"You’re talented," she continued, her eyes glinting in the soft orange of the dying sun. "You’re brilliant at games. You have terrifying battle instincts. But you’re like another Lightchaser—someone who despises restraint, who craves freedom, who doesn’t care about power or position. And unlike her, you don’t even have your own people."
Her words flowed like silk, calm and precise.
"But Maple Syrup," she went on, "she’s different. Her reputation may be ruined, and she may be burdened with Mountfuse as an enemy, but in just a year, she’s gathered a following again. She’s built businesses. She’s stronger than you—and she has ambition.
"She and I are the same kind. If she becomes the leader of the Owls, then the Owls and the Moon Foxes can form an alliance. Add Candlebeast to that mix, and—"
Rita interrupted her, voice calm but sharp. "What are you really trying to say?"
"I’m saying..." The mirage over the desert began to fade, its shimmering forests dissolving into the twilight sky. Mistblade turned, meeting the eyes of the girl leaning against the opposite wall. Her voice dropped low, so soft it was almost tender.
"I didn’t use [Endless Autumn: On the Chessboard] to decide who was worth helping and who wasn’t. I already knew which of you living would serve my ideals better.
"But I still used it. Not once, but many times."
Her gaze softened. "Because I wanted... another answer."
From beginning to end, she never said she was sorry. She sounded regretful, yes—but if given the choice again, she would make the same one.
Mistblade left, leaving Rita alone in the hallway, staring blankly at the wall.
Lightchaser had been eavesdropping the entire time, frowning in irritation. "Why isn’t she coming in already? Mistblade’s getting slyer with age. I knew Orpha would teach her bad habits—acting like she’s so conflicted, as if she only ever had two choices."
GodDraw77, sitting calmly at the table and savoring the expensive meal Worm Tavern had delivered, didn’t bother responding. Good food was good food, and she wasn’t about to waste breath.
She didn’t bother pointing out how the elf’s protectiveness had turned into hypocrisy—or how Rita’s pain had nothing to do with being attacked, and everything to do with the fact that Mistblade had used [Endless Autumn: On the Chessboard] before striking her.
This was what young people did—they were trying to untangle their friendship. What did this elf know about friendship?
When GodDraw77 didn’t respond, Lightchaser started drumming her fingers on the table, each tap leaving a small dent in the polished wood. GodDraw77’s eyebrow twitched, but then she remembered—this was Rita’s room, not hers. The repairs would be billed to the student. She relaxed and went back to her food.
The elf was quiet for a moment, but when the door still didn’t open, she folded her arms and muttered sternly, "If she cries again, I’ll toss her off the 90th floor. You really think she’ll fall for some manipulative speech that easily? I taught her better than that. I know I did."
"Maybe she will," GodDraw77 said lightly, just as she finished chewing. "You used to throw her into the arena and beat her half to death, and she forgave you just fine."
Bullseye. The elf fell silent.
But only for two seconds. Then she lifted her gaze, her expression oddly serious. "Orpha taught you that skill, didn’t she? You ever use it on me
GodDraw77 didn’t even pause in ladling herself more soup. She met Lightchaser’s eyes, smiling sweetly. "Of course I did."
"Not surprised," Lightchaser said smoothly, though her tone made it very clear she was not pleased. Thıs content belongs to 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⟡𝘧𝙞𝙧𝙚⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵
Finally, GodDraw77 thought, maybe she’s starting to get it.
Then she added calmly, "And I discovered your value toward achieving my ideals was exactly... zero."
Lightchaser blinked, then gave a slow, dignified nod. "That’s fair. You know how busy I am with important work."
GodDraw77’s hand twitched. She seriously considered throwing the two-thousand-gold soup bowl straight at her head.
Just then, the door opened.
Their student finally decided to come inside.
Rita stepped in and saw both of her teachers sitting at the table like they owned the place. She wasn’t even surprised anymore. They broke into her room like it was their second home and had zero concept of privacy.
Lightchaser looked up, slightly startled. "Oh, you’re back? Found your teammates?"
"Yeah. Crab, NightFury, Quex, and Syntax." Rita sat down, hesitated, then asked, "Teacher... how long was Mistblade waiting outside my room?"
"Hmm? Oh, she got there right before you came back," Lightchaser answered instantly.
GodDraw77 pinched the bridge of her nose. She could not with this elf.
She set down her chopsticks and just stared at Lightchaser until the elf’s hand froze midair—chopsticks holding a small lamb rib inches from her bowl. After one guilty pause, Lightchaser awkwardly redirected it into GodDraw77’s bowl. "Fine. It’s yours."
Rita looked between them, piecing things together, then turned to GodDraw77. "So... she waited a long time, didn’t she?"
GodDraw77 smiled faintly—at Lightchaser’s expense—and replied, "We got here around noon. She was already at your door."
Rita nodded, expression unreadable. "I see." She looked back at Lightchaser, solemn. "Don’t worry. I know she was deflecting. I’ve grown up. I won’t let her manipulate me."
Lightchaser raised a brow. "Could’ve fooled me."
She took a sip of her juice, then smirked. "You know there’s a new Divine Game rule since you’ve been gone?"
"What rule?" Rita asked warily.
"There are so many time-based abilities in play now—seven publicly known ones, at least—that for the audience’s sake, they added something new. Whenever a player uses a time skill that’s no longer secret, the top 100 broadcast screens will show a five-minute replay of what the player did during that frozen time—cutting out boring or private bits, of course, but showing their clever plays."
"I don’t know which merciful god came up with it, but I’m declaring myself their devout follower. Because in the replay, there’s this scene of you standing in front of Mistblade, head buried in your arms, quietly crying. Worm Tavern’s already selling it. Ten silver a copy. People think Mistblade died or something."
"Oh, and the part where you were rolling on the floor doing math problems."
"What else, Ash Cinders? You recorded a few more, right?"
GodDraw77 calmly set down her cup. "The bit where she turned into the Orchid Mantis, jumped onto Maple Syrup’s shoulder, and started screeching in her ear while pointing at her bruises—does that count?"
"Of course it counts!"
The two dignified mentors, moments ago paragons of composure, looked at each other—and burst into uncontrollable laughter, pounding on the table.
Rita wanted to die. And no, she wasn’t exaggerating.