For dinner, we headed up to the second floor, though calling it a food area felt like underselling it. The place looked like a lair masquerading as a luxury food court.

  Obsidian-black tiles lined the floors in geometric patterns that reflected the flickering ambient light from overhead fixtures shaped like crystalline daggers.

  What an amazing place…

  Metal tables were arranged in perfect military symmetry, each surrounded by high-backed chairs that looked like they’d double as interrogation devices. The walls glowed faintly with purple neon accents, pulsing like some kind of ominous heartbeat.

  Screens displayed looping battle footage from Rimelion.

  And posters. So many damn posters. One especially large banner showed me mid-cast, frozen in time with a swirling iceberg spell behind me, hair swept by magic. Below it? Just one word, bold and arrogant in gold: Queen.

  “Lola.” One word, flat as a drawn blade. She immediately ducked behind Dmitry like he was a riot shield. “Explain. Now.”

  “Lady, as you see, the architect of this building made it… uh… interesting,” she stammered. “So we thought… we embraced it?”

  “It will be good for morale,” Dmitry added with maddening calm. He straightened his jacket as if he’d planned this all along. “As I said before, you’re the face of the company. And today is only the tour… if this doesn’t suit your tastes, we can alter it.”

  “… Okay.” We sat down, and the second our chairs squeaked into place, a swarm of waiters descended with perfectly plated meals. Suspiciously efficient. “Trying to impress me,” I muttered, cutting into some kind of three-color steak that smelled like buttered luxury.

  “They wanna ya buy the building!” Katherine chimed in with a grin, stabbing a fork into her glowing blue noodles with all the grace of a caffeinated raccoon.

  Dinner passed in the usual chaos: Katherine talking with her whole body, Dmitry correcting her grammar, and Lola nervously sipping her citrus spritzer like it was a tranquilizer. Eventually, we made our way back to the lobby, bellies full and morale… dangerously boosted.

  Waiting there was a woman in a business suit so perfectly tailored it was weird. To my bar-trained eye, yeah, but still. Her posture was military-grade, and her clipboard radiated authority, or at least she tried.

  “I’m Kira,” she said with the precise confidence of someone who could sell me my bed and charge me a premium for the sheets. “As you’ve seen, this tower is a marvel of modern architecture and functionality. It boasts redundant power systems, high-security vault floors, atmospheric purification protocols, an underground conference center for a thousand people with AR-capable glass walls, and of course, staff support infrastructure. With three helipads and subterranean underground access, your brand will rise not just in visibility but in presence. This building isn’t just your headquarters… it’s your legacy.”

  I was halfway between impressed and sleeping.

  Lola stepped up with her polite face on. “We are interested. But… we find the decor a bit… intense. Including the external design.”

  “Look like villain lair!” Katherine added brightly. “Dad built similar bunker, west-center! He’s kinda villain.”

  Kira blinked like someone rebooting. “Is… your father the owner of the Gelier petroleum-polymer empire?”

  “Tat’s him!” Katherine beamed, and Dmitry gave a calm nod of confirmation like this was all perfectly normal.

  Kira’s throat bobbed. “I see. Well… would you like to proceed to contract finalization now?”

  Lola looked at me for the final call. I gave her a quick nod, and she smiled like a victorious war general. She strode off toward the waiting clerk to complete the mountain of paperwork.

  Thankfully, I’d already given her full authority for these things. She liked the legalese, the stamps, the process. Me? I enjoyed sitting in chairs that didn’t look like magical torture devices and being lazy about decisions that felt too real for someone who spent the morning with slaves and the evening in heels.

  So yeah. It was fine.

  I leaned back slightly and grinned up at the looming “Queen” poster above the escalators. Had they set it up after we went up? Ridiculous. But… it kinda fit, didn’t it?

  “Jerry, this feels surreal,” I whispered, my voice nearly lost beneath the ambient music of the lobby. The glass walls shimmered faintly under the evening sun, painting ripples of gold and silver across the floor.

  “It is within budget and the area fits our requirements perfectly,” Jerry responded with mechanical optimism. “You earned it.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it.” I blinked fast, willing the tears back down my throat. Stupid hormones. “I did nothing but play the game. Riker and Lola did all the work, so why am I the one reaping the benefits?”

  “Oftentimes leaders lead by letting people do what they are the best at,” Jerry replied, unphased. “You do what you are best at and let others do their work without interfering. Statistically, 62.8% of owners disrupt and decrease efficiency.”

  “You don’t understand what I mean…” I breathed out, leaning against the thick, reinforced window; it was warm from the sun. Dmitry was lounging on one of the velvet lobby chairs, while Katherine, naturally, was perched sideways across his lap, wildly gesturing with both arms. I caught only the word “Romeo” before deciding I didn’t want to know more.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “I guess I got lucky?” I muttered.

  “Very lucky. But you did a lot of work,” Jerry said. “You performed as a Sword Queen. You gathered the player army and led the defense of the wall. Without it, The Big Charlie plushie wouldn’t—”

  “Show me.” I cut him off, my voice flat. “My plushie.”

  There was a pause. A literal pause. Like his software had to buffer for the emotional whiplash. “It was your best-selling plushie yesterday,” Jerry finally said. “The best margin belongs to the limited collector’s series: The Sword-Queen Charlie plushie—”

  “Show. Me. The plushie,” I repeated, dead-eyed.

  “I believe this decision was led by your CEO a few days ago. It was designed by one of your top designers.”

  I already had my phone out, thumb stabbing at the company site like I was trying to beat a gacha banner. “I didn’t ask for context, Jerry. I asked to see it.”

  The page loaded. And then I saw it.

  The plushie stared back at me from a glossy product page. It was… me. Sort of. The face was vaguely accurate, with big blue embroidered eyes, soft blue hair in waves. But everything else?

  It was a fever dream designed by someone who had way too much access to fan forums. The outfit was technically my blue princess battle dress, but this version had cleavage cut down to the navel and a physics-defying corset that pushed plush-fabric boobs into comical roundness. A sword, way too small, by the way, was strapped against a thigh peeking out from a dangerously high slit in the skirt.

  Thigh-high boots. Choker. Lace gloves.

  And the worst part?

  The title: “The Big Charlie: Sword-Queen Dominate Edition.”

  I calmly walked toward Dmitry, heels clicking like judgment day, and held up my phone like it was damning evidence in court. “Explain this.”

  He leaned forward to glance at the screen… and froze. “I mean…” he tried, but the sentence gave up on him halfway.

  Katherine, bless her complete lack of filters, did not hesitate. “Sexy!” she nodded brightly. Then she tilted her head and began glancing between the image and my actual cleavage. Then back to the screen. Then back to me.

  “Kit!”

  “Just comparin’,” she said with a sheepish shrug. “Would buy tho!”

  My lips parted in sheer disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “My fiancé is right,” Dmitry finally found his voice, his tone maddeningly neutral. “You didn’t protest against Ice Dance Charlie. And despite using high-quality materials, the margins on this one are—”

  “You know what?” I cut him off, shaking my head with full-body disappointment. “I liked it better when I had no idea what we do. Let’s keep it that way. Forever.”

  There was a pause. Then… “So, is Rule 34 Charlie on the table?” Dmitry asked. Casually. With zero shame. As if he hadn’t just suggested...

  I turned on my heel and walked back toward the window. “No,” I said, as flat as I could manage, even while my ears, and neck, and probably my toes, were turning pink. I leaned my forehead against the glass, staring at the street.

  Not for the view. For the cooldown.

  I used to buy plushies like that. And figurines. I had several Katherine ones, especially those in red. When I saw them, I had to buy them. They were cute. Sexy. Powerful.

  But having plushies of me? With soft hips and exaggerated cleavage and barely-enough-to-qualify-as-fabric blue skirts? And... Rule 34?

  Somehow, I didn’t think this would happen.

  “Damn,” I whispered. “Silly me, I guess.”

  Jerry was silent. Maybe even his circuits knew this was sacred meltdown territory.

  Lola came back with an enormous smile, practically glowing, while Kira vanished like a good commission check. “We bought it!” she almost squealed, bouncing on her toes like she’d just won The Big Charlie in a luxury gacha pull.

  “Yay!” Katherine squealed for real, shooting both hands into the air like she was celebrating a crit. “Have bail go soon. ‘nother test tomorrow.”

  Dmitry nodded, brushing invisible lint off his already perfect jacket. “I guess we’ll be moving into this office as soon as tomorrow. Don’t worry about details, owner.”

  I felt the blood rush back to my face like a tactical embarrassment strike. “I won’t, trust me.”

  Lola blinked between us, suddenly sensing something. “Huh?”

  Dmitry took Katherine’s hand. She skipped beside him like a delinquent on a field trip and dragged her out of the building. Even the receptionist bailed; probably hired just for the sale.

  “So, let’s go… up home?” I bit my lip. “Feels weird to have a new home. But I don’t really own anything, I guess, so moving will be easy…”

  “We’ll be neighbors,” Lola confirmed just as the elevator dinged open to the top floor. “You’ve got the penthouse, of course. But it’s actually going across two floors. I’ll be living in one on sixty.”

  “What?” I glanced around, stunned by the layers of black, brushed steel, and backlit nonsense. “The black will be hard to get used to. Where to?”

  She led me through a door we hadn’t used yet.

  It opened into a sprawling living room that screamed villainess chic: dark velvet walls, spotlit art I couldn’t name, and a scent of faint jasmine drifting through the climate-controlled air. Floor-to-ceiling windows dropped two stories down, revealing the bedroom below like a luxury pit trap.

  I flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic exhale. The mattress caught me as if it was designed to steal souls. Soft, sooo plush, and sinful. It reminded me of the one back in the barn, except a hundred times better. Never skimp on beds.

  The foster system taught me that.

  “I kind of don’t want to go back to Rimelion,” I muttered. “I’ll have to sneak through stinky sewers again, ugh.”

  Lola sat on the edge of the mattress, prim and proper even in the villainess layer. The bed was so massive, she looked like a doll set too far from her friend. Dmitry for sure made a Lola plushie. Should get that one… STOP CHARLIE!

  I rolled toward her until we were almost shoulder to thigh. “And we meet people tomorrow! Can’t wait to meet them on Earth,” I grinned. “Like Lunaris or Llama.”

  “I know it is hard, Lady, but soon, we can rescue you,” Lola said, her fingers softly brushing my hair like she was untangling stress itself.

  “Oh, I don’t need rescuing,” I smiled. “I could walk away from there tomorrow.”

  Lola blinked. “But… We’re sailing there to…?” her voice tightened into confused knots.

  “My aim isn’t a meager escape. Or just burning the city down. It’s a rotten place, yes, but we can do more than survive it.” I looked out the window. The sky had turned orange and rose gold, the sun dipping down. “We can conquer it. Subjugate it. Make it our vassal. We shall be its suzerain.”

  Lola exhaled as if she were trying not to panic. “Lady… Saving you is already hard. Their army is…”

  I pushed up to sit beside her. “I know. I heard there’s a green lord or something, someone who treats slaves a bit better, maybe? A few said so. I’ll make him submit. And when we storm the city, I’ll promise him leadership… under us.”

  She shifted, her businesswoman poise cracking slightly. “Lucy told me the grandmasters are around level thirty, maybe thirty-two. Our best players are barely twenty. Even the guards pose a threat. To elites.”

  “Leave grandmasters to me,” I grinned like someone who already had traps laid out in her head. “I have a few aces up my sleeve. Karzi might howl somewhere in the city too, and I want revenge. But what I need from you? Surgical strikes. Hit key spots in the chaos. Control the guard posts. Overwhelm them before they understand what’s happening. Can you talk to Lucy? She had heels on the ground there too.”

  Lola nodded slowly, as if she were still weighing the madness against our odds. “That plan is crazy.”

  I nodded right back. “They shouldn’t have messed with me.”