The cafeteria smelled of sugar and cinnamon.

  Lunaris sat tucked in her favorite corner booth, fork in one hand, plate in the other, doing something she rarely allowed herself: absolutely nothing productive. Just her, a slice of fruitcake dense enough to qualify as armor, and the low hum of the Rimebreak offices running on caffeine.

  Around her, the other employees scurried between tables like cheerful, overworked ants. Someone’s holotablet flickered with the evening newsfeed; someone else was loudly explaining why their costume budget counted as a “HR expense.”

  Laughter spilled from one table, and the clatter of mugs from another.

  Lunaris just smiled and took another slow bite. The fruitcake was… weirdly perfect… sweet, spiced, a little crunchy. Probably smuggled from Scamantha’s lab under the label of “experimental real-life mana bar,” but she wasn’t about to question sugar miracles.

  She let the warmth soak through her shoulders, the soft buzz of background chatter filling in the empty spaces in her head.

  And then—

  A cup of coffee landed on her table with the weight of a declaration.

  Lunaris blinked mid-bite. Slowly, she looked up.

  Lisa stood over her, smiling the kind of smile that made even brave people check for fire insurance.

  Except this wasn’t the usual Lisa.

  This Lisa had gone full Halloween. Her red hair burned brighter than ever, loose and wild, catching light in every shade between ember and gold. Her black witch hat tilted jauntily to the side, pinned with a tiny crimson ribbon. A corseted coat of red-and-charcoal leather hugged her frame, lined with electronic runic etchings that shimmered like living flame when she moved.

  The hem flared into a jagged, flame-shaped skirt that swayed around her boots. A broom—an actual broom—was strapped across her back.

  NightSwallow also arrived.

  Or rather, the Halloween version of NightSwallow; somewhere between elegant assassin and cursed house pet. Her outfit was midnight poured into fabric: a sleek black bodysuit stitched with faint silver thread, hugging her shape like shadow.

  A velvet choker circled her throat, with a small silver bell hanging from it, silent but threatening to ring. Her gloves ended in clawed tips, sharp enough to count as weapons, and her boots barely made a sound as she stepped closer.

  A cat masquerade mask covered her upper face, the kind you’d wear to a royal ball if the theme were ‘murder but make it cute.’

  The mask was glossy, its feline ears perfectly sculpted, a set of painted whiskers catching the light. Underneath it, her makeup was dark. Black shadows swept toward her temples, lips the color of ink. Even her somehow functioning tail—a long, sinuous black one tipped with silk—swished lazily behind her, somehow both menacing and bored.

  She leaned down, the bell at her throat barely moving, and whispered softly near Lunaris’s ear.

  “Meow.”

  Lunaris blinked. “...what.”

  NightSwallow straightened, mask gleaming. “Yes,” she said coolly, voice like velvet over steel. “You’re getting a costume. Phèdre forced this one on me, as ‘seducers’.”

  “No, please?” Lunaris tried again.

  Lisa glanced between NightSwallow and her with a smile dangerous and maternal all at once. “That wasn’t a question.”

  “Can it be?”

  “Nope.”

  “I already have a costume.”

  “Which is?”

  Lunaris gestured vaguely at herself. “...Rimebreak cripple employee on lunch break?”

  Lisa’s eyebrows arched. “Try again.”

  “Off-duty swordswoman with a rich internal life?”

  “Luna.”

  “Spirit of... casual rebellion?”

  Lisa sighed, the dramatic exhale that could power small wind turbines. She slid into the seat across from her and took a sip of coffee like a woman about to begin a ritual. “Lola wants everyone in costume for the Halloween party. Everyone. You, me, Lucas, even NightSwallow.”

  Lunaris poked at her cake. “Maybe I can be... an invisible participant? Like, spiritually dressed up?”

  Lisa tilted her head. “Spiritually?”

  “Yeah. I’ll just... think really festive thoughts.”

  “Luna.”

  “Okay, fine,” Lunaris sighed. “What did you have in mind? Please don’t say sock monster again.”

  Lisa’s grin turned gleefully wicked. “Oh, it’s better. Much better.”

  Lunaris stared. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Good,” Lisa said sweetly. “That’s the Halloween spirit. As you’ll be.”

  Frozna stepped out of the changing room, the door swinging shut behind her with all the finality of a prison gate. The air-conditioning hit her bare shoulders, and she instantly regretted every life choice that led to this.

  The costume was... well, technically a “Snow Bunny.” White fur-trimmed corset, short layered skirt that sparkled faintly with silver dust, long white gloves, and a pair of ridiculous floppy ears perched on her head like a declaration of defeat.

  White tights, fur-rimmed boots. A tiny puffball tail she hadn’t realized was detachable until Yuki had laughed for a solid minute about it. Even her makeup shimmered with faint blue frost, courtesy of Yuki’s “creative direction.”

  Frozna crossed her arms, the mechanical base of the ears twitching in betrayal as she glared at the source of her suffering.

  Yuki stood at the other end of the hallway, beaming… all smug confidence and Halloween triumph. “You look so cute!” she sang.

  Frozna’s glare could’ve frozen a volcano. “I’m the Snow Bunny,” she said flatly. “And you are… Yuki ‘Indiana’ Jones.”

  Yuki tipped her wide-brimmed hat, grinning like she’d just looted a tomb. Her costume nailed it; brown leather jacket, khaki shirt half-buttoned, belt with pouches, coiled whip on her hip, and some kind of ‘glowing’ amulet clipped to her collar that pulsed violet. “Explorer of forbidden basements,” she announced. “And guess what? I found something interesting!”

  Before Frozna could object, Yuki grabbed her wrist — “Bunny power, engage!” — and started dragging her down the hall.

  Frozna sighed as she was pulled along, heels clicking indignantly. “This feels like kidnapping.”

  “It’s an adventure!” Yuki chirped.

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing Tramar leaning casually against the wall, hat tilted rakishly over his face. He was dressed as Zorro. Black shirt, cape, trousers, mask, and, naturally, a plastic rapier that he’d clearly been using as a pointer for dramatic gestures.

  He looked up, grinning. “?Cómo estáis, preciosas? Oh, Frozna—you are adorable.”

  I will feed his soul to my wolfie, she thought. She didn’t even hesitate… a clean smack to the back of his head. “If I have to suffer… Tramar, come with us,” she ordered.

  Yuki bounced in place, practically glowing. “I found something!”

  Tramar adjusted his hat, still rubbing his skull. “You found trouble again, you mean. Fine, lead the way, Miss Jones.”

  The trio descended to the basement level, the air cooling and smelling faintly of dust and machine oil. Yuki led them through the dim corridor, flashlight in one hand and enthusiasm doing all the heavy lifting.

  They slipped through a narrow service door into a small, dimly lit room; half-storage, half-forgotten cellar. The floor was concrete, the walls brick, lined with old wine racks and empty crates. A single buzzing light flickered above them.

  “I read a note from the previous owner while I was reading lore… I mean history books,” Yuki said, eyes gleaming. “Something about a secret room.”

  Tramar laughed. “Ah, sí, secret room in villainess tower. No worries, I’ll protect the cute and adorable—”

  Frozna smacked him again before he could finish the sentence.

  Yuki crouched near the wall, running her hands along the bricks like she was deciphering ancient runes. “There’s always a trigger brick… aha—!”

  She pressed one slightly miscolored block, and with a sharp whizz and a flash of blue sparks, the wall shifted. A hidden door slid open with a hiss.

  Yuki’s grin could’ve powered a small city. “Aha! See? Told you!”

  They squeezed inside, where there was… no treasure. No skeletons. No some hidden ritual circle. Just shelves. Shelves and shelves of whiskey bottles.

  “Wait. This is just a liquor stash?” Tramar blinked.

  “An excellent liquor stash,” Yuki corrected, stepping in. “Maybe vintage!”

  Then her foot caught on something. “Oh—”

  Click.

  A second later, iron spikes slammed down across the doorway, clanging into place with an electrical whizz. “No!” Yuki yelped, stumbling backward as dust rained from the ceiling. The three of them stared at each other in mutual disbelief.

  Frozna exhaled slowly. “Congratulations, you’ve discovered the world’s most dramatic liquor cabinet.”

  Before Yuki could defend herself, a creaking noise echoed from the corner of the room; the old closet door swinging open.

  Out stepped a tall figure draped in black. Chains. A cloak. A faint, eerie blue glow beneath the collar.

  Charlie.

  Her ‘head’ was tucked under one arm, eyes glowing through carved eyeholes in a fake skull mask. Her other hand raised a fake scythe.

  “Well, well, well,” she said in a deep, spooky tone that was only half an octave away from laughter. “Caught little thieves… of my whiskey collection!”

  The effect might’ve been terrifying if Yuki hadn’t instantly pointed and yelled, “Dullahan Charlie! I KNEW you’d go for undead!”

  Luminaria adjusted the mirror angle by a fraction of a degree.

  Then again.

  And once more.

  Symmetry matters.

  Her reflection glowed back at her: white and gold, light and precision.

  The Archangel of Dawn.

  The costume had taken four sleepless nights; carefully selected fabrics, layer by layer of shimmered silk and special thread until each fold caught the light at just the right angle. The gold accents weren’t painted, but etched nano-filaments she’d woven herself on her nano-machine.

  Her wings—elegant, filigree constructs of lightsteel—unfolded with a quiet hum, luminous feathers spreading in a perfect arc.

  She tilted one feather slightly. It was off by less than a millimeter.

  “Llama,” she said, turning, “am I perfect yet?”

  Llama didn’t even look up from his holopad. “Yes.”

  “That was too quick,” she said, frowning. “You didn’t even check.”

  “I don’t have to,” he replied, tone mild. “You were perfect on the first try.”

  That earned him a look; a half-suspicious, half-touched glance. Then she sighed and turned back to the mirror. Her hair. Maybe a softer twist. Yes, just a little. She redid it for the tenth time, setting each strand as if she were aligning stars.

  “Llama.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Her wings folded with quiet resignation. “You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re luminous,” he said simply.

  She pretended not to smile.

  Llama’s own costume was easier to describe but harder to ignore. He looked like her reflection inverted: silver armor traced with gold, mechanical seams glowing faintly. A guardian built for her radiance. The low clockwork hum beneath his breastplate pulsed with her rhythm; synchronized perfectly, of course.

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  When she finally turned away from the mirror, her heels clicked sharply on the floor.

  Walking in them was like balancing on pride and calculation. Every step had to be deliberate. Looks mattered. Presentation mattered. If Charlie was frost and command, then she would be light and order.

  The elevator was at the end of the hallway. She took her time, wings folded, making sure they didn’t brush the walls. Llama kept pace beside her, steady as gravity.

  Halfway there, a door swung open; and a warm puff of cinnamon and sugar rolled out like a divine ambush.

  Poundcake emerged, dusted in flour and joy. His robe was beige, his sandals darker, and his smile radiant under a beard faintly powdered like snowfall. A wooden spoon was tucked into his belt, and he wore a small sign on his back that read: “Knead inner peace.”

  “Ah!” he greeted, clasping his hands together. “Sisters and brothers of radiance! Just finishing my sacred duties. Cookies are nearly done… would you like to assist enlightenment through taste?”

  Luminaria blinked. “Assist… what?”

  “They’re cookies,” Llama translated.

  “Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. Of course.”

  The cafeteria was mostly empty, except for excited Lisa and NightSwallow pestering Lunaris.

  So, as usual.

  She realized, a little embarrassed, that it was her first time walking here as a simple guest, not needing to work on her holo, or persuade someone.

  “Feels strange,” she murmured. “Being here without an agenda.”

  Llama nodded. “A good strange.”

  They followed Poundcake through the back door, into the kitchen… and what a kitchen. Counters lined with flour, racks of bread cooling, a massive furnace purring in the corner like a dragon with a sweet tooth. There were smaller ovens everywhere, each with its own nameplate: “Yeast Whisperer,” “Doughlight,” and “Serenity Mk. II.”

  “Ah, they’re done!” Poundcake declared, pulling a tray from the smallest oven. Steam and the smell of butter filled the air. “Behold: the Path of Crumble!”

  Luminaria hesitated for decorum’s sake, then accepted one delicately. She took a bite.

  It was sweet. Painfully sweet. And warm, and soft, and… heavenly. Her composure cracked. “They’re so—so good!”

  The exclamation shot out of her like an uncontrolled spell. Crumbs sprayed. Her eyes widened in horror.

  “I— oh, no sorry—”

  Llama’s hand came to rest gently on her shoulder. “Breathe,” he said. “You’re allowed to enjoy things.”

  He took one cookie himself, bit it once, and nodded gravely. “Excellent balance. The butter is perfect.”

  Poundcake chuckled, wiping his hands on his robe. “When the dough resists the knead, it teaches patience. When it yields, it teaches grace. And when it burns—” he held up a slightly over-baked one— “it teaches humility.”

  Luminaria laughed despite herself. The sound was light, unplanned, imperfect.

  And it felt wonderful.

  The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, and the reflection that blinked back at Lucas made him grin. Ian stood beside him; plaid shirt half torn, fur cuffs already shedding, wolf ears hanging slightly askew like they’d lost the will to live.

  Lucas tilted his head. “You look like a beta version werewolf.”

  Ian exhaled through his nose. “And you look like a patch note.”

  “Flattering,” Lucas said, grinning wider. “You couldn’t even install effort.”

  He turned to the mirrored wall, running a hand over his jacket. The synthetic weave responded with a soft pulse of cyan light, the circuitry threads tracing across his arms and chest like veins of neon fire.

  His visor flickered; a faint HUD overlay reflecting party invites, emoji reactions, and his own heart rate. The digital tattoos along his forearms pulsed in sync, faint streams of light flowing toward his gloves. The effect was clean, calculated, cool.

  He smirked. Yeah. Worth the two days of sleep deprivation.

  “Pearl not coming?” Ian asked, adjusting his headband for the third time.

  Lucas shook his head. “She asked Lola if it’s mandatory.”

  Ian snorted. “It isn’t. Encouraged.”

  “Exactly,” Lucas said. “So she’s probably being a gremlin near the monitors, stealing government data for fun.”

  “That tracks.” Ian leaned against the elevator wall, unbothered. “Luna texted me, said Lisa dragged her off to wear something called ‘yuki.’ Like… yuki? Any idea?”

  Lucas laughed. “If it’s Lisa, it’s probably an exorcism disguised as a fashion.”

  The elevator dinged.

  The doors opened into light and noise; the Halloween event was massive. Long tables lined the edges, glittering under suspended orange lights.

  Pumpkins glowed as if with enchantments. One side held a polished podium and holo-screens for announcements. The center was empty—a dance floor, probably—though for now, just clusters of employees chatting, laughing, taking photos.

  Lucas took a breath. It smelled of sugar, cheap fog, and too much artificial cinnamon.

  Someone passed Ian a plate—a pyramid of cookies labeled “Path of Crumble — baked by Monk Poundcake. Enlightenment through dough.”

  Ian stared at it as if it were a live explosive. “He’s branding his desserts now.”

  “Good,” Lucas said. “Finally someone here with spirituality.”

  They’d barely made it five steps into the crowd when a shadow slid between the lights; and purred.

  “Lucas~.”

  The voice brushed his ear like velvet. He turned… and forgot how to breathe.

  Phèdre stood there in a costume that looked halfway between sin and sanctity. Black silk traced her form, the bodice tight, the skirt asymmetrical and slit high, revealing long legs wrapped in dark shimmer. Her wings—matte black feathers—framed her like midnight halos, and the cat ears on her head flicked when she smiled.

  Even her tail, he couldn’t tell if it was mechanical or programable, swayed lazily, the ribbon at its tip glowing faintly. Her eyes caught the neon of his visor, reflecting it back in amber. “You clean up nicely, Netbreaker.”

  Lucas blinked. “Uh. Thanks. You— uh, you look—”

  “Dangerous?” she teased, leaning closer. Her perfume was warm and spiced. “I was aiming for divine temptation. Do you approve?”

  Ian made a quiet choking sound beside him. “You’re… uh… glowing.”

  Phèdre turned her attention to him, a smile curling. “And you must be her beta wolf.”

  “I’m— no, I’m—” He gave up. “Yes.”

  She laughed softly, a low feline sound that seemed to vibrate straight through Lucas’s ribs. “Relax, both of you. You look like you’re about to alt-F4.”

  Lucas cleared his throat. “We—we both have girlfriends.”

  “Oh?” she purred. “How responsible.” Her fingers brushed the side of Lucas’s visor, tracing the neon edge. “I don’t bite.” She paused, then added, “Not without consent.”

  Ian turned roughly the color of a burning pumpkin.

  Lucas tried to stand his ground, tried, but his systems betrayed him. His visor flickered with a warning: HEART RATE SPIKE DETECTED.

  Phèdre laughed outright. “Your tech’s ratting you out, hacker boy.”

  He tried to salvage it. “It’s— it’s for diagnostics.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She stepped back, wings spreading just enough to brush both their arms. “Well, diagnostics say you’re both adorable.”

  “Adorable?” Ian muttered.

  “Yes,” she said sweetly. “You’ll do.”

  And with that, she slipped past them into the crowd, hips swaying, tail flicking, leaving behind a faint trail of perfume and the wreckage of their dignity.

  Lucas exhaled slowly. “I hate her.”

  Ian nodded, face still pink. “Same.”

  Lucas paused. “…but also, respect.”

  “Yeah,” Ian admitted. “That too.”

  They stood there, two defeated men holding a plate of cookies, glowing and crumb-covered, like victims of divine comedy.

  And then, Lucas sighed, straightened his jacket, and said, “Come on. Let’s at least pretend we’re cool before Charlie finds out about this.”

  Lucy swaggered across the dance floor, boots thudding, the tail of her tattered red coat sweeping like a flag of poor life choices. The crowd parted in amusement; half from her enthusiasm, half from the sheer volume of her voice.

  “Yarrr!” she bellowed, striking a pose with one clawed hand on her hip and the other gripping a tankard that may or may not have contained entirely too much cider. “Beware the Wolf o’ the Sea!”

  A few heads turned.

  Someone clapped.

  Someone else howled. Ian?

  Lucy grinned wide, showing off the prosthetic fangs she’d glued in herself. They clicked slightly when she talked, but that just added character.

  Yeah, maybe this was a bit much. Even for me.

  But it was Halloween, and if she wasn’t over the top now, what was even the point?

  Next to her, Katherine was holding court; long legs, sharp grin, dressed like the world’s most confident werewolf. Black leather corset, fur-trimmed skirt, silver jewelry glinting under the party lights. Her ears were perfect, her tail better, her aura pure “alpha, and she knows it.”

  “Let’s teach ‘er! Mud… were-wolfs… are friends!” Katherine yelled at Lucy with a grin.

  Naturally, Dmitry chose that exact moment to ruin her aesthetic.

  He arrived with his usual smirk, only this time… hair. So much hair. With a wild mane of dark curls spilling past his shoulders, framing mirrored shades and a faux-leather jacket bristling with metal pins.

  Lucy blinked. “By the seven seas, he’s unbalded.”

  Katherine turned, blinked twice; then glared. “Rocker?! Not a shiny vampire? I asked for a vampire!”

  Dmitry raised both hands, grinning as he pulled a guitar from nowhere. “Rockers are cooler, babe.” He strummed an imaginary chord, head-banging so hard the wig nearly took flight. “You jealous?”

  Katherine groaned, then burst into laughter, all irritation melting as she grabbed his jacket and kissed him mid-head-bang. The surrounding crowd cheered.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “You lovebirds,” she muttered into her drink. “Get a crow’s nest.”

  She turned, and that’s when she saw Scamantha.

  The woman stood near them as if she’d teleported out of a time machine from 1890. Tailored black suit, waistcoat, monocle dangling from a chain, and in front of her, a polished wooden display case with little glass bottles lined neatly in rows. A small sign read:

  ? MIRACLE OIL! ?

  100% Rimelion BRAND?

  Now with extra mana potency!

  Scamantha adjusted her bow tie and waved one of the bottles dramatically. “Ladies, gentlemen, and wolves of various taxonomies! One sip and you’ll outshine the moon! Strength, youth, virility—all yours for a modest hundred creds!”

  Lucy choked on a laugh. “Yarrr, she’s serious.”

  Katherine, still leaning on Dmitry, tilted her head. “Wait… tat’s yar costume?”

  Scamantha flashed a grin that could sell sand to a desert. “Of course it is. I’m a miracle vendor! Historical accuracy and corporate synergy, all in one!”

  “Yar, yar!” Lucy whooped, nearly spilling her drink. “And what miracles do ye sell to pirates o’ the seas?”

  “Discounts,” Scamantha said smoothly. “If you buy in bulk.”

  That earned her another burst of laughter. Lucy threw an arm around her shoulder, nearly knocking the sign sideways. “You, lass, are dangerous.”

  Scamantha winked. “Always has been.”

  Lucy raised her tankard high. “To bad ideas and worse costumes!”

  The cheer went up around them; werewolves, rockers, con artists, and one pirate of the sea howling at the disco lights.

  Over the top? She thought, grinning into her drink. Maybe. But sometimes, that’s the point.

  Fty adjusted his hat; tall, purple and ridiculous. The golden ribbon around it caught the hallway lights as he turned his head, and the coat flared just enough to sparkle like spun candy.

  “Ten years in a row, buddy,” he muttered to himself with a grin. “Never failed.”

  The elevator dinged. He was ready to step in when the doors slid open and revealed three familiar faces inside.

  Lisa, NightSwallow and between them… Lunaris.

  She was sitting in a wheelchair, her pale hair falling in soft waves over a snow-white yukata trimmed in pale blue. Frost-patterns shimmered faintly across the fabric as if the light itself hesitated to touch her. Her eyes were now both deep blue. She looked like something from another world.

  A very cute world.

  Fty smiled warmly. “Good evening. You all have excellent costumes.”

  Lisa’s grin brightened. “Willy Wonka, huh? Classic.”

  “Ten years running,” Fty said proudly. “You can’t improve perfection.”

  NightSwallow tilted her head. “It’s… shiny.”

  “Thank you,” he said with full sincerity.

  Lunaris muttered under her breath, barely audible. “I was yukinized. Against my will.”

  Lisa laughed. “You look amazing, though! Admit it.”

  Lunaris didn’t. But her ears turned slightly pink, and that was admission enough.

  When the doors opened, they all walked out together, the sounds of music and chatter drifting from the main hall. Someone handed him a small plate of cookies, stacked like edible enlightenment. A little card rested on top:

  “When dough meets patience, it becomes wisdom.” — Monk Poundcake.

  Fty chuckled. “I like this guy.”

  He didn’t have long to admire the message; because the lights dimmed, and Lola walked onto the stage, microphone in hand, wearing what could only be described as a cosmic beauty pageant explosion.

  A silver sash across her chest read MISS UNIVERSE, her gown glimmered with galaxy prints, and the confident gleam in her eyes said she knew exactly how ridiculous it was.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Lola’s voice boomed. “Welcome to the Rimebreak Halloween Party!”

  Applause erupted. Fty joined, smiling.

  “But before we begin,” Lola continued, “something terrible has happened!” She gestured dramatically to the side of the stage.

  Out stepped Charlie; headless, carrying a glowing pumpkin under her arm like a trophy. The Dullahan costume gleamed under the lights, chains rattling as she struck an exaggerated villain pose.

  “As you can see,” Lola announced, “our beloved Queen has lost her head… again!” She paused for the laughter. “But this time, not to the Empire… it’s hidden somewhere in the building! Whoever finds it first will win tonight’s grand prize!”

  The hall exploded with excited chatter. Players scattered like raid groups after loot drops; groups forming instantly, maps drawn, ‘spells’ of detection (LED lights) thrown around.

  Fty just smiled, sipping his drink.

  This was beyond him. He was here for cookies and conversation.

  He drifted through the crowd until he spotted Dmitry, in ridiculous rocker wig, headbanging to music that wasn’t even playing.

  “Nice wig,” Fty said.

  “Nice hat,” Dmitry countered.

  They shared a grin. “Good head joke,” Dmitry added. “Classic setup.”

  “Agreed,” Fty said. “Very on-brand.”

  By the time Lola reappeared on stage, nearly everyone had returned… some with cobwebs, one group carrying a mop for reasons unclear.

  “We’ve got it!” Lola announced triumphantly.

  Yuki bounced onto the stage in her cute costume, grinning wide and holding up ‘Charlie’s’ head with a frost crown. “Ta-da!”

  “Yuki gets first prize!” Lola declared. “She found the Queen’s head hidden in the third-floor ceiling tile!”

  The crowd erupted again.

  “How were we supposed to find it?!” Fuzuki shouted from the back.

  Lola opened her mouth to answer, but Yuki beat her to it, grabbing the mic.

  “Actually—there were clues!” she said proudly, holding up a folded sheet of paper covered in colorful handwriting.

  She began reading:

  “Number one: Begin where sunlight ends, but ambition climbs!”

  “Number two: There, the air hums with old reports and stale coffee!”

  “And three—my favorite—when the sky turns false and stars are screws… seek the hollow above the light that never blinks!”

  Fuzuki groans. “That’s cheating. You need a corporate decoder for that!”

  Yuki just winks. “Exactly. I am HR-compliant.”

  The crowd groaned and laughed at once.

  “Rimebreak-themed riddles,” Fty murmured, amused. “Of course.”

  Lisa leaned over from behind him, whispering with a grin, “You’re just jealous you didn’t find it first.”

  He smiled, tipping his hat. “Maybe. But I’ll let others have the spotlight.”

  Lola tapped the mic again, the speakers letting out a brief squeal before her voice filled the hall. “Now that we've found Queen’s Head…” she paused for effect, grin widening, “let’s start the Delivery Event!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “It’s simple,” she continued, pacing the stage in her Miss Universe gown like it was a battle command uniform. “It’s rugby. With the head.”

  She raised one manicured finger. “A unanimous suggestion from the Left Sock Division.”

  A loud cheer erupted from the left side of the hall, where Charlie stood, waving dramatically, still in her Dullahan costume. “You know you love it!” she called, voice muffled slightly.

  “Here’s how it goes,” Lola continued. “Two teams! One tries to deliver the head to our Queen. The other tries to steal it and deliver it first! Team Chaos, assemble!”

  Instant energy swept through the room. People were shouting, laughing, running to claim sides. Tables scraped against the floor as improvised barriers went up. Fty found himself beside Dmitry, who was fixing his ridiculous rocker wig in a metal tray reflection. “You in?” Fty asked, grinning.

  Dmitry smirked. “I’m not losing this hair. That’s my only rule.”

  “Then you’re playing defense.”

  Dmitry nodded solemnly, then immediately ruined the effect by headbanging. “Rock and roll, my friend.”

  Fty laughed and pulled a small chocolate from his pocket, holding it out. “Fuel for battle.”

  Dmitry accepted it with a grin. “You’re a saint.”

  Then Lola shouted, “GO!”

  The hall erupted into chaos.

  Yuki was the first to move; she leapt from the podium like a firecracker in human form, landing with both boots on the dance floor with the “head” ball.

  The crowd roared. She sprinted forward—

  —and was immediately tackled by Katherine, who appeared out of nowhere with werewolf-like reflexes and a terrifying grin. “Mine!” she yelled, spinning and launching herself toward Charlie’s side. “Mud wolves are—”

  Two healers jumped in, intercepting her path. Someone used a levitation spell (an air gun), and the “head” shot up into the air like a volleyball.

  A dozen hands reached, a dozen people collided, laughter echoing off the walls.

  Fty stayed near the edge, watching, half-cheering, half-trying not to choke on his cookie. The fake head bounced between players like fate itself couldn’t decide who deserved victory.

  Lisa caught it midair, spun, and yelled, “For the witches!” before being body-checked by Tramar shouting, “For honor!”

  The head tumbled loose again. NightSwallow melted out of nowhere, grabbed it from the ground, vanished into the crowd, and reappeared behind enemy lines… only to get intercepted by Lucas, whose neon jacket made him impossible to miss.

  “I hacked your shadow!” he declared.

  “Impossible,” she hissed… and tackled him anyway.

  The head rolled free once more.

  It bounced, rolled, and somehow, miraculously, stopped at the wheels of a single person who hadn’t moved the entire time.

  Lunaris.

  She looked down at it.

  Then up.

  The entire hall fell silent for a second.

  Her voice was soft, sly, perfectly calm. “I’m the fastest.”

  Then, her chair glowed.

  Fty blinked. “Oh, no.”

  With a whirr of electricity, Lunaris rocketed forward; wheels sparking across the polished floor, wind whipping her white yukata. The crowd shouted in delight, laughter and disbelief mixing into a chorus as she zigzagged between players.

  “Stop her!” someone yelled.

  “No magic!” someone else lied.

  Katherine tried to cut her off; missed by inches. Lucas reached out; grabbed air. Dmitry, mid-headbang, realized too late.

  Lunaris’ laughter echoed through the chaos, bright and wild. She shot straight toward Charlie, who was still laughing so hard she nearly dropped the fake scythe.

  With a dramatic skid, Lunaris raised the “head” and placed it back in Charlie’s outstretched hand. “Delivery complete!” she announced, beaming.

  The room exploded.

  Cheers, whistles, stomps; half the players collapsed in laughter while the other half applauded.

  Lola’s voice boomed over the mic, unable to hide her grin. “LUNARIS ALONE WON! THE SECOND GRAND PRIZE IS HERS!”

  Charlie held the head high. “That’s my girl!”

  Fty laughed until he had to sit down. Dmitry clapped him on the shoulder between chuckles. “You see that? Wheel-powered victory.”

  “She’s faster than my coffee machine,” Fty said.

  “And twice as scary,” Dmitry added.

  As the laughter rolled through the hall, the music kicked back in… and for one wild, wonderful moment, everyone in Rimebreak was just… happy.