Chapter 120: Table Feast Aftermath

  Darkness.

  Complete, absolute, suffocating darkness.

  Raito’s eyes snapped open, but the scenery didn't change. He blinked once, twice, expecting his vision to adjust, but the void remained stubborn. Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest.

  "Hello?" he shouted.

  "Hello... llo... lo..."

  His voice echoed back to him, hollow and metallic, bouncing off walls that felt claustrophobically close.

  Simultaneously, a searing pain lanced through his skull, a rhythmic thumping that felt like a blacksmith was using his brain as an anvil. He groaned, trying to bring his hand up to clutch his head, but his arms were pinned to his sides.

  He tried to stand, to shift his weight, but realized with a jolt of horror that his feet weren't touching anything. They were waddling uselessly in the air, kicking at empty space.

  "Hello!" he shouted again, louder this time. "Is anyone there?"

  Where am I? What happened? Did I get captured?

  He struggled, twisting his torso violently. Gravity seemed to be working against him, pulling blood to his pounding head. He wiggled, grunting with effort, feeling the rough texture of wood scraping against his shoulders.

  Suddenly, he felt his center of gravity shift.

  Tip.

  The world tilted.

  Thud.

  The darkness surrounding him hit something hard. Raito felt the impact rattle his teeth, but finally, his feet touched solid ground. Or rather, his knees did.

  "Okay... okay..." he panted, his voice muffled.

  He began to shimmy backward. Like a confused caterpillar, he wiggled and arched his back, scraping his way out of his dark prison. Inch by painful inch, light began to leak in. First a sliver, then a beam, and finally...

  Pop.

  Raito slid free, tumbling onto his back on the hard cobblestones.

  He gasped, his lungs greedily sucking in air that smelled of... smoke? And stale wine?

  Above him, the sun was high and brutal, a blinding white eye in an uncaring blue sky. Raito threw an arm over his face, shielding his eyes as he sat up, his head swimming.

  He turned to look at his captor.

  It was a barrel. An empty, innocuous wine barrel lying on its side.

  "I was..." Raito touched his throbbing temple, squinting at the wooden object. "I was head-first in a barrel?"

  He shook his head, instantly regretting it as the world spun. Slowly, he got to his feet, using the barrel for support. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and looked around.

  His jaw dropped.

  The Palace Courtyard, the site of the party, the place of joy and elegance... looked like a warzone.

  It was utter chaos.

  Tables were overturned, their legs pointing accusingly at the sky. A decorative bush near the fountain was currently on fire, sending a lazy trail of black smoke into the air, though no one seemed to care.

  Raito scanned the area, his brain refusing to process the data.

  "What..."

  Bodies were strewn everywhere.

  Not dead. Just... down.

  He saw a group of acrobats, still in their glittering costumes, draped over the terracotta tiles of the palace roof like discarded laundry. How they got up there, Raito had no idea.

  He looked to his left. A pair of legs in a white chef's uniform stuck out of a dense hedge, twitching occasionally.

  He looked to his right. A scholar—possibly a high-ranking historian judging by the robes—was asleep on top of a cold charcoal grill, clutching a skewer like a teddy bear.

  Raito blinked. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  The scenery didn't change. The destruction was real.

  "Did we get attacked?" Raito whispered, his voice trembling. "A raid? A monster?"

  He turned in a slow circle. "Where is everyone? Where is Yukari?"

  …Please don’t tell me she’s fine and I’m the only idiot.

  Thump. Thump.

  His head pulsed with a pain that was almost blinding. He hissed, pressing his palms against his temples.

  Yet... despite the devastation, despite the fire and the unconscious bodies, a strange feeling washed over him.

  It wasn't fear. It wasn't dread.

  It was familiarity.

  Looking at the carnage, at the absurdity of the aftermath, a memory tickled the back of his mind. He had seen this before. He had felt this specific brand of headache before. He just couldn't put a finger on it through the fog of his amnesia.

  As he stood there, a lone survivor in the wreckage of a celebration, the wind shifted, carrying the sound of a distant snore.

  Somewhere in the courtyard, hours earlier…

  "Unhand me, you heathens!"

  Lily’s voice cut through the ambient chatter of the party, shrill and theatrical, as she stumbled in her heels, being towed relentlessly by Yukari.

  Yukari didn't slow down, her grip on the idol’s wrist firm but careful not to bruise. She glanced back over her shoulder, an amused eyebrow raised.

  "Heathens?" Yukari asked, dodging a waiter carrying a tray of champagne towers. "Since when did that word enter your vocabulary?"

  Lily straightened her spine mid-stumble, tossing her hair back with practiced grace. "Since my new play, The Empress of the Iron Throne, where I play a tyrannical queen! It will be released soon to critical acclaim, I assure you."

  She lifted her chin, adopting a regal, disdainful expression that looked entirely too natural.

  Yukari scoffed, pulling her around a large ice sculpture of a swan. "You are already a tyrannical queen in real life, so that character is not far off. It's hardly acting."

  "Rude..." Lily gasped, genuinely taken aback. She flapped her free hand. "It's been a while since we last met, and the first thing you do is drag me across the courtyard like a sack of potatoes! Where are we going, anyway, that requires my esteemed attention?"

  "You still talk too much," Yukari replied, navigating them toward the quieter edge of the courtyard where the garden shadows lengthened. "Don't worry, it's nothing suspicious. I just want you to meet my friend."

  Lily blinked, her resistance faltering slightly. "Friend? Is it someone I know? A producer? A royal?"

  "No, you've never met her," Yukari said, slowing down as they approached toward a familiar silver-haired girl on a bench, her posture stiff with restraint, speaking softly to a woman in a maid’s uniform. "But I want you two to meet. You need extra friends anyway, besides me and Serra."

  Yukari chuckled, watching Lily’s face twitch.

  "Rude, again! That's strike two! Act two!" Lily huffed, crossing her arms. But then, the corners of her lips fought a losing battle against a smile. "Humph. Only because you ask. And it is certainly not because we are actual friends or anything sentimental like that."

  "There you go," Yukari smirked, recognizing the dishonest surrender. "Let's go."

  She gave one final tug, hauling the protesting—but secretly pleased—celebrity toward the bench.

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the courtyard, near the grilling stations, an equally strange pair had formed.

  A young man sporting a magnificent, gravity-defying black pompadour stood craning his neck to look up at a towering, muscular Rabbit Sacred.

  "So Jack, eh?" Isao asked, his accent thick with the rough-and-tumble lilt of the western Hanyuun districts. "Uh, what ya do for fun 'round here? How, uh, how you know Raito?"

  Jack, the Rabbit Sacred, looked down with a relaxed grin, his long ears twitching to the beat of the distant drums. "Oh, mostly helping Miss Yinzi most of the time these days. But when it comes to Kun, we go way back. Way, way back."

  "Kun?" Isao tilted his head, the pompadour swaying. "You mean Raito?"

  "Yeah, Kun is my best bud."

  "Who's that?" Isao frowned.

  Jack blinked. "Kun is Raito. Did he never tell you his real name?"

  "No?" Isao looked slightly perturbed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Should I need to know? Is it a secret code or somethin'?"

  "I don't think so," Jack shrugged, grabbing a carrot stick from a passing tray. "He is always carefree about that kind of stuff. Probably just forgot."

  "Hey! You two!"

  Raito approached them, weaving through the crowd and waving his hand.

  "Oh, thank Silas you are here!" Isao exhaled in relief, his pompadour perking up with renewed energy. "This rabbit guy is confusin' the heck out of me."

  Raito stopped between them, grinning. "This is the first time you two met, right? Alright. Isao, meet Jack. Jack, meet Isao."

  "Yeah, we know each other's name already, Kun," Jack said, crossing his muscular arms.

  "Ok?" Raito looked between them. "So what is the issue? Grandpa Sun-Yoon said you need me, Isao."

  "Ok, here is the issue," Isao said seriously.

  Both Jack and Isao turned to Raito with intense expressions.

  “Which name do you use?” they demanded in perfect unison.

  "I kept calling you Kun," Jack explained, pointing a thumb at himself. "But Isao clearly don't know that name."

  "And I kept calling you Raito," Isao added, gesturing wildly. "And Jack-boy here is not familiar with that name! It's confusin' my brain!"

  Raito’s expression turned deadpan. The lights in his eyes dimmed.

  "Seriously?" he asked flatly. "Just for that? You called me over just for that?"

  He turned on his heel. "I'm going to look for Miss Yinzi instead."

  "Wait!"

  Both Isao and Jack lunged, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him back around.

  "Please!" they begged in unison. "We need to know! You are our friend!"

  Raito looked at their desperate faces and sighed, slouching. "Fine. Let's decide it here."

  "Oh!" Isao perked up again, nudging Raito with his elbow. "And don't forget to introduce me to some girls. The local ladies are—"

  "Definitely not that," Raito shut him down immediately.

  Back to the present...

  Raito stood in the wreckage of the courtyard, clutching his throbbing head.

  "Ok... so..." he muttered to himself, trying to piece together the fractured timeline. "I know Yukari was dragging Lily to meet... someone. And I was talking with Jack and Isao about my name..."

  Another spike of searing pain shot through his skull.

  "Urghhh..." He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. "I can't remember what happened next."

  He groaned, the sound lost in the eerily quiet aftermath. With a heavy sigh, he forced his legs to move, stepping over a sleeping juggler and beginning to walk deeper into the scene of chaos, searching for answers—or at least a strong medicine for headache.

  He walked slowly amongst the devastation, the crunch of broken glass under his shoes echoing in the silence.

  Suddenly, something caught his eye.

  Behind a charred decorative bush, he saw a familiar black shape. It was unmistakable. The curve, the volume, the sheer defiance of gravity.

  "Isao?" Raito asked, tilting his head.

  He walked over to the bush. The pompadour was sticking out, seemingly attached to a head hidden in the foliage. Raito reached out.

  "Hey, wake up."

  He grabbed the pompadour and pulled.

  Pop.

  It came off.

  Raito stood there, his hand frozen in mid-air. In his clutch was the magnificent, legendary pompadour. But there was nothing attached to it. No head. No Isao.

  Raito stared at the hairball in his hand. He blinked. He looked at the bush. He looked back at the hair.

  "Gah!"

  Startled, he yelped and threw the hair away as if it were a venomous snake. It landed with a soft floof on the cobblestones.

  "The hair is there... but where is..."

  Flash.

  Another searing pain ripped through his skull, bringing him to his knees.

  Back to a few hours before...

  "...and that is how I became Raito."

  Raito finished his story, letting out a long breath. He looked at his two friends, Isao and Jack, who were sitting cross-legged on the ground in a small circle, listening with the intensity of scholars studying a sacred text.

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  Silence hung for a moment.

  Then, Isao and Jack began to clap.

  "Ohhh..." Isao murmured, his eyes glistening. "That's deep."

  "Must have been rough, Kun," Jack said, wiping a single, manly tear from his cheek with a large finger.

  "Well, yeah," Raito shrugged, picking at a blade of grass. "But I don't really think much about it anymore. It's just a distant past. Therefore, just call me by any name you two like."

  "Then I will keep calling you Kun," Jack stated firmly.

  "And I will still call you Raito," Isao nodded with equal conviction.

  Raito smiled. "Yep, that sounds good."

  The sentimental moment lingered for a second longer before Isao leaned in, his expression turning skeptical.

  "So..." Isao narrowed his eyes. "You managed to get that beautiful Commander lady... just by being you?"

  He scoffed. "I call a lie."

  "I know, right?" Jack laughed, pointing a thumb at Raito. "Miss Lin is absolutely beyond this guy's level."

  They both burst into laughter, slapping their knees.

  "Hey!" Raito protested, crossing his arms defensively. "But that is what happened! It was charm! Personality! Shared trauma!"

  "Nah," Isao waved a hand dismissively. "You must have used some kind of spell on her. Hypnosis? Love potion?"

  Isao stood up, gesturing to himself. "I mean, look at me! The newly appointed Ruler of Hanyuun! Charismatic! Stylish! And I am still single!"

  He pointed at Jack. "And look at Jack! Tall! Handsome! Muscular! A Sacred! And he's still single! But you? Here you are, married."

  Isao shook his head, looking at the sky. "Still don't believe it. The world is unfair."

  "Whatever, man," Raito grumbled.

  "Actually," Jack interrupted, taking a bite of his carrot. "I am not single."

  Isao froze. Raito froze.

  "I have a girlfriend back home," Jack said nonchalantly, chewing.

  Crack.

  The sound of Isao's worldview shattering was almost audible. He turned slowly to look at the rabbit.

  "Huh?" Isao whispered.

  "Oh man, congrats!" Raito grinned, leaning forward. "Who is the lucky girl?"

  "Another Rabbit Sacred from my home village," Jack smiled, a soft, dopey look entering his eyes. "My childhood friend. We started dating just before I left."

  Isao stared at Raito. Married.

  He stared at Jack. Girlfriend.

  He looked at himself. Single.

  His lip quivered.

  "Traitor!" Isao screamed, his voice cracking.

  He spun on his heel and bolted, running away at full speed into the crowd, tears streaming down his face.

  "Hey, wait!" Raito called out, reaching a hand toward the fleeing ruler. "I still want to ask about how Hanyuun is these days..."

  But Isao was already gone, a blur of black hair and heartbreak disappearing into the crowd.

  "Oh well," Raito shrugged, turning back to Jack.

  "Sounds like a fun company. May I join?"

  A kind, gentle voice drifted from behind him. It was a voice that smelled of tea and old books, a voice that felt like home.

  Raito turned around, a massive smile breaking across his face.

  "Miss Yinzi!"

  Standing there, elegant and serene amidst the party chaos, was the Elephant Sacred who had raised him.

  Joy surged through him, washing away the fatigue of the day. He immediately leapt up and wrapped her in a hug.

  "How are you, Kun?" she asked, patting his back softly.

  "Great," Raito mumbled into her shoulder. "Really great."

  Meanwhile, on the quieter side of the courtyard, near a bubbling fountain that drowned out some of the party noise...

  "Alright, Lily," Yukari stopped, releasing the idol’s wrist. She gestured to a silver-haired woman sitting gracefully on the fountain's edge, tuning a traditional string instrument. "This is the person I want you to meet. This is—"

  The silver-haired woman looked up. Her eyes went wide. The instrument slipped from her fingers, caught only by a desperate fumble.

  "Kya!!!!!"

  Rara, the dignified Crane Sacred, the soothing voice of the rebellion, shrieked like a banshee.

  "It's Lily Pence! In the flesh!!!!"

  Rara scrambled to her feet, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her cheeks. "I am a big fan! Huge! Massive! May I get an autograph? A picture? Both? Definitely both! Oh my Silas, what should I do?!"

  She began to hyperventilate, looking around for a pen, paper, or a paper bag to breathe into.

  Lily stood straighter. Her chest puffed out. A radiant aura of self-satisfaction erupted around her, blinding in its intensity.

  "He he," Lily chuckled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Sounds like you are a girl of culture."

  She extended a hand, palm down, in a gesture that demanded fealty. "Indeed, 'tis I, Lily Pence! Celebrity extraordinaire! Bow before me, peasants!"

  Her self-esteem, which had taken a beating from Yukari’s dragging, skyrocketed through the roof. Finally, someone recognized her true station amongst a sea of what she considered to be weirdos and savages.

  "Great..." Yukari groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I didn't think of this."

  "Miss Yukari," a soft voice came from beside her.

  Serra, dressed in her immaculate maid uniform, offered a polite, perfect bow. "It has been a while."

  "Yeah, been a while, Serra," Yukari sighed, offering a small, tired smile. "I hope Lily hasn't given you too much trouble."

  "Other than the constant demands for specialized massages, it has been surprisingly quiet," Serra giggled, covering her mouth. "I think Miss Lily misses your company in her home. She complains about the lack of 'worthy verbal sparring partners'."

  "Hoooo..." Yukari’s smile turned mischievous, her eyes glinting. "Is that so? And here I thought she just disliked me."

  She was about to dig for more gossip when a movement caught her eye.

  Rara was on the ground. Kneeling. Bowing so low her forehead was touching the cobblestones in front of Lily’s heels.

  "Stop stop stop!" Yukari rushed forward, physically wedging herself between the idol and the fan. She grabbed Rara by the arms and hauled the Crane Sacred back to her feet.

  "Why are you making her kneel?" Yukari snapped, glaring at Lily.

  Lily blinked, looking genuinely innocent. "Is it not natural between a fan and an idol? It is the natural hierarchy of adoration!"

  Of course not!" Yukari barked. "Urghh, another idiot."

  "Rude!!" Lily screamed, stomping her foot.

  "You too, Rara," Yukari scolded gently, dusting off the front of Rara’s dress where the soot from the stones had clung to the silk. "No need to follow her hijinks. She feeds on it."

  "Oh, I'm sorry!" Rara flushed a deep crimson, clutching her instrument to her chest. "I'm just very, very excited! It's Lily Pence! In the flesh! I didn't know I would get a chance to meet her, here of all places!"

  She took a deep breath, composing herself, though her eyes still sparkled. She looked at Yukari, her expression softening. "And right... it's been a while, Yukari."

  "Yeah," Yukari smiled, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Ever since Hanyuun. How have you been? What have you been doing?"

  She glanced sideways at Lily, who was opening her mouth to demand more praise. "Oh, and ignore that annoying loud one for now."

  Yukari waved a dismissive hand at the celebrity.

  "Hey!!!" Lily protested, lunging forward, but Serra caught her by the waist, holding her back with practiced ease.

  "Oh, I've been here and there," Rara said, unconsciously strumming a gentle melody on her instrument. "I sing everywhere I go. Helping with the reconstruction of Hanyuun, lifting spirits... trying to heal the land with music."

  Her gaze drifted, seeing memories of green mountains and rebuilding villages. "It was amazing. I didn't know Hanyuun was such a vast land before. And plus, since the war ended... everyone has been smiling more."

  Rara looked back at Yukari, her eyes shimmering with unshed emotion. She bowed deeply—a respectful bow, not a fanatical one. "Thank you. For everything."

  "I didn't do anything," Yukari murmured, stepping forward to pull her friend into a hug. "No need to bow."

  They held the embrace for a moment, two warriors of different paths finding peace.

  "A singer, eh?"

  Lily’s voice cut in, sharp and inquisitive. She had escaped Serra’s grip and was inspecting Rara’s instrument with a critical eye.

  "In Hanyuun?" Lily mused, tapping her chin. "How odd."

  "Ye... yes, Miss Lily," Rara stuttered, clutching her instrument tighter. "But I am only an amateur. I hold no candle against you."

  "Of course!" Lily threw her head back, her hair whipping dramatically. "I am but only the Great Lily Pence! Celebrity extraordinaire! The voice of a generation! Hahaha!"

  SMACK.

  A powerful, crisp chop descended onto the top of her head.

  "Ouch!" Lily yelped, clutching her skull.

  "Stop with the gloating," Yukari said, lowering her hand. She turned to the pouting idol. "This is Rara. I want you to meet her because going to Spica has been her dream. Can you give her some tips?"

  "No, no, Yukari!" Rara waved her hands frantically, horrified at the imposition. "You don't need to! I couldn't possibly—"

  "I can certainly give her tips if she wants to join the region of arts," Lily said, rubbing her head and narrowing her eyes at Yukari. "But it will cost you."

  "Oh, is that so?" Yukari crossed her arms, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "I guess I can just tell everyone that the Great Lily Pence still sleeps sucking her thumb while hugging her collection of limited edition plushies."

  Lily froze. Her face went pale, then bright red.

  "You wouldn't dare," she hissed.

  "Try me," Yukari challenged, leaning in.

  "Then... then..." Lily stammered, scrambling for ammunition. "I will tell everyone how you cried every time Mr. Guido came near you in that restaurant!"

  "No, I did not!" Yukari shouted, her composure cracking. "It was just onions! They were cutting onions nearby!"

  "Liar!"

  "Crybaby!"

  Sparks—literal or metaphorical, it was hard to tell—began to fly between their locked gazes. The air crackled with the intensity of their petty rivalry.

  "You two..." Rara panicked, looking back and forth between the two terrifying women. "Please..."

  A gentle hand landed on Rara’s shoulder.

  "Don't worry," Serra whispered, her voice a calm oasis in the storm. "Those two are like that every time they meet. It will be a while before they run out of breath."

  She guided the bewildered Crane Sacred away from the shouting match. "Let's talk more about your dream over there, shall we? I can tell you about Spica without the... theatrics."

  "Miss Serra... yes," Rara nodded gratefully, allowing herself to be led away, leaving the bickering Yukari and Lily to their war of secrets.

  In a more secluded part of the courtyard, where the noise of the celebration was muffled by dense hedges of jasmine and oleander, the atmosphere was hushed and intimate.

  Two figures sat on a stone bench illuminated by a single, hanging lantern. Mila leaned her head on her mother's shoulder, her eyes closed, looking younger than she had in years. Aisha sat quietly, her hand rhythmically patting her daughter's hair, a soothing motion she hadn't performed since Mila was a child.

  "You loved him, didn't you?" Aisha asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

  Mila didn't open her eyes. She swallowed hard. "Yes. Very much so." Her voice cracked slightly. "It still hurts. Even today."

  Aisha didn't say anything, simply continuing to stroke her hair.

  Rustle.

  The sound of heavy footsteps on gravel made Mila sit up straight, her warrior instincts flaring for a brief second before she recognized the intruder.

  It was Bob. The Merchant King looked unusually solemn, his boisterous energy replaced by a heavy, somber air. He held his hat in his hands.

  "It's alright, Mila," Bob said gently, waving a hand to signal her to stay seated.

  "Master?" Mila asked, confusion knitting her brow.

  "My business is with your mother," Bob said, his gaze fixed on the older woman.

  He quietly approached Aisha. Then, to Mila's shock, the massive man lowered himself to the ground, kneeling on the hard stones in front of the village woman.

  "I am sorry, Madam," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  "I am the one who agreed to take Mila with me. I was the one who forced her to fight. I was the one who introduced pain and loneliness to her world." Bob bowed his head deeply. "Please... if you need anyone to blame for her hardships, blame me." A weight he had been carrying deep inside ever since he saw Mila’s face after Rami’s death.

  Aisha looked at the kneeling giant. She didn't look angry. She didn't look vengeful.

  She reached out, placing her calloused hand on Bob's shaking shoulder.

  "Please, raise your head, Mr. Bob," Aisha said firmly.

  "Madam?" Bob looked up, his eyes rimmed with red, confusion etched on his face.

  "Now tell me," she asked, her eyes searching his. "Why should I blame you?"

  "Because..." Bob choked back a sob. "Because she had to fight to protect my carriage. I put her in danger every day. And because of my son... because she loved him, she suffered."

  "Listen to me, Mr. Bob," Aisha started, her voice steady.

  "Of course, as a mother, I am afraid. I am angry that Mila is out there fighting for someone I barely know, risking her life." She let out a small, dry chuckle. "Also, I can't believe she told you she was an orphan. I am not dead yet, you know."

  "That was to protect you!" Mila interjected, her face flushing.

  Aisha ignored her, focusing on Bob. "However... if not for the journey with you, she would not have grown up."

  She looked at Mila with pride. "I have known for a long time that our village is too small for a rebellious spirit like hers. She needed the world. And I am glad that the person she found was you."

  Aisha squeezed Bob's shoulder. "You and your family... you helped me raise her right."

  "I mean, look at her," Aisha gestured to Mila. "She grew up to be such a strong and beautiful woman. She found love, however tragic, and learned from it. And now, she is surrounded with friends who care for her deeply."

  Aisha chuckled again, shaking her head. "Have you seen how those two kids—the boy and the girl—dove into a sewer just to find my invitation? People don't do that for strangers. They did that because they care about the people here."

  "Sure, there are ups and downs, and loss is a part of life," Aisha said softly. "But I don't think there are enough reasons to blame you, Mr. Bob. I see only reasons to thank you."

  Bob stared at her, tears freely streaming down his face now.

  "I just want you to do one thing," Aisha’s expression turned stern, the protective mother surfacing. "Take care of her fully from now on. If I ever see her crying again because of your negligence, I will slap you. Understand?"

  "Madam..." Bob sniffled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Thank you. Thank you."

  Aisha smiled, satisfied. She stood up, brushing off her skirt.

  "Now, if we have time," she said, offering a hand to help Bob up. "Is it possible for me to meet your son? I want to talk to the boy who managed to get this tomboy's heart."

  Bob grasped her hand, pulling himself up with a nod. "Yes. Yes, of course. I will take you to his grave. I am sure he would have been delighted to meet his fiancée's mother."

  "Mom..." Mila blushed, burying her face in her hands, though a small smile graced her lips.

  "HAHAHAHAHA!"

  A loud, barbaric laughter ripped through the serene atmosphere, echoing from the direction of the central courtyard like a thunderclap in a library.

  Mila flinched, her head snapping up. The blush vanished, replaced by a warrior's frown.

  "Master?" Mila asked, her eyes narrowing. "Did you invite a comedian? That laugh sounded... unhinged."

  "Not that I know of," Bob said quickly. Too quickly. He adjusted his hat, his eyes studiously avoiding Mila's gaze, fixing instead on a fascinating patch of moss on the stone wall.

  The laughter came again. Louder. Closer.

  "Master," Mila stood up, her voice dropping an octave. "What did you do?"

  "Nothing! Nothing!" Bob waved his hands dismissively, sweating slightly despite the cool evening air.

  Mila sighed, a long suffering sound. "Okay. Let's check the situation first."

  She turned to Aisha. "Mother, please wait here. It might be dangerous. Or stupid. Likely both."

  Aisha chuckled, the sound warm and knowing. "Go. Don't worry about me."

  Mila nodded. She grabbed Bob by the sleeve of his expensive coat and dragged him out of the garden.

  When they stepped back into the central courtyard, the scene that greeted them defied all logic.

  It was madness.

  Isao, the newly appointed Ruler of Hanyuun, was standing on top of a lit charcoal grill. He was barefoot. He seemed completely oblivious to the heat radiating beneath him. He held a glass of clear liquid high in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  "I AM ACCEPTING GIRLFRIEND PROPOSALS!" Isao bellowed, swaying dangerously. "APPLICATIONS MUST INCLUDE A RESUME AND A PREFERENCE FOR POMPADOURS!"

  The royal guards, who should have tackled him for desecrating palace property, were instead leaning on their spears, laughing hysterically and clapping. A noblewoman was throwing flowers at him.

  To the left, the mime troupe was shouting—actually shouting—about being stuck in invisible boxes, their vow of silence apparently dissolved in alcohol. A trapeze artist was using the manicured hedges as trampolines, bouncing with alarming height. An adventurer was halfway up the palace wall, shouting about "lost treasure" in the royal gutters.

  "Master," Mila asked again, her grip on his collar tightening. "What. Did. You. Do?"

  "No... nothing..." Bob fidgeted, his knuckles white as he clutched his hat.

  Mila grabbed him by the lapels, pulling his face down to hers. "Talk now. Before any Core User starts to—"

  WHOOSH.

  A massive fireball, roughly the size of a carriage, flew past them, singeing the feather on Bob's hat and incinerating a palm tree instantly.

  CRASH.

  A jagged chunk of ice, glittering in the firelight, sailed through the air and smashed the open bar into splinters.

  "Too late," Mila thought, dread pooling in her stomach.

  In the center of the chaos, Raito and Yukari were circling each other like gladiators. But instead of swords, they were using their fingers to pinch each other's cheeks, hard.

  "Why won't you notice?!" Yukari shouted, her speech slurred, her eyes swimming. "The Black Flame... idiot! It's clearly... dangerous!"

  "I don't understand what you mean!" Raito shouted back, his face flushed, equally slurred. "Why can't you... cook better?! The onions... they mock me!"

  "Huh?" Yukari gasped, offended.

  "Huh?" Raito gasped, equally offended.

  They stepped back, hands glowing with disastrous elemental energy, and began slinging fireballs and ice lances wildly into the night sky. Instead of running for cover, the crowd cheered, treating the lethal elemental duel like a fireworks display.

  "Master!" Mila turned on Bob, her voice vibrating with rage. "Those two are the last people we need to be like this! What... did... you... do?!"

  "I... uh..." Bob shrank under her glare. "I... I thought I could liven up the mood!"

  "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

  "That wine barrel!" Bob pointed a trembling finger toward a large wooden barrel near the fountain. "I put in one of my special blends! But I thought because it was labeled 'Alcohol', people would drink responsibly!"

  Mila released him and marched over to the barrel. She peered inside.

  The liquid was clear. Crystal clear. It had no odor.

  "Master," Mila said, dipping a finger in and tasting it. "This is water."

  Immediately, a warm, fuzzy hammer hit her brain. The world tilted slightly.

  "You spiked the water barrel," Mila said, her words already starting to slur.

  "No way!" Bob ran over. "I made sure! It is wa—"

  He looked. He blinked.

  "Oh…… They must have switched the barrels during setup…”

  It was the water station. In the desert heat, everyone had been drinking from it. Everyone.

  "Oh no," Bob whispered.

  He turned and ran toward the High Table. "Tanvir! Tanvir, old buddy, old pal! Help me fix this!"

  He grabbed the Museum Director by the shoulders and shook him.

  "Oh, Bob!" Tanvir grinned, his eyes unfocused and wild. "Drink with us! This is great!"

  Next to him, King Ahmed draped an arm around Tanvir. "Brother! This water tastes great! Where did you get this? It tingles!"

  "Oh no," Bob whimpered.

  Before he could stop them, Tanvir and King Ahmed linked arms, stumbled onto the stage where the band was playing, and began a passionate, synchronized belly dance performance.

  Bob scanned the area in desperation.

  The bride and groom were missing from the dais. He spotted Malik near the garden entrance, intensely debating theoretical physics with a cactus. The cactus remained stoic.

  Samira, however, was busy. She was hanging off Raito’s left arm, giggling uncontrollably.

  "You're funny," Samira hiccuped.

  But she wasn't alone. Lily Pence was clinging to his right arm. Serra was patting his head. Rara was hugging his leg.

  At some point, the duel stopped being about elements.

  "He's mine!" Yukari shrieked, abandoning the duel to leap onto Raito’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck in a possessive chokehold. "Mine! Get your own!"

  Mila, now fully intoxicated by the sip of "water," swayed as she walked over. A silly smile spread across her face.

  "Group hug?" she murmured.

  She dove into the pile, hugging Raito from the front.

  "Oh no," Bob said again, realizing he was the only sober person left in a palace of high-functioning drunks.

  He looked at the fire, the dancing King, the harem pile, and the screaming Isao.

  "But..." Bob sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the impending diplomatic crisis. "At least it's livelier."

  On a nearby balcony, overlooking the absolute bedlam, a group of sober survivors watched with a mixture of horror and amusement.

  Zhu Lihua, Miss Yinzi, Sun-Yoon, Jack, Queen Aleena, and surprisingly, Mila’s mother Aisha, stood in a safe zone.

  "Should we... intervene?" Miss Yinzi asked, watching a fireball singe a banner.

  "I am not getting close to any of that," Zhu said, crossing her arms firmly. "That is a tactical nightmare."

  "Should I join them?" Jack asked, his ears twitching at the sight of the fun.

  "No, Jack," Miss Yinzi scolded gently. "You are still a minor."

  "Then," Queen Aleena clapped her hands together, smiling elegantly despite her husband belly dancing below. "How about I propose us mothers—and of course you, Jack—have our own tea party? My treat. In the royal conservatory."

  "That sounds lovely," Aisha said, relieved to be away from the madness involving her daughter.

  "Oh, Hermit," Queen Aleena turned to Sun-Yoon. "You can come too, as our chaperone. Escort, if you will."

  Sun-Yoon bowed theatrically. "I will gladly take you up on that, Your Majesty." He laughed, a deep, resonant sound.

  With that, the group of responsible adults turned their backs on the chaos, disappearing into the quiet, sane corridors of the palace.

  Back down in the pit of insanity, Isao stood on his charcoal grill, swaying. Through the haze of alcohol and smoke, he spotted Raito. Raito, who was currently being hugged, patted, and clung to by a group of beautiful women.

  Isao’s eyes bulged. The unfairness of the universe crashed down on him.

  "THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!"

  He shrieked, the sound tearing from his throat. Ignoring the heat, he leaped off the grill and sprinted towards the group, arms outstretched, tears streaming down his face.