[Ace’s POV]
I studied the pyramid of stacked wooden cups. Ovelia’s throw had hit the table’s side with a solid thump, and the whole structure had shuddered—but it had held. That ant the table was sturdy, likely reinforced or even subtly anchored. Glue alone wouldn’t account for that level of stability. The physics were clear: I needed to deliver a single, precisely calculated impact strong enough to topple the entire tower without splintering the table itself.
"Ohh, what’s taking you so long to grab a ball?" the stall owner taunted, leaning on his counter with a smug grin. "Are you performing so kind of ritual for good luck? Maybe you should pray to the goddess instead!"
I kept my expression neutral, offering him a calm, tight-lipped smile without saying a word. Let him talk. Losing my temper would only cloud my judgnt and amuse him further.
I glanced at Gale, who was standing beside Ovelia. I held out the fairy stuffed toy to him.
He just stared at my hand, then up at my face, his gray eyes narrowed in pure, unadulterated confusion.
Then Ovelia reached out and gently took the stuffed toy from my grasp and hugged it to her chest. "A, thank you for holding it for so I could play properly," she said, beaming up at . The genuine warmth in her smile was a stark contrast to the owner’s sneer.
I saw the exact mont understanding dawned on Gale. His confused frown vanished, replaced by a slow, wide, insufferably smug grin. A hot, prickling irritation crawled up the back of my neck.
I turned my attention back to the stall owner, my voice dropping into a low, deliberate tone. "Old man, get that large silver wolf stuffed toy ready." I pointed to a prize hanging at the back of the stall—a magnificent, wolf stuffed toy that was taller than Ovelia’s fairy toy, about three inches larger. "The one much bigger than this... ugly fairy."
The stall owner’s eyes glead with avarice. He saw a proud custor ready to spend a fortune. "Sure thing, professor. As if you’ll win," he said, his mocking grin widening.
"But it’s not ugly," Ovelia interjected, her voice sweet and utterly innocent as she examined the stuffed toy’s embroidered face. "It looks like Gale. See?" She held it up beside Gale’s scowling face. The resemblance in the stubborn set of the stitching was, infuriatingly, sowhat accurate.
"Exactly!" I said, the word coming out sharper than I intended.
"Huh!" Gale sputtered, looking physically insulted.
"I am detecting a constant, pungent scent of jealousy in the air," Ray comnted idly, his orange eyes studying the crowd as if he’d made a fascinating anthropological observation. "Very thick. Almost floral, with notes of immaturity."
Jealousy? I was irritated by the situation, by the owner’s smugness, by Gale’s presence—but jealous? My hand clenched into a tight fist at my side. The accusation was absurd.
"Defeat Gale, Sir A!" Ann cheered, punching the air with the sa fierce, supportive gesture she’d given Ovelia. I gave her a curt nod. At least soone understood the true objective.
"It must be fun to be young and dramatic," the stall owner sighed with exaggerated impatience, tapping his fingers on his arm. "But don’t keep and this fine audience waiting any longer. My ti is money."
I reached for the first wooden ball, its surface smooth and cool against my palm.
"WAIT!!"
A high, clear, child’s voice cut through the festival noise. I turned, looking over the heads of the crowd. A small figure, drowning in an oversized dark cloak with the hood pulled up, was pushing its way to the front. I couldn’t sense any mana radiating from her—a nullifier was active—but my nose caught the chemical tang of a strong, floral perfu masking another scent beneath it. The underlying trace was unmistakable: witch. And a familiar one.
"Filafelia," I stated, my voice flat.
She flinched at the sound of her na. Then, with a huff, she shoved back her hood, revealing short hair the color of fresh grass mixed with dandelion fluff. Her yellow-green eyes, wide with surprise, locked onto mine. "Your Highn—" she began.
"It’s you, Fizzer!" Gale barked, crossing his arms.
"Hey! I told you not to call that, you... you Mr. Mystery!" Filafelia shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Gale, her small body vibrating with indignation.
"Mr. Mystery," Ann repeated under her breath, a hand flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Filafelia’s gaze darted to Ann. "Ann!" she said, her irritation lting into a look of familiar relief. Ann responded with a genuine, small smile.
Filafelia’s curious gaze then landed on Ovelia, who was watching the exchange with quiet, wide-eyed fascination. "Oh! Those red eyes! They really do shine like perfect rubies! The kingdom gossip is true! You must be Lady Ov—"
"Filafelia." Ray’s voice, calm but firm, cut her off. He stepped forward, his tall fra commanding attention. "Introductions can wait. I believe this gentleman here," he gestured to the increasingly impatient stall owner, "is on a tight schedule."
Filafelia’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Ray. Then realization hit her. Her mouth ford a perfect ’O’. "Gen... Gen...!" she stamred, her bravado vanishing.
"Shhh," Ray said softly, bringing a single finger to his lips. His smile was gentle but carried the clear weight of command.
Filafelia’s face flushed a deep, instant crimson. She snapped her mouth shut and nodded so vigorously her hair bounced. Right. The crush. I’d almost forgotten about her painfully obvious infatuation with my brother.
"Ahem!" Filafelia cleared her throat, visibly trying to regain her composure. She drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height, cupped her hands around her mouth, and bellowed with surprising volu, "LET’S MAKE A BET!!"
The shout drew the attention of even more bystanders. People turned from other stalls to see what the commotion was.
"A bet?" Ovelia asked, intrigued.
"A shrimp making a bet. How classic," Gale muttered, rolling his eyes.
Filafelia whirled on him. "Don’t underestimate ! I’m a professional gambler!" she declared with imnse pride. She then addressed the growing crowd, her voice projecting like a seasoned showman. "Let’s bet on who is right! Is it THIS OLD STALL OWNER," she shouted, pointing a dramatic finger at the flabbergasted man, "who believes this handso professor here will lose?" She swung her arm to point directly at . "Or THIS HANDSO PROFESSOR, who believes he can win this ga?!"
A murmur of interest swept through the spectators. More people began to drift over, forming a dense ring around the stall.
"Drop the ’professor.’ A is fine," I said flatly.
"I’m not that old! And who said you could set up a betting pool in front of my stall?!" the owner spluttered, his face reddening.
"Oh?" Filafelia planted her hands on her hips, turning her full theatrical scorn on him. "Are you afraid, old man? Scared that this professor will actually win."
"Ha! No way he could win!" the owner blustered, though a flicker of unease crossed his eyes at the size of the crowd now invested in the outco.
"You say that as if you’ve already seen the future," I said, allowing my calm smile to return. He glared at , but the seed of public doubt was planted.
"In all my years running this business," the owner proclaid, trying to reclaim control, "Prince Zephyr Amber is the only one who’s ever won the grand prize! Last year! And he did it with his own insane, natural strength without breaking a single thing!" He said the prince’s na with reverence, using it as a shield against our confidence.
Prince Zephyr Amber. The human prince fad for his monstrous physical prowess since birth, which had beco the stuff of legend in the last three years. So he frequented these festivals. Interesting, but irrelevant to now.
"If you’re that confident, then it’s settled!" Filafelia crowed. She raised her voice again, addressing the now-substantial crowd. "Ten percent of the total pot goes to the winner! The stall owner and the professor cannot bet—it’s a conflict of interest! I’LL BE THE BOOKIE!" She rummaged in a deep pocket of her oversized coat and pulled out a hefty, clinking pouch. "I’M ALL IN FOR THIS PROFESSOR!" she declared, slamming the pouch onto a Large empty barrel head that served as a makeshift table, her eyes locking onto mine with fierce confidence.
"I’m all in for this mu—man," Gale said, correcting himself at the last second. He walked toward the large empty barrel, pulled out the coin purse Ray had given him, and tossed it next to Filafelia’s with a careless flick.
He almost called ’mutt’ again.
Ann reached into her own pocket, retrieving a smaller, neat leather pouch. "This is the allowance given to by A," she announced, her voice clear and formal. "I also bet this. All in for A." She placed it carefully beside the growing pile.
"Can I also bet my stuffed toy for A?" Ovelia asked, holding up the fairy stuffed toy.
"Of course you can’t!" Gale snapped.
"But I want to show my support too," Ovelia insisted, her lower lip jutting out in a faint pout.
I looked at her, and my stern expression softened despite myself. "Just staying by my side is enough support," I said. The words felt unusually soft coming from . She blinked, then nodded, hugging the toy close again.
"That corny statent again," Gale muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Still grumpy and bitter as always.
My eyes found Ray. He simply gave a slow, easy smile. Then he said, perfectly casually, "Your zipper is open."
Instinctively, I glanced down. My trousers were perfectly fastened. When I looked back up, Ray was already guiding Ovelia by the elbow toward the betting barrel. He pulled out his own, considerably weightier coin purse from inside his coat.
Don’t tell he’s—
"ALL IN FOR A!" Ray’s voice bood with effortless, commanding cheer. He deposited his purse with a solid thump that made the barrel wobble.
"ALL IN FOR A!" Ovelia echoed, her voice bright with excitent as she carefully placed the fairy stuffed toy on top of the purse mountain, a symbolic flag for our side.
That was the spark. The crowd erupted. People began shouting, jostling forward, pulling out coins and small trinkets. "I’m for the professor!" "No, the old tir’s got experience!" "The prince won last year, but this guy looks determined!"
"IF YOU BET FOR THE PROFESSOR, PUT YOUR BET ON THE LEFT BARREL! IF YOU BET FOR THE STALL OWNER, PUT YOUR BET ON THE RIGHT BARREL! STRICTLY NO CHEATING! ONE BET PER PERSON!" Filafelia bellowed, orchestrating the chaos with the born skill of a ringmaster. She scrambled onto an upturned crate to see over the crowd, directing traffic with sharp gestures.
People ford two rough, excited lines, placing their coins and trinkets on the designated sides of the barrel head. The right side (the owner) quickly grew heavy with copper. The left side () had fewer bets, but they were larger, more confident—our group’s contributions ford a significant, gleaming core. The festival ga had transford into a full-blown, high-stakes spectacle.
"Now, the bets are in!" Filafelia announced, hopping down from her perch. She stood proudly between the two piles of wagers, a tiny general on a battlefield of coin. The sight was, I had to admit, impressive.
This child was truly sothing. It was no longer a surprise that my mother, had chosen her as an apprentice. She had a terrifying talent for chaos.
Filafelia caught my eye across the space. She gave a sharp, fierce grin and a firm nod. It was a look that said, "My entire stake, my credibility, is on you. Don’t you dare let down."
"Hey," Gale grumbled, stepping closer to . "Don’t you dare lose. I bet all my money on you." He paused. "Well. Ray’s money. But it’s mine now. So don’t lose it."
Ray and Ovelia returned to my side. Ray clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "That was my personal savings," he said, his tone light but his eyes holding the steely glint of a commander. He let the sentence hang for a beat. "You better win."
Ann and Ovelia both looked at , their faces full of faith, and gave simultaneous, determined fighting signs.
I could feel it—the weight of dozens of gazes. The people who had bet their festival spending money on , drawn in by Filafelia’s showmanship and our group’s bravado, were now watching, hoping, expecting. Their collective focus was a tangible pressure on my skin.
It felt, in that mont, like I was carrying the entire, noisy, breathing world on my shoulders.
I looked down at the worn wooden ball in my hand, then back up at the silent, taunting pyramid of cups. A slow, cold, confident smile touched my lips—a smile only I could feel.
Of course I will win.
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