"Don't look so miserable, old pal! So what if you lost to me again? You really need to learn to accept it—after all, you're going to lose to me plenty more times in the future. Letting every setback get to you isn't good for your health..."
At the finish line, Logos basked in his victory, looking down with a bright, radiant smile at the defeated Scout lying before him. He extended a hand to pull his rival up, looking so dazzling he could have posed for a portrait right then and there.
Scout stared up at Logos's smug face, reaching out his own hand as if to engage in an encouraging post-race handshake...
Like hell he was!
In one swift motion, Scout locked his arm around Logos's neck, placing the striking Sarkaz in a firm headlock. "I told you to limit your Arts, you bastard!" Scout snapped, utterly exasperated. "Limit them! What kind of rolling chair flies straight through the air?! If you don't give me a proper explanation for this, we are far from done!"
Trapped in the headlock, Logos could only struggle helplessly. Why wasn't this guy following the narrative? Shouldn't two rivals share a moment of mutual respect under the setting sun? That was how all those serialized dramas on television played out—where on Terra had his calculation gone wrong?
"Exactly! We can't let this bastard off the hook!"
ACE, having secured third place, tossed his chair aside as soon as he arrived. Without hesitation, he joined in, dogpiling the defenseless Logos.
To an outside observer unfamiliar with their dynamic, the scene looked suspiciously like two hooligans picking on a frail, defenseless beauty. Though this particular beauty had a rather imposing frame, leaving one to wonder if these two troublemakers simply had a specific preference.
As more racers crossed the finish line, every single operator did the exact same thing: ditching their chairs and swarming over to mess with the newly crowned champion.
The crowd gathered in a joyous, chaotic heap, eventually hoisting Logos into the air and tossing him high above their heads. They put their full strength into every throw, seemingly uncaring whether anyone would actually catch him on the way down.
Then again, these were Elite Operators, and the man in the air could literally fly. They had a hundred different ways to ensure his physical safety, making basic precautions entirely redundant.
"Alright, everyone! Will our top three contenders please step up to claim their prizes!"
Blaze called out, leading Rosmontis over while carrying three trophies along with the grand prizes.
First place: a full year's supply of customized meal vouchers for Hibiscus's nutritional dining! Second place: one month! Third place: one week!
The moment the three victors saw their rewards, their expressions froze. They stared blankly at the slips of paper in their hands, their faces practically screaming that their days on this earth were numbered.
Hibiscus's specially crafted nutritional meals held a terrifying reputation aboard Rhodes Island, rivaling even the medical procedures performed by Gavial—if not surpassing them!
To put it plainly: unless you were on the absolute brink of starvation, you wouldn't willingly touch those dishes. They were prepared with zero regard for taste, focusing exclusively on health benefits.
If it were anyone else, they could simply point at the spread and demand the chef take a bite first, taking sadistic comfort in watching them choke it down. But Hibiscus genuinely believed her creations tasted fine. It wasn't merely that the food tasted bad—it was a truly indescribable ordeal for the palate.
"Brother, I am keeping my promise," Logos said before Scout could even recover from the shock. Slipping his one-year voucher into Scout's hands, the sneaky Sarkaz vanished into thin air like a streak of wind. "I promised I'd only take the trophy!"
"Hey! Wait, you—!" Realizing he had been thoroughly played, Scout tried to force the vouchers back, but Logos was already gone.
Left with no choice, Scout slowly turned his gaze toward ACE, who was standing right beside him. Hadn't he made a similar promise to ACE earlier?
Moments later, ACE stared in absolute despair at his final earnings: a small trophy roughly crafted in the Rhodes Island workshop, accompanied by a mountain of Hibiscus's nutritional meal vouchers.
"Aww, don't you like it?" Blaze asked with a sly grin, watching ACE's grim expression. "I paid for those out of my own pocket!"
It was glaringly obvious the Feline had done this on purpose.
"How about I give them all back to you?" ACE muttered bitterly, his face twisting into a scowl. "I feel like if I eat all these, I'll be eligible for early retirement."
He wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. He had almost said the vouchers would last him until his dying day, though he quickly realized that if he ever racked up a massive debt, he could probably burn through a year's supply in a single month.
"Just consider it a gift!" Blaze replied with an easy laugh. "Do you have any idea how tight Kal'tsit keeps the budget? I had to make do with whatever was available!"
Blaze unabashedly admitted that the prizes were chosen purely because they were cheap. ACE let out a defeated sigh, stuffing the vouchers into his pocket while grumbling under his breath. "Fine, whatever. Next time those bastards make me treat everyone to dinner, I'm using these every single time!"
Hearing his declaration, Blaze made a mental note: if ACE ever offered to buy her dinner in the near future, she would decline without a second thought.
With the awards handed out, the festive gathering gradually wound down. Standing nearby, Kal'tsit quietly turned on her heel and headed back toward her office to resume her mountain of paperwork, vanishing as seamlessly as if she had never stepped out to watch.
"Ah, there you are! If those guys hadn't thrown me up into the air, I wouldn't have spotted you standing here," Logos said, strolling over to Jeanne shortly after Kal'tsit's departure.
Jeanne greeted the familiar Sarkaz with a nod.
"So, how did our race look from your perspective?" Logos asked, genuinely curious about her impression.
"It was great," Jeanne replied with a casual wave of her hand. "Watching everyone have so much fun gave me the bizarre impression that I was back in Laterano watching the Sankta host one of their festivals. In short, it was wonderful."
"To have our antics compared to the Sankta... doesn't that prove we're heading in the right direction?" Logos smiled, clearly taking the compliment to heart.
"Speaking of the Sankta, though..." Jeanne didn't linger on small talk for long, transitioning straight to the core question on her mind. "I'm curious—what made you take such a massive risk to attend this council in Laterano?"
She was deeply intrigued by what drove this Sarkaz leader to voluntarily step into such a perilous assignment.
"Why?" Logos's smile faded, replaced by a rare, solemn intensity. "Because it is an opportunity. A chance to spark real change for the Sarkaz."
He turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, looking in the direction of Kazdel. In his mind's eye, he could almost see Theresa seated upon her throne, engaged in fierce debates with the Royal Court lords.
"Not every member of the Royal Court supports this decision. In fact, it would be accurate to say that aside from myself, no one else agrees with it. Yet both Her Highness and I understand that this is a genuine opening—a chance, however minuscule, to alter our current path and bring the future we long for one step closer to reality."
Jeanne couldn't fathom what the Banshee Lord saw in his mind's eye, that he would gamble everything on a mere flicker of hope.
"That said, I still very much prefer to come back alive," Logos added smoothly, his tone shifting back to its usual calm. "Which means I'll be relying on you to keep me safe on the road, Jeanne."
"Of course," Jeanne agreed with a firm nod. "Once you and the Messenger are ready, we'll set off."
Watching Logos walk away, Jeanne looked up at the sky, letting out a soft, self-deprecating sigh. "Why do I have a feeling this journey is going to be an endless magnet for trouble?"
She scratched her head in frustration. Seriously, why did she always find herself dragged right into the center of these grand, messy affairs?