Chapter Text
“Waaaaaahtah!!”
Eous’s chirp bursts over the open channel as a hulking mech stomps back onto the construction site, hydraulic legs thudding through dust and rebar.
The mech’s right manipulator hauls its battered trophy: the Golden Bangboo, wriggling indignantly in its grip.
Wise turns, one hand shielding his eyes from grit. “Ah, Eous. Good work.”
The pilot light in Eous’s visor shines proud. The frame kneels with a groan and unceremoniously drops the Bangboo onto the ground.
“Park her,” Wise calls, flicking two fingers toward the painted bay.
The mech pivots on heel-sprockets and lumbers away. Landing struts lock with a chunk, compressors sighing as the reactor spools down to a polite hum.
By the time Wise looks back, the Golden Bangboo is already locked in a heated spat with Grace and Belle.
Grace pushes her goggles up, eyes narrowing.
Belle smirks, folding her arms.
A broad shadow falls across Wise’s shoulder. Anton saunters up, grease on one knuckle and that signature half-smirk. He claps Wise once on the back.
“Sup, bro! Sorry that we hijacked your schedule the last few days.” He jerks his chin toward the bustling site. “Bet you’d rather be spending your last stretch with everyone before heading out, yeah?”
Wise exhales through a small smile. “Work’s work”
Anton barks a laugh. “Ha! Can’t argue with that. Still, thanks for the backup. We owe you one.”
“Make it two,” Grace calls without looking up, still glaring at the Bangboo. “And someone get me a containment clamp before this thing tries anything cute.”
The Golden Bangboo stomps a tiny foot. “Wata! (I demand respect!)”
Belle winks at it. “Relax, superstar. Nobody here’s stealing your sequel.”
“I’ll handle this little guy,” Grace says, nudging her goggles up with one finger as she crouches toward the Golden Bangboo.
Her tone is brisk but amused, like she’s dissecting a puzzle rather than corralling a troublemaker. “How about you two grab something to eat?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect!” Anton chimes in, already rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
You two did great out there, let us treat you to lunch! The menu today’s pretty good… I think…” He pauses, scratching his chin with exaggerated thought. “Assuming they didn’t burn the stew again.”
Wise hums in mild consideration, his gaze sliding to Belle. She quirks an eyebrow back at him, lips twitching before she gives a small nod. “Well… alright then,” Wise concedes. “Nothing urgent on our plate anyway.”
“Ahahlright! Let’s go!” Anton declares, sweeping his arm like he’s leading a parade as he guides them. “Sometimes when our folks forget their lunch, they just buy one here! Happens a lot. I’m one of ‘em, hahaha!”
Belle snickers, folding her arms as she follows. “Really? I didn’t take you for the forgetful type,” she teases, voice lilting with mock sweetness.
Anton shoots her a sly look, clearly enjoying the bait. “Oh yeah? Then what did you take me for?”
“Delusional,” Belle answers instantly, deadpan as stone.
“Pffft- hah!” Anton half-chokes on his own laugh, nearly doubling over. “What kind of read is that?!”
Belle smirks, leaning her elbow on a nearby chair. “You call your jackhammer your bro. Respect, but still. I’m not nearly delusional enough to start calling my wallpaper my wife.”
There’s a beat. Wise, who had been calmly adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, blinks once. Twice. His eyes narrow. “… What did you just say about my wife…?”
Belle blinks slowly, her expression hardening as if she’s about to deliver a closing argument in court. “The tower?” she repeats, voice dropping into a super-serious tone.
Wise doesn’t flinch. He crosses one leg over the other with deliberate grace, interlaces his fingers, and rests his chin neatly on top like a smug professor preparing a lecture.
His stare is steady. “You got a problem…” he pauses just long enough for effect, “… with my wife?”
Belle mirrors his pose with uncanny precision, folding one leg over the other and lacing her fingers in perfect imitation. Her gaze is equally sharp. “I do,” she declares, flat and merciless. “It’s an inanimate structure.”
Wise blinks once. “That so?” he counters smoothly. “Alright then... What if I changed my wallpaper?”
Belle narrows her eyes. Her voice sharpens with the precision of a scalpel. “You change your wallpaper every three weeks on average. Then you get nostalgic, and within four days you switch back to your ‘true love.’ And I know it’s only been six days since your last reset.” She leans in slightly, her tone brimming with smug confidence. “Don’t test me. I keep track.”
Wise tilts his head, lips twitching like he’s about to smirk. “Impressive recall. But you overlooked one detail.”
Belle arches a brow. “Oh? Do enlighten me.”
Wise leans back, feigning gravitas. “This time, I’ve lasted six days. Which means statistically, I’m already beating the cycle. Therefore… true commitment.”
Belle scoffs, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Correlation does not equal causation. You’re clinging to a wallpaper like a gambler on a hot streak. Odds are, you’ll have caved within forty-eight hours.”
Wise narrows his eyes. “Bold of you to assume I don’t have the willpower to-”
Anton suddenly leans across the table, his face locked in an exaggerated mask of seriousness. He holds his jackhammer upright like a microphone. The drill kicks in with a loud vrrrrrrrm, echoing through the corner.
“My bro says…” Anton intones gravely over the mechanical whine, “we should order some food.”
Belle and Wise both freeze mid-debate, staring. Anton doesn’t blink, letting the jackhammer continue to growl like some holy oracle. Then, he adds, “And he demands extra sauce.”
Belle bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach. Wise exhales softly, “Well, then I suggest we look at the menu before you choke.”
Anton pops up instantly, thumbing behind his shoulder with exaggerated confidence. “Menu’s up at the counter! Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for ya!”
Belle tilts her head, an awkward grin tugging at her lips. “Sure, but, uh… how do we order if we don’t know the menu?” She leans back slightly, already bracing for whatever nonsense Anton is about to drop.
“Easy!” Anton declares, puffing out his chest “The lunch changes every day. And today…” he slaps his hand dramatically against his thigh, “we only have spaghetti!” His enthusiasm rings out like he just announced a miracle.
Wise and Belle both blink in unison. “…I see,” Belle says finally, nodding with faux gravity. “Then I’ll have one spaghetti.”
“How about you order for me?” Wise adds casually, chin resting on his hand.
Anton salutes him with a sharp thumbs-up. “You got it, bro! I’ll bring you the best one.” He winks like there’s actually a hierarchy of noodles, then struts off toward the counter.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Belle swivels toward her brother with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Get you the best one? What, do they grade spaghetti now? Deluxe, premium, and ultra-premium?”
Wise hums thoughtfully, clearly unbothered. “Weeell… the sauce is the key. A good tomato sauce needs balance: the right acidity so it doesn’t taste like raw paste, a little sweetness to round it out, garlic sautéed just long enough not to burn, and fresh herbs stirred in at the very end. Simmer low and slow, let the flavors marry.” He gestures idly with one hand as if lecturing a class. “That’s what makes a difference.”
Belle stares, then slumps back in her seat with an exaggerated groan. “Ugh. When and why did you have to learn how to cook again?” She waves a hand at him like she’s swatting a fly. “You’re more girly than me…”
Wise narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Belle blinks innocently, then ticks off points on her fingers. “Have you ever compared our bedrooms? Yours is spotless. Mine looks like a tornado passed through. You fold your laundry with corners sharp enough to cut steel. I throw mine in a chair. You alphabetize your book collection. I don’t even know where half my socks are. Face it, you’re the perfect mix of husband and wife.” She leans forward with a sigh. “So unfair.”
“Proxies, what are you two still doing here?”
The low rumble of a voice makes both siblings turn. A tall, broad figure emerges from behind. His brow furrows, calm but questioning. “I thought you two would’ve left by now.”
“Hi, Ben!!” Belle calls, waving both arms like she’s signaling an airship. Her grin is bright enough to cut through the dust haze.
“Anton and Grace insisted we take a bite before we hike, so here we are!” She plops her hands onto her hips proudly as if announcing their delay were an accomplishment.
Wise, beside her, only offers a small nod of greeting. “… That’s about the size of it,” he mutters.
“I see.” Ben dips his head slowly, the gold chain across his chest catching the afternoon light. His tone drops quieter, almost thoughtful.
“Maybe… President would like to see you two off as well.” His words carry weight, like he’s measuring how much to say.
Belle straightens like a soldier caught daydreaming. “Ah, yes, yes, Is she here?” Her eyes dart left and right like a radar sweep, scanning every corner of the construction site.
Suddenly she locks onto a streak of red hair. She cups her hands around her mouth and bellows with the force of a siren. “KOLEDAAAA! OVER HERE!”
Across the site, Koleda is in the middle of overseeing a crew, arms crossed. At the sound of her name, she lifts her head, eyes narrowing in sharp curiosity.
Her hair flares in the wind as she pivots, then strides toward them. When she arrives, her grin is crooked but confident. “Hey. What’s up?”
Belle claps her hands together dramatically, leaning forward with a conspiratorial sparkle in her eyes. “Say, say, does Wise make a good husband-”
Koleda freezes mid-step. Her brain screeches to a halt. “What… husband? Did I hear that right… husband… what?” The word bounces in her skull like a ricochet. Her expression stiffens into something caught between confusion and alarm.
“-and wife combination? Wait, no, I worded that wrong. Does Wise make a good mix of wife and husband? Like… you know, he’s got the ‘wife’ vibe, but also the ‘husband’ one. Both at once!”
Koleda opens her mouth… and then closes it.
Wise exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it with two fingers. “…Belle, if you keep using the words ‘wife’ and ‘husband’ like that, you’re going to confuse everyone.” His tone flat.
Ben nods slowly, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah… it kind of does,” he admits. “But I also get what you mean. Wise’s room compared to yours is a vast difference. He, uh… knows a lot of things a woman should know.”
Belle narrows her eyes into thin slits, lips pursed. “…Rude.” Her tone is sharp enough to cut steel.
“Ah-! Sorry!” Ben winces, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grimace. His ears twitch faintly as he struggles to find the right words. “That… came out wrong.”
Belle leans back, a grin tugging at her lips as she waves him on like a magnanimous judge. “It’s cool. You may continue.”
“Well…” Ben clears his throat, his voice dropping into a thoughtful rumble. “He’s kind of a perfect mix of masculine and feminine. He knows how to cook, keeps things neat and tidy, he’s more responsible than most people I know…” His eyes flick toward Wise for a moment before lowering again. “… So yeah, I do see the vision.”
Belle lets out a dramatic huff, throwing her arms wide. “So unfair… brother’s outwifing me as a man.” She slumps sideways in her chair, then suddenly swivels her head toward Koleda with a mischievous glint. “Koleda?”
Koleda, jerks like someone yanked her back into reality. For a split second, Belle could swear she saw steam rising from the top of her wild red hair.
“Y-Yes!” Koleda blurts, voice higher than usual. “S-sorry, uhm… what did you ask again?”
“Belle asked if Wise is the perfect combination of masculinity and femininity,” Ben explains calmly.
“She just asked it in a very Belle way.” Wise adds flatly
Koleda’s eyes flick toward Belle, narrowing into a sharp glare. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she mutters, her jaw tight, though a faint flush lingers on her cheeks.
Belle’s grin spreads instantly, her whole face lighting up like a child spotting candy. “Waaaait a minute,” she says slowly, savoring the words. “Call me out if I’m wrong, but I have a feeling I know what’s going on…” Her grin widens to foxlike proportions, the picture of trouble incarnate.
“NO! SHUT UP!” Koleda blurts, her voice cracking like a whip as she thrusts a finger straight at Belle. Her wild hair flares with the motion, sparks of indignation practically flying.
Belle, however, only keeps that smug grin plastered across her face. Slowly, she pivots her head toward Wise, calm as can be.
Wise raises a single brow, his expression flat as ever. “…What?”
Belle sighs dramatically, like a scholar lamenting the ignorance of her peers. She folds her arms, tapping one finger against her elbow. “For someone as smart as myself… You sure are dense, brother.”
“FOOD IS HERE!” Anton’s booming voice cuts through the moment. He comes striding in with a beaming smile, balancing three steaming plates of spaghetti precariously on his bro.
“Oh! What’s up, President! Sup, Ben!” he greets without missing a beat, before lowering the plates in front of Wise and Belle with exaggerated care.
Ben, ever the picture of polite refinement, bends down slightly toward the table. “Would any of you like some caviar with your spaghetti?” he asks smoothly, as if it were the most natural pairing in the world.
“No thanks,” Wise replies immediately, his voice steady.
Belle, on the other hand, hums and leans back in her chair, eyes narrowed in mock contemplation. For a moment, she looks as if she’s weighing the cultural prestige of fine dining itself… before finally shrugging. “Nah, I’m fine too.”
Ben gives a quiet nod, while Koleda stretches both arms high above her head, joints cracking audibly. “Anyways, I’m going back to work. You two have a safe trip,” she says, rolling her shoulders as though shaking off the whole awkward conversation.
“Thanks,” Wise offers, lifting a hand in a calm wave.
“Thank youuu!” Belle echoes, standing halfway out of her chair just to wave with both arms like she’s sending a ship off to sea.
The two settle back in and dig into their food. After a few bites, Wise hums under his breath, his brow furrowing slightly. “… I have a feeling we’re forgetting something…”
Ben tilts his head, his deep voice rumbling. “Something the matter, Proxy?”
Wise nods slowly, staring at his fork as though it might hold the answer. “Yeah… but… I just can’t put my finger on it.”
Anton leans forward, chin resting on his hand as he tilts his head. “Is there something we’re forgetting?”
Belle sets her fork down with a soft clink, tapping the table with her index finger as unease creeps into her tone. “Well… now that you say it… I also have a mild, unnerving feeling.”
As if on cue, a construction Bangboo strolls casually past the table, wearing a tiny yellow hard hat.
Both Wise and Belle watch the bangboo stroll by, their eyes locked on the waddling little worker as it hums and shuffles by.
“WHERE’S EOUS?!” Belle blurts out.
Wise bolts upright, scanning the room frantically. “I told Eous to park the mech… I thought it would’ve returned by now!”
… meanwhile…
“Ehn nah!” A construction Bangboo in a bright red hard hat barks out, stomping one stubby foot like a foreman keeping time.
“Wattah!” chirps a yellow hard hat Bangboo, saluting with its little wrench before waddling off to join a work crew.
“Ehn nah!” the red hat calls again, clipboard clutched against its rounded chest.
“Wattah!” Another yellow hard hat answers dutifully, hustling off in the opposite direction with a coil of cables strapped to its back.
“Ehn nah!” the red hat repeats, voice rising with the practiced rhythm of routine.
“Wata… wata?” blurts Eous, tilting his head in confusion, his tone hesitant and out of sync.
The red hat Bangboo halts mid-command, its glowing eyes narrowing as it swivels toward Eous. “… Ehn nah? Eh?”
“Watahn nah,” Eous chirps back.
The red hat blinks once. Twice. Its clipboard nearly slips from its grip. “… Ehn… ehn… wata-wata?”
…
Wise cradles Eous gently in his arms, like a parent who’s just retrieved a runaway child from the wrong classroom. “Sorry we lost sight of you, Eous…” he murmurs, his voice soft.
“Neh nah,” Eous chirps, clearly unbothered.
“Huuuh… you almost got put to work?” Belle says with a snicker, tilting her head as if imagining Eous in a tiny safety vest.
“Watta watta!” Eous nods proudly, as though surviving an accidental first day on the job is a badge of honor.
The siblings step through the familiar doorway of Random Play. The electronic bell above the door jingles as they enter, a faint scent of fresh cardboard boxes with the paper-and-plastic aroma of stacked movie cases on the shelfs.
Wise lowers Eous carefully to the floor. The little Bangboo chirps once, then immediately waddles toward the stairwell with a determined little sway in its step, heading upstairs for a recharge.
Behind the front counter stands 18, as per usual. The Bangboo is perched on its stool, stubby arms resting against its side.
Despite speaking only in Bangboo syllables, it has somehow become the most charismatic employee Random Play could ever ask for; cheerful, quick with transactions, and already well-loved by regulars.
“18,” Wise says as he approaches, voice calm but expectant. “I suppose sales today went… okay?”
18 shakes its round head furiously, then suddenly throws both arms skyward like a victorious athlete.
“Oh-ho! Are you trying to tell me sales today are even better than usual?” Wise prompts with a faint smile.
“Whaaatahnah!” 18 cheers, bouncing in place.
Belle leans an elbow on the counter and hums with amusement. “18, always so reliable,” she says warmly.
The Bangboo wiggles happily, shifting side to side as though basking in the praise.
But the cozy moment is interrupted when the staff room door creaks open, and another Bangboo toddles out. Without hesitation, it shuffles straight toward Wise and delivers a sluggish, half-hearted kick to his shin.
Wise blinks, then bends down to scoop up the little figure. “Oh, 06…” he murmurs with patient fondness. The Bangboo mumbles incoherently against his sleeve.
“Don’t worry,” Wise continues, smiling as he balances the sleepy sentinel in his arms. “You’re the guardian of the staff room, remember? Stoic, cool… and very, very sleepy.”
“Nehnununah…” 6 drones.
Wise hums softly. “Everyone has their own role. 18 runs the counter, Eous is our scout… and you, 6, you’re the guardian of that door. Understand?”
6 stares at him for a moment, then slowly bobs its head in agreement.
“Good,” Wise says with a small chuckle. “And I’ll try to check in with you more often, too. If that makes you feel better, okay?”
Another sluggish nod. Satisfied, Wise sets the Bangboo gently back on its feet.
6 turns, waddling toward the staff room with deliberate steps. With a soft thunk, it bumps the door closed behind it, resuming its post as though nothing had ever happened.
Belle slides into view behind Wise, arms crossed, lips curled into a pout. “Smooth talker… You sound like a mom,” she mutters under her breath, then repeats it louder as if tasting the words. “Sound like a mom… So unfair. Now you’re outmothering me… as a man.”
She huffs and turns on her heel, already dragging her steps toward the back of the store. “I’m heading out for a while…”
Wise doesn’t even look up from the counter. He just raises a hand in a casual thumbs-up. “Okay. Don’t come home too late, or at least let me know if you’re going to be late.”
Belle stops just long enough to shoot him a flat stare. “… Whatever, mooom,” she mumbles, pushing the door open.
Inside, Wise glances at 18, who only shrugs with its stubby arms. Wise mirrors the gesture with a sigh, the picture of mutual resignation.
Outside, Belle stretches her arms wide over her head, letting out a long yawn.
“I’ve been expecting you…” a low, cool voice cuts through the alley.
Belle freezes mid-stretch, then slowly lowers her arms, turning toward the sound. Leaning casually against the brick wall is Lighter, half-hidden in the shade, arms folded and shades glinting.
Belle blinks, then snorts. “Pffft. Hey, Lighter. You know that sounded really creepy, right? Especially when you say it to someone you don’t know.”
Lighter stiffens, pushing his sunglasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “R-Right. But you’re not a stranger. In fact…” He lets the words drip with cool confidence. “… you’re a very close friend of mine.”
“True,” Belle says, tilting her head with a sly grin. “But what if I wasn’t Belle walking out that back door? What if it were a customer? Can you imagine their face?”
“R-Right, that’s… my bad.” Lighter clears his throat, adjusting his glasses again. “I’ll, uh… mind my words better next time we meet.”
Belle leans in just slightly, humming with mischief. “Aaaand?”
Lighter stiffens again, then exhales, his cool facade cracking. “… And I’ll try not to sound like a killer.”
“You know I’m just messing with you, right?” Belle tilts her head, eyes narrowing playfully as she flashes a grin sharp enough to cut glass.
Lighter clears his throat into his fist, shoulders stiffening before he straightens back up. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” he says with practiced confidence, the words smoothed out like he’s rehearsed them in front of a mirror.
“Well then, mister,” Belle presses, planting her hands on her hips, “why were you here waiting for me?”
Lighter lifts a hand, nudging his sunglasses higher with deliberate precision. “Well, you see…” His voice drops lower, like he’s delivering the line in a drama. “I heard you’re leaving. So I wanted to ask if you’d join me for one final ride around the outer ring… before we part ways.”
Belle snorts, half a laugh escaping as she folds her arms. “Heheh… you know I’m not leaving indefinitely, right?”
Lighter whips his head toward her so fast his scarf flutters. “You aren’t? I mean, of course you aren’t.” recomposing himself with a sharp tug at his jacket. “Obviously, I knew that.”
Belle raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Looks like someone misheard something. Was it Pulchra who told you?” Lighter gives her a nod.
Belle claps her hands together with sudden energy. “Alright then! Let’s go for this ride!” she says, her excitement bubbling over.
Lighter turns toward the parked motorcycle, boots clicking against the pavement as his scarf trails behind him. “Hop on,” he declares, voice cool, “and we’ll feel the freedom of the open road.”
Belle grins, immediately falling into step behind him. She throws her shoulders back, exaggerating every move, imitating his swaggering walk as best she can.
Belle cracks Lighter a sly grin before swinging herself onto the back of his motorcycle with a carefree hop. She settles in, leaning back slightly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Alright, let’s go!”
“Hold on tight,” Lighter says, his voice low and cool as he grips the handlebars. The engine growls to life beneath them, rumbling with pent-up power. He leans forward, posture sharp, fully prepared to rocket forward at breakneck speed-
Until Belle casually taps him on the head with her finger. “We’re in a city with laaaws~,” she teases, sing-song and carefree.
Lighter freezes for a second, clears his throat, “Right. Of course.”
…
Meanwhile, inside Random Play, the atmosphere is quiet but alive with its own rhythm.
Wise hums softly to himself as he restocks the shelves, carefully sliding cases into the empty spots.
Just as he slots the last case into place, the shop’s electric bell chimes. Wise straightens instantly, his tone professional but warm. “Welcome to Random Play. How may we help you today?”
“Excuse my intrusion.” The voice is familiar, calm. A tall figure steps into view, her movements deliberate. “Hey, proxy, are you free by any chance?”
Wise relaxes slightly, his mouth curving into the faintest smile. “Oh, hey, Trigger. I just finished restocking, so I suppose I’m free.” He tilts his head. “Do you need anything?”
“Not persé,” Trigger says softly, her voice calm and measured. “I guess I just want to hang out here, if you don’t mind that, of course.” Her posture is relaxed, hands folded neatly behind her back, the visor across her face glowing a soft blue.
Wise nods slowly. “Sure, I don’t mind.” He pauses, though, his tone shifting just slightly. “Though… there’s just one thing I want to know.”
Trigger tilts her head calmly. “And what may that be?” she asks, her hands still folded behind her back, her voice betraying nothing but polite curiosity.
Wise shifts the weight of the box he’s holding, before glancing at her. “Tell me if I’m wrong… but you always seem to know the perfect time to intrude on my free time.” His voice isn’t accusatory, just probing, a puzzle spoken aloud.
Trigger keeps her practiced smile, but the calm blue of her visor flickers and shifts suddenly into a bright orange. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she says, tone even, as if rehearsed.
Wise narrows his eyes faintly, setting the box down with a soft thud. “Really? Then what about that time at Richard’s Teamilk? I’d just realized I forgot my wallet, and you just happened to stroll around the corner at the exact second I needed saving.”
Trigger doesn’t flinch. She nods once, her voice level and calm. “Coincidence. I was simply picking up some quick meds for Seed. Nothing more.”
Wise hums, “Alright, then what about the time at Gravity Cinema, when I was at the counter, digging for change, and you just appeared with the exact amount in hand? Or that trip to Port Elpis, when I forgot bait for fishing, and you showed up carrying fresh packs like you knew ahead of time? Or even when I got sick… I told no one… And yet, you were the one who turned up at my door with medicine.”
He leans back slightly, arms folding over his chest. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you do. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. But…” His gaze lingers on her visor, searching for a crack in the perfect surface. “How?”
Trigger keeps her casual smile in place, though it wavers at the edges. “Well, uhm… You know how it is. I’m always here and there… drifting between places. Sometimes I just tend to wander, keep a watch from… high above.” Her tone trails off awkwardly, her weight shifting from one foot to the other.
Wise doesn’t answer immediately. He simply fixes his gaze on her, steady and unblinking.
The silence stretches, filled only by the faint hum of the overhead lights and the creak of the old wooden counter.
Trigger holds her ground, visor angled in his direction, unmoving, hoping the problem might dissolve if she pretends long enough.
“A-anyways,” she blurts at last, her words tumbling out too quickly, “I heard you’re leaving for a while. Did I hear right?” Her voice carries a faint stutter.
Wise hums, a low, thoughtful sound as he hefts a half-filled box of videotapes into his arms. “Yeah. Belle and I are heading to Waifei Peninsula for a bit,” he says evenly.
“We just wrapped up some business with a few clients today, which worked out nicely.” His tone is casual, as though discussing the weather, while his feet carry him toward the staff-only room.
Trigger exhales softly. The small lights on her visor shift to a muted yellow. She trails after him, her boots tapping lightly against the floor.
“I see… so, uhm, I also heard you’re letting someone stay here, is that right?” she asks, trying to keep her tone smooth, though the question sounds far too pointed to be casual.
Wise pauses briefly, his brows knitting in thought. “Hm… no, not really,” he replies after a beat. “I’ve let some clients crash here once or twice, too exhausted to head home, or caught in bad luck. Stuff like that. But no, nothing permanent.”
Trigger twitches, almost imperceptibly. The yellow fades into a sharp, simmering red, a silent flare of suspicion. “Is that so?” she asks, her words clipped, her voice quieter than before. Is he… lying to me?
“Yeah. Nothing else special going on,” Wise says simply, sliding the box neatly into its spot before brushing the dust off his hands. His tone is calm, steady, and dismissive, as though the matter holds no weight at all.
Trigger puffs her cheek, the lights glowing a faint red. Wise turns back toward her, lips curling into a quiet grin. “... Are you pouting?” he teases, his voice smooth and almost too gentle to be taken seriously.
Trigger stiffens, her head jerking slightly as if the question caught her off guard. “N-no… no,” she mumbles, the denial weak. After a pause, her tone drops softer, almost guilty.
“It’s just… I could… sense you lying to me…” The twin lights under her visor shift into a muted purple, pulsing faintly with unease.
Wise tilts his head, studying her with the calm patience of someone used to reading people. “Well, you already knew the answer,” he says evenly, “so I replied the way anyone would.” His gaze sharpens just a touch.
“Besides… you can’t fully sense me lying. I’ve lied to you before… naturally… I’ve lied plenty in my life. But…” He waves a hand as if brushing dust off the conversation. “That’s not really the point.”
Trigger folds her arms across her chest, her posture defensive, the lights turning red again. “You’re so mean, Proxy,” she huffs.
Wise only shrugs, unbothered. “My bad.” Then, after a beat, his tone turns flatly honest. “But yes, I did give one of the back door keys to a trusted client.” He offers the confession casually.
The red in Trigger’s visor fades into a more subdued yellow. “Well… okay,” she concedes with a small nod, her voice softer now.
Wise hums, folding his arms as he regards her carefully. “And you,” he continues, “sure keep your eyes on us a lot.”
Trigger’s visor flickers orange. She stammers, shifting her weight. “I… I mean… I guess that just comes… naturally. From me…” she mutters, her voice trailing into something barely audible.
Wise doesn’t let her off the hook so easily. He leans slightly forward, his tone deceptively mild. “Plus… I haven’t forgotten about that incident.”
Trigger jolts like she’s been struck. Her face, though hidden, seems to burn through her frantic movements. Her visor flares erratically, light pulsing from orange to pink as she flails her arms in front of her.
“P-Proxy! I thought I told you to forget about thaaat!!!” she blurts, voice cracking with panic, every gesture screaming embarrassment as she waves her arms wildly in protest.
…
The motorcycle roars down the empty stretch of the Outerring, its engine a steady thunder that rattles through the air. Asphalt and road lines blur beneath the wheels, and the wind lashes against them in a sharp and exhilarating gusts.
Overhead, the sun still hangs high, casting long golden rays that glint off passing road signs and the chrome of the bike.
Lighter handles his bike with ease, every motion smooth and unhurried. Behind him, Belle spreads her arms wide as though trying to embrace the sky itself.
Her grin stretches ear to ear, her voice rising over the growl of the motor. “Wooooo!!! Yeah! I forgot how good this feels! The freedom, this is worth living life for!” she hollers, her laughter cutting through the rush of air.
“Be careful,” Lighter says coolly, his voice steady, almost casual, as if the road itself bends to his calm.
Belle taps his shoulder with a playful smack, leaning closer so her words don’t get swallowed by the wind. “Relax! Your manly buttcheeks are gripping my skirt like an anchor,” she teases, smirking.
“Even if I flew up for a second, I’d probably snap right back down before I could drift away.” She nudges his back with mock reassurance.
There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the engine’s hum, before Lighter replies a little dry. “… Are you seriously complimenting a man’s butt?”
Belle snickers, eyes glittering with mischief. “Why not?” she fires back without hesitation, her grin widening. Then she leans sideways slightly, letting the wind whip her hair behind her like a banner. “So? where we headed? Blazewood?”
“Yeah,” Lighter says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His grip stays steady, voice unshaken by her antics. “Might as well stop by Cheesetopia, grab a bite before I drop you off back home.” A subtle pause. “That is… if you’re down for it.”
Out of nowhere, a heavy shadow cuts across the asphalt. Lighter instinctively tilts the bike, drifting them slightly to the side just as another motorcycle slams down from the sky.
Sparks scatter against the road as the tires screech, and riding astride the machine is an Orangutan Thiren, muscles tense and eyes blazing. He pulls up right beside them, his engine roaring like a beast.
“LIGHTER!” the newcomer bellows, his voice booming so loudly it nearly drowns out the motor. “I DEMAND A REMATCH!”
Lighter turns his head just slightly, one gloved hand shifting to adjust his sunglasses. The sunlight glints off the dark lenses as he regards the screeching Thiren in silence. “Hm…”
“What are you STARING for, huh!?” the Orangutan snarls, his spit practically carried away by the rushing wind. “HUH!? SAY SOMETHING!”
But Lighter calmly returns his gaze to the road, posture unshaken. His reply is flat, almost lazy. “... I have no idea who you are.”
“HUH!?” the Thiren screeches, his jaw dropping in sheer outrage. “We FOUGHT! A month ago! You- you don’t REMEMBER!?” His voice cracks with the kind of disbelief that could shatter mountains.
Belle leans forward, tapping Lighter’s shoulder with a laugh bubbling on her lips. “That’s Bellum… remember? Tour de Inferno?” she reminds him.
Lighter adjusts his sunglasses again, the same calm gesture as always. “Right. Apologies. I forgot.”
“HUH!?” Bellum practically howls, pounding his chest with one massive hand like an insulted gorilla. “You! You forgot ME!? AGAIN!??!”
“Sorry,” Lighter says simply, his voice steady as stone. “But today I won’t be taking any fights. You’ll have to wait for another time.” He turns his attention fully back to the road, as though Bellum’s fury is nothing more than background noise.
Bellum continues screaming, his words a garbled mix of fury and half-formed threats, more chest-thumping noise than actual language. His fists pound against the handlebars as if the metal itself could carry his rage.
Lighter, unshaken, calmly adjusts his sunglasses again, his tone steady and almost too polite.
“Apologies. I did not mean to disrespect you. I remember you now, a fierce adversary. But as you can see…” He tilts his head slightly toward Belle. “I have a guest today.”
The fire in Bellum’s eyes dims, replaced by sudden awareness. His posture shifts, his tone dropping. “Oh… my apologies. I didn’t scare you, did I?” he asks with surprising humility. “I thought Lighter was on one of his solitary rides.”
Belle blinks at the sudden change, caught between confusion and laughter. “Wow… didn’t know you were so polite,” she mutters under her breath before raising her voice with a grin. “It’s alright. No hard feelings.”
But just as quickly, Bellum throws his chest forward again, pointing a massive finger at Lighter with renewed intensity. “LIGHTER! I WILL BE BACK FOR A REMATCH!” His voice bellows so loudly it rattles in Belle’s ribs.
“Alright,” Lighter hums, utterly calm. “I’ll be waiting.”
Bellum gives a sharp nod, then, in the same breath, dips his head toward Belle with exaggerated courtesy. “Have an enjoyable date, ma’am,” he says, his tone unexpectedly refined.
With that, he jerks his handlebars, the tires squealing as he drifts into a dramatic U-turn. His engine howls, and in a storm of dust and bravado, he rockets off down the opposite lane.
Belle watches the orangutan-shaped blur vanish into the horizon. With a flourish, she gives Lighter’s shoulder a firm pat. “Onwards!” she declares dramatically, her voice echoing with mock-heroic energy.
“Then hold tight,” Lighter replies smoothly as he twists the throttle. The bike’s engine growl deepening. Belle leans in, then squeezes her arms around his lower abdomen with a grip like iron.
“H-hey, hey- what’s with the strength!?” Lighter blurts, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure.
Belle’s grin stretches wide against his back. “Fishing,” she declares proudly, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And besides, you told me to hold on tight.” Her tone is playful, carefree, as she deliberately tightens her hold even more.
“Not that tight, Proxy, seriously-” Lighter stammers, the calm edge to his voice faltering into mild panic. “I haven’t gone to the water closet in hours. This is- this is critical.”
He squirms slightly, his grip on the handlebars stiffening. “… Belle, I can hear you grinning.”
Belle huffs in mock disappointment, finally easing her arms a little. “Fine, fine. I’ll allow you to keep your dignity.” Her voice softens into a mischievous hum as the bike tears down the road.
“Still, it would’ve been so funny to see you defenseless… stumbling into Blazewood, trying to act cool while clearly suffering. What a sight that would’ve been.” She chuckles, clearly savoring the mental image even as she loosens her hold.
…
“So… are you planning on watching me work the rest of the day?” Wise asks, voice even, his hands resting against the counter. His tone carries the faintest trace of amusement, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Uhm… perchance,” Trigger answers after a pause, tilting her head slightly. “… I sense two figures approaching,” she murmurs under her breath, her voice barely audible.
Wise lets out a small shrug, lips curling in that half-smile he uses when he decides not to overthink something. “Well… okay then,” he replies simply.
And then, both the front and back doors open at the same moment.
“LORD PHEA-!” Vivian’s voice rings out like a trumpet fanfare as she bounds through the front door. Only to freeze mid-step. Her entire expression, even the colors around her, drains into grayscale as she locks in place, mouth open.
“Hey… oh-” The second voice is low and slightly distorted through a respirator. Pulchra stands framed in the doorway at the back, the metal door swings shut behind her with a slow, echoing thud.
Wise lets out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts his weight behind the counter. “Uhm… can I help you with something, Vivian?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with awkwardness.
Vivian blinks once, and color rushes back into her features like someone flipped a switch. With a single sharp step, she’s suddenly right in front of him, far too close for comfort.
“Why did that lady just walk through the back door like that?” she demands, her crimson eyes flaring brighter, practically glowing. “Is she the one staying at your place?”
Trigger clears her throat delicately, the sound calm yet commanding. “Ahem... I’m sure the manager has his reasons,” she says, placing a firm yet gentle hand on Vivian’s shoulder. “No need to get all up in his face like that.”
Vivian tilts her head, her energy cooling in an instant. “I’m sure… and you must be the other presence I sense when I observe Lord Phaeton.” Her words carry an airy certainty, her gaze sliding to Trigger with unsettling poise.
“… what?” Wise blurts from the background, his confusion going completely ignored by both women.
“Why the title?” Trigger asks, the faintest edge creeping into her smooth tone. “And speaking it out loud like that isn’t exactly helpful for keeping the manager’s identity as a proxy quiet.”
Vivian waves a hand dismissively, her smirk returning. “Oh, please. I know what I’m doing. I only speak freely when I know for certain it’s safe.” She leans in ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded with confidence.
“Though, perhaps you should visit the Otorhinolaryngology department, get your hearing checked, since you clearly couldn’t tell it was safe or not.”
Trigger’s visor lights flash crimson. “A little rude, no?” she says, tone calm as still water.
Vivian crosses her arms, her parasol resting against her shoulder. “Rude? I call it honest observation,” she says smoothly, lips curling into a small smile.
“Observation or provocation,” Trigger replies evenly, her voice steady. “Hard to tell the difference when it comes from you.”
Vivian’s lashes flutter, feigning innocence. “Oh my, you wound me. I was merely testing your awareness. A lord Pheaton’s guardian should be sharper than this.”
Trigger tilts her head slightly, “And yet here I stand, sharp enough to notice when someone’s overstepping.”
A beat passes between them, the air heavy but not hostile… just charged with the kind of rivalry that doesn’t need raising voices to feel sharp.
As the silence thickens between the two women, a soft, oblivious mumble drifts in from the background.
“Like, the barber said my hair looked all dry and tangled,” Pulchra drones casually, her tone halfway between complaint and disbelief. “So I figured Caesar must’ve watered down Lucy’s conditioner again… And I just had to say it out loud.”
Wise hums sympathetically. Pulchra keeps going, waving her hand idly. “And… Lucy herself was in the same place. In the neighbouring chair. Right when I mention her watered-down conditioner.” She lets out a long sigh.
“Yikes…” Wise mutters under his breath, genuinely unsure if this is gossip or a cry for help.
That’s when both of them notice the sudden quiet. Pulchra turns her head slightly, blinking as her story trails off.
Across the room, Trigger and Vivian, once locked in a verbal duel, now stand completely still, both silently watching the two of them chat like nothing happened.
The contrast is jarring. Vivian’s parasol droops slightly as a crack of doubt appears in her confident posture. “... Are… are we the problem?” she whispers, her voice unusually small.
Trigger lets out a restrained sigh, her hand gliding up to press lightly against her temple. “... We might be,” she admits under her breath, her tone more resigned than defensive.
“U-uh… It’s alright, girls!” Wise blurts out quickly, raising both hands near his chest in a nervous attempt at diplomacy. “No need to… uh… feel bad or anything! Happens to the best of us, right?”
Trigger adjusts her stance, regaining her composure. “Sorry, manager. I’ll take my leave for now.” Her tone is calm, polite, but tinged with quiet embarrassment.
Vivian bows her head slightly, her lavender curls bouncing with the motion. “I, too, must apologize, Lord Phaeton. I didn’t mean to disturb your peace.”
Wise just sighs softly, watching the two depart in awkward unison. “... oookay…” he mutters, running a tired hand through his hair.
Pulchra crosses her arms, leaning her weight slightly to one side as her tail gives an idle flick. “... Sheesh, proxy,” she drawls teasingly, “didn’t take you for the cold type of guy.”
Wise blinks, caught off guard. “I-I wasn’t trying to be!” he blurts out, rubbing a hand through his hair until it sticks up at odd angles.
“I don’t even know why they left- I mean, I kind of do, but… ugh…” His voice trails off as he stares down at the floor, mumbling under his breath, “... I, really… don’t understand women…”
Pulchra’s ear gives a tiny twitch “What was that, proxy?” she purrs, tone dripping with amusement.
Wise stiffens immediately, eyes darting up. “N-nothing,” he mutters quickly, his voice cracking just slightly.
“Reeeeaally?” Pulchra hums, drawing out the word as she tilts her head. “Mind if I take a look at your phone?”
Wise blinks, suspicion flickering across his face. “... Why do you want to look at my phone?” he asks cautiously, his tone more defensive than intended.
Pulchra smirks, the sharp edge of her canines showing just faintly. “What, hiding something?” she teases.
Wise sighs, shoulders slumping. “No…” he grumbles under his breath.
“Then how about a trade?” Pulchra offers smoothly, her tone casual. “You can look at my phone too. Fair deal, right?”
Wise lets out another long sigh, one of resignation this time. “... I… sure. Fine,” he mumbles, rubbing his temple. “But… why do you even want to look at it?”
Pulchra shrugs innocently, her tail flicks again in quiet amusement. “No reason. Maybe I just wanna see under what name you saved me as. Always fun to find out what people really think of you when they’re scrolling through contacts.”
Wise pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb flicking the screen to unlock it with an idle sigh. “Here,” he says simply, holding it out without ceremony.
Pulchra takes it and tilts her head, the light from the screen reflecting faintly in her eyes. “Aww, cute wallpaper,” she notes with mild amusement.
“That’s the black cat that wanders around Sixth Street, right? The person holding it, is that the owner?”
Wise blinks, momentarily thrown. “Huh? Black cat?” he murmurs, brows knitting together as he leans closer. Then it clicks. “Oh. Right. That’s Inky. And no, the one holding her isn’t the owner. Just someone it’s really fond of.”
“I see,” Pulchra hums, then slides her own phone from her pocket and offers it over. “Fair trade.”
Wise takes her phone with mild curiosity while Pulchra begins scrolling through his contacts, her tail swaying lazily behind her. “Let’s see…” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing as she recognizes one of the profile pictures.
She stops and glances up at him, expression deadpan. “Why,” she says slowly, “is Burnice saved as Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga?”
Wise blinks, then lifts both hands slightly in defense. “Don’t blame me. She set that herself.” His tone is dry, matter-of-fact.
Pulchra a sharp laugh escaping before she rolls her eyes. “Yeah… that sounds exactly like something she’d do.”
1:33 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: PROOOOOXXXYYYY!!!!!
1:34 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Proxy!
1:34 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Proooooxxxxyyyyy!!!
1:34 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Are you ignoring me?!
1:35 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: And here I thought we had an inseparable bond…
1:36 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: .·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·.
1:40 > Wise: Do you know what time it is…
1:41 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: YEP! ONE IN THE MORNING!
1:42 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: I GUESS KITTY WAS RIGHT! YOU ALWAYS SOMEHOW CHECK YOUR PHONE!!!
1:43 > Wise: …
1:43 > Wise: Is that the sole reason you woke me up for?
1:44 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Maybe
1:44 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: (–⩊–)
1:45 > Wise: … Why.
1:45 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: I just wanted someone to chat with!
1:45 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Also!
1:46 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Are you and Kitty sleeping in the same bed?
1:46 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Can I join?!
1:47 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: ٩( ˙◁˙ )و
1:47 > Wise: What- no! And no!
1:47 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Awwwww…
1:47 > Hot Pyro Nitrofuel amiga: Bummer
Pulchra scrolls through the messages in silence, then glances up at Wise. She then looks back down at the phone, then back up again, her ear giving a small twitch.
…
“Sorry I left you waiting so long,” Lighter says as he walks toward the table where Belle sits. His tone is as composed as ever, as he adjusts his sunglasses “I ran into some trouble and had to take care of it,” he explains calmly.
“Hic… oh… heeey, Lighter…” Belle mumbles, her voice dragging into a slow drawl. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and her elbow props her chin up with questionable stability.
Lighter stops mid-step, his composure cracking as his eyes dart to the table.
There, stacked like a miniature tower of chaos, are empty cans of Nitro Fuel. Each one a different color, some still lying lazily across the surface.
“...Oh no,” he mutters, the faint tremor of dread in his voice.
Before he can even process the disaster, a sudden voice calls from above “BEEEELLEEEE! WHY DON’T YOU TRY THIS ONE TOO!?”
Burnice vaults through the open side of Cheesetopia like a caffeinated comet, landing beside the table with a triumphant grin. “Oh! hey, Lighter! How ya doin’?” she beams, waving with both hands.
Lighter’s eye twitches behind his shades. “What happened here!?” he exclaims, his voice breaking through his usual cool tone. “The other proxy’s going to kill me!”
He drops to one knee, slamming a fist dramatically onto the floor. “How could I have let it come to this…” he mutters, despair heavy in his voice, as if he’s reenacting a tragic stage play.
Belle waves her hands lazily, humming in delight, her speech bubbling into incoherent giggles. “It’s fine~! Look! so many colors~!” she says proudly, gesturing to the sea of empty cans like a masterpiece of art.
Lighter’s eyes widen behind his shades. His hand trembles as he clenches it into a tight fist, and he rises to his feet with the solemn resolve of a man facing divine retribution.
“I…” he says slowly, his voice trembling with righteous despair.
“MUST PAY!”
Before anyone can stop him, he swings his own fist in a perfect arc-
WHAM!
-and punches himself square across the jaw, sending himself flying backward into the wall with a heavy thud.
Belle stares blankly for half a second before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, doubling over as she slaps the table. Burnice snorts, barely holding back tears of laughter.
“Come on, Lighter, it’s nothing serious!” Burnice chuckles, leaning on the table. “She just drank a little bit of Nitro Fuel! It’s coooool!”
Lighter, still slumped against the wall, raises a hand weakly. “A little…? That’s twelve cans” he says pointing at the amount of cans on the table.
Belle twirls an empty can between her fingers, eyes half-lidded and smug. “Siiiix? Oh, don’t be so dramatic~ I’m fiiiiine…” she slurs, giggling all over again.
“I said twelve,” Lighter states firmly, his voice flat and unamused.
“Siiiix~,” Belle giggles, holding up a hand with far too many fingers extended.
In the blink of an eye, Lighter is no longer at the table. He’s outside, standing beneath the night sky, gazing solemnly up at the night sky like a man awaiting divine judgment.
“This is it…” he murmurs, voice low and grave. “Life was short… but it was worthwhile.”
He lets his arm rest loosely, looking every bit like a philosopher facing the end. “In my remaining time, before I am erased from this world by the wrath of the other proxy-”
A few meters away, Burnice leans against the railing, sipping from another can and watching his dramatics unfold with casual amusement. “Huuuh… maybe I did give you too much,” she muses aloud, turning back toward Belle, only to find her spot empty.
“Uh oh,” Burnice says cheerfully, tapping her temple with a knuckle. “That’s probably bad.”
Meanwhile, Lighter removes his sunglasses with reverent care. He raises them toward the sky as a cool breeze sweeps past. “And my sunglasses…” he says solemnly, “I leave them to my dearest brother…”
A shooting star glides across the horizon, catching the light on his lenses. A single tear escapes down his cheek.
And then… his world turns upside down.
“Liiiighter…” Belle mumbles sleepily against his back, her voice soft and warm. “I’m tired…”
Lighter’s posture stiffens instantly, every muscle in his body locking up as if his internal processors just blue-screened. Belle’s arms drape loosely around his waist, her weight settling comfortably against him.
Now, under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a problem. When they’re on the bike, it’s standard. Practical, even.
But right now… here, standing motionless under the neon glow, on solid ground, with her pressed against him in this particular way…
Lighter’s gears stop spinning.
His sunglasses are somehow already back on, gleaming under the streetlights as he stares dead ahead, unblinking.
Belle shifts slightly, humming contently in her half-dreamy daze. The soft press of her cheek lingers against Lighter’s back, a quiet warmth that sends a thousand warning alarms through his otherwise disciplined mind.
And then… it hits him.
A soft sensation… unmistakable, UNDENIABLE! and his thoughts begin to spin again, faster than any engine he’s ever tuned.
It is in this moment that Lighter realizes a simple, dreadful truth: if the other proxy wasn’t out for blood before, he most certainly will be now.
But perhaps he won’t get the chance. Because standing there, frozen solid under the neon glow, Lighter might as well be pronounced dead on the spot. His soul has left his very chassis.
Burnice waddles over, half-curious and entirely entertained. “Heheh! What a funny sight to behold! Normally you’re so confident and cool, Lighter,” she hums, reaching up to pat his cheek. No response. She slaps it again, gently at first, then twice more for good measure. “...Lighter?”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Burnice frowns, leans closer, and slowly lowers his sunglasses. The sight that greets her makes her gasp audibly. “Ah… his eyes…” she whispers in mock horror. “They’ve lost the light of life.”
She steps back dramatically, throwing one hand over her mouth. “He’s dead.”
At that exact moment, Belle sways backward with a soft thud, collapsing onto the ground in a blissful heap. Burnice stares, eyes wide. “Oh no…” she says slowly, her tone deadpan. “She’s dead too.”
And there she stands, blinking once… twice… doing absolutely nothing about it.
“Oh dear…” a relaxed voice cuts in. “You young’uns sure know how to have fun these days.”
Burnice turns around to find Piper stretching lazily, her arms reaching high above her head as she strolls closer with all the urgency of someone on a morning walk.
“Oh! Piper!” Burnice exclaims, pointing dramatically at the fallen duo. “We need your necromancy skills! bring them back from the dead!”
Piper hums softly, an amused grin tugging at her lips. “Hmm hmmhmm… alrighty,” she says, patting Burnice’s shoulder. “How about you carry Lighter to a bed while I give the proxy a ride home?”
Burnice nods enthusiastically, giving two big thumbs up. “Got it!” she says, giving a proud salute, before storming off.
>>> special thanks <<<
Hallo! Danke schön fürs Lesen des Kapitels!
Und ein großes Dankeschön an Ihorke, Nethra07, Octavius, Mr. Therapist, Bigboi2, BiggusArchived und Cocopuffs für das Zusenden ihrer Ideenvorschläge.
My… Deutsch is not the best… if you couldn’t already tell. (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
Just a small thank-you to everyone who pitched their ideas for the chapter you’ve read today.
Want to join in on the next round of idea pitches?
Feel free to hop into the Discord!
>>> Extras <<<
Bored? Want to read more? Here are some suggestions from me! ☆(⌒▽⌒)☆
A Fox… and an Idiot - by BioTheDemon > short and cute (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)
Song of the Stars and the Moon - by CMGT1756 > a longer read, but a nice long read! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹
>>> Chapter Extras <<<
The gentle scent of fresh bread and sweet red bean paste fills the air of the small bakery café. Steam drifts lazily from the tray between them as Trigger takes a careful bite, her expression melting into quiet delight.
“Mmm… these red bean buns are really good…” she hums softly, her voice warm and content.
Vivian flips her hair with a confident flick, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Hmph. I told you, I know a good place for baked goods.”
Trigger glances at the price board, tilting her head slightly. “A little pricey though…” she murmurs, almost to herself.
Vivian waves a hand dismissively, her tone smooth and smug. “Not a problem. I have… connections,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “In exchange, I’d like to know what you know about Lord Phaeton.”
Trigger freezes mid-chew, tilting downward as if that could hide her sudden discomfort. “That’s… um… a little embarrassing to talk about,” she admits, rubbing the back of her head awkwardly.
Vivian takes a slow sip of her drink, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Not to fret,” she says airily, “I ordered two custom-made body pillows for my own… needs.”
Trigger nearly chokes on her bun. “Oh-” she stammers, a faint pink hue blooming across her cheeks. “Well… then…”
---
Moments later, the café’s calm atmosphere shatters like glass.
“YOU WERE LORD PHAETON’S FIRST CUSTOMER!?!!!” Vivian practically explodes, leaning so far across the table that Trigger nearly flinches back into her chair. Her voice trembles with a cocktail of excitement, jealousy, and disbelief.
“Y-yeah…” Trigger mumbles, shrinking slightly under the weight of Vivian’s stare.
“And you’ve kept a good relationship with him all this time!?” Vivian demands.
Trigger nods timidly.
Vivian slams both hands on the table, the cups rattling. “AND YOU DEVISED AN ENTIRE EXECUTION PLAN JUST TO HANG OUT WITH HIM MORE!? AND HE FOUND OUT!?”
Trigger winces, lowering her head. “C-can you… not shout it out like that? It’s embarrassing enough as it is…”
Vivian suddenly softens. She places a dramatic hand on Trigger’s shoulder, her expression filled with reverence, as though she’s gazing upon a saint.
“No… the plan… was beautiful,” she whispers, a single proud tear rolling down her cheek. “I have to up my game…”
“Huuuh??” Trigger blurts out, completely lost…