Rita activated [School Rule No. 801] and cranked out thirty Scratch Cards in one burst. She pulled a giant pumpkin from her pack to use as a table, then pulled out another coin to use as a scraper. She sprawled across the pumpkin and began scratching furiously. Mistblade, having just made a fortune selling replicas for fishbones and finishing her big shopping trip, was on her way to fish when she stopped mid-step. She turned and walked toward a familiar figure slumped over a pumpkin, muttering under her breath. Rita was dragging a coin across parchment, piles of already-scratched cards stacked beside her—at least eighty by the looks of it. Even before Mistblade got close, she could feel the waves of frustration radiating off her. "Fish rod, fish rod, fish rod, please!" "How can this be, how can this be?!" "I’ve been framed by Lightchaser, sob sob sob!" "What kind of skill is this, seriously?!" "A tragedy! I’m the real tragedy here!" "Why are there chopsticks?!" "I swear I’m going to clamp Lightchaser’s head between them!" She was babbling nonsense now. Mistblade leaned over to peek. Rita had just finished scratching another card—nothing again! With a furious punch, she smashed the pumpkin table beneath the card. She had already maxed out [Rule 710] three times—thirty Scratch Cards each time—plus one card per minute in between. Altogether, she’d burned through 116 Scratch Cards, with more than eighty scratched, and still no fishing rod. Mistblade glanced at the scattered parchments. Judging from Rita’s expression, she really hadn’t pulled one. "Is the rate that low? Didn’t we get one on our first try?" Rita froze, staring blankly up at Mistblade. "What?" Mistblade asked. A deep-blue ship’s helm suddenly appeared between them. Water churned within, surging past a rack of Cat’s Ideal rods, sending white waves splashing outward. But just as quickly, it vanished. Rita, who’d looked completely miserable a moment ago, now sat a little straighter, a mischievous smile on her face. She held out a Scratch Card. "Here. This one’s for you. Try scratching for a rod." So what if you didn’t have a skill to make money? ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel•fire.net The Divine Game was never cruel enough to lock players out entirely. Even if someone’s abilities didn’t fit the event, there were always paths left open. This mini-game was no exception. Apprentices could take tasks from shopkeepers and townsfolk—sometimes just muttering to yourself was enough to attract an NPC asking for help. Or they could gamble with certain residents. For example, a villager might provide rods and bait in exchange for a quota of fish within a set time. Fail to deliver, and you’d have to compensate with skills or magical items. In the worst case, you could sell off whatever items you’d brought in. Plenty of ways to get by. Maple Syrup had scouted out several, weighing pros and cons before settling on a wager with a restaurant owner. The rod and bait offered weren’t top-tier, but he was the only one willing to accept her secondary weapon as collateral. More importantly, he only demanded quantity, not quality. It took her more than an hour to track down this arrangement, but she felt the time had been worth it. Fishing wasn’t pure luck. Preparation mattered too. Otherwise, why would shops even bother stocking rods of different grades and baits with special effects? Carrying the loaned rod and bait, she took to the skies toward the coast, reviewing the rare fish list in her head and plotting how best to land the rarest catch. Rod quality? Technique? Or plain luck? Just before reaching the shoreline, she paused. Why were so many apprentices gathered there? Mistblade and Fat Goose were among them... scratching Scratch Cards. With a tilt of her wings, she swooped toward them. "Fifty portions of fine bait or twenty portions of superior bait for one card!" "Fuel? Not taking fuel right now." "This net’s nice. I’ll trade you two cards!" "No coins? This game requires coins. I can front you some, but you’ll owe me extra bait." "This hat... yeah, that hat works. One card." Rita lounged against a wall, plopped a black fisherman’s hat onto her head courtesy of Crab’s claw, and shoved another Scratch Card into his grip. She kept fanning more cards through the air while a crowd of apprentices surrounded her, bartering frantically for their chance. She was picky, though. Anything below fine-grade bait was flatly refused. Maple Syrup landed with a conflicted look, sidling up beside Mistblade to peek at her Scratch Card. "How many have you scratched?" she asked. "Three," Mistblade muttered without looking up. "Nothing. Again." Fat Goose sighed. "Same here. Nothing." Maple Syrup nearly turned away but couldn’t help herself. "This is a mini-game! What are you doing wasting time?" Yet she still drifted over to Rita, dragging her into a corner. Her voice dropped. "Aren’t you worried someone’s going to scratch an Ancient-tier fishing rod?" The words stopped her cold. She repeated them under her breath. "Ancient-tier rod... Ancient-tier rod." Her gaze fell on her own rod. A good one—cost fifteen thousand fishbones at the shop, no discount. But even so, it was only Legendary. The shop stocked only three better ones: Epic-tier rods at fifty thousand fishbones apiece. She turned back to find Rita staring at her expectantly, like a fisherman waiting for prey to bite. Maple Syrup took the bait. "Give me one." Rita lifted a card immediately. "Fifty portions of fine bait." Maple Syrup hesitated. She knew there was a catch. But last time she’d hit a jackpot on her first scratch, and not just her—Mistblade, Fat Goose, everyone had won something. This ability felt like charity incarnate. She shoved fifty bait portions into Rita’s hands, grabbed a card, and only then muttered, "You sure you want to keep selling these? What if someone really does pull an Ancient-tier rod?" Rita tucked away the bait and remaining cards. "Not selling anymore. I’ve got enough gear and bait. Time to fish." She said it loud enough for the whole crowd to hear, drawing groans and sighs. The loudest came from those who had hesitated too long. With a wave, Rita launched toward the sea, her fisherman’s hat flapping and her black academy robes whipping in the wind. Even from behind, her good mood was obvious. Maple Syrup frowned, clutching the parchment. "Doesn’t she seem... not worried at all?" "Yes," Mistblade admitted. "Almost like she knows we can’t pull a truly good rod. But still—we can’t resist trying, can we? Scratch Cards are real. And she isn’t absolutely certain. ...I’ve wasted enough time. I’m going fishing." She grabbed her rod and flew off. One by one, Fat Goose and the others followed suit. Mistblade had been right. Even knowing Rita must have some safeguard, Maple Syrup still couldn’t help herself. She dropped a coin into the card. Typical Rita, never that reckless. Scowling, Maple Syrup stood, hefted her rod, and flew for the coast.