The biggest screen was locked to Rita’s perspective. She had the highest overall score: most baits secured, most escapes from the line, and the overwhelming majority of the audience had chosen to follow her feed. That also meant every spectator heard Motor and Fat Goose’s little exchange. Anyone with half a brain could guess what Motor was about to use, and just how devastating that skill—made infamous during the team battle—would be at this exact moment for every hooked player. The blood elf whispered, "Aren’t they good friends?... He clearly heard him." Before the black cat could answer, already twitchy in his seat with his fur bristling, the pink-haired dwarf spoke instead. Her voice was calmer than expected. "This is a divine game, not kids playing house." The blood elf stared at her profile for a long time, then asked softly, "Honor and dreams matter more than friendship?" She said it just as Motor activated his skill. The screens slowed, every movement dragging like a reel in slow motion. Only the bait drifting down and the lines pulling up remained at full speed. "They’re not contradictory," the dwarf said evenly, eyes fixed on the game. "Avoiding all conflict isn’t friendship. Abandoning your hatred and ambition for someone else isn’t friendship. Chasing honor and dreams together with comrades who share them—that’s what I call friendship. Friends in the divine game exist to make it more fun." Finally, she turned her head, looked the blood elf straight in the eye, and enunciated each word. "If I’m destined to lose, then watching my friend take the crown will make me hate myself a little less." The blood elf straightened, knees pressed together, hands folded on her lap, gaze forward. The black cat pinged her privately. "Still planning to fight?" The blood elf: "Shut up." The moment Rita realized what Motor was about to do, she was already searching for a way out. If she had Cat’s Ideal, she’d be gone in an instant. But now... The only path was the one she’d written off earlier—the one her future self had pressed on her. Shadow of the Moon. When moonlight casts your shadow, you may freely step into the shadow world... But it was broad daylight. Wait. Not exactly. She had a moon. She carried one with her. Motor had given his allies a little grace. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have shouted a second time. His first cry had been a warning to his friends, a chance to act. Who yells mid-ambush otherwise? Rita summoned Wrathful Moon. In the swirling sea, a night-lamp flared to life. Its glow spread across the depths, and the fish trailing her was illuminated like glass. Almost simultaneously, Motor triggered Protagonist Time. The world slowed to a crawl. Bubbles drifted, fish flailed, skills unfolded in glacial arcs. But the hooks rose at full speed, hauling their catches. Many had bitten down at the frenzy. Motor’s two cries had only bought three seconds, barely enough to flush out every player’s last resort. On the surface, chaos filled the screens. Of the hundred students with the highest scores, at least a third were hooked. Which made sense—those in the lead were the ones fighting hardest for baits. Viewers could hardly keep up. But the slowed footage also gave them a clear look at every trump card. Blue-striped Bluru dissolved into shadow. A Thorn Winterfish burst into flame and blinked free of its chains. Another transformed into a spray of emerald feathers—Songgui’s substitute skill. A strange spore cocoon shielded one fish entirely from temporal effects. Even Cinnabar vanished, slipping out of the whirlpool entirely. Motor’s gaze tracked the point where he disappeared, expression unreadable. The camera feeds followed each fish’s movement. Except for Blue-striped Bluru. Her screen went empty, locked on the spot where she had vanished. On the icy ring above, Puppetlord raised an empty rod and sighed. "Gone again. What are the odds that skill just happened to land with her? I thought Wrathful Moon hated her, but every compatible skill keeps landing in her lap." Deceitful Bloom snorted. "If Wrathful Moon hated her, it wouldn’t have chased her into the Zeran Deep Sea. I’ll bet two cups of Snowland’s Promise, if BS-Rita hadn’t found it, it would’ve tracked her anyway." Ashveil frowned. "But she doesn’t sync with it like she does with Cat’s Ideal. I’ve never seen a relic prefer a player with lower compatibility." Foolishness, reeling in his line, spoke up. "If you can understand why Lightchaser favors her, then you can understand Wrathful Moon. Lightchaser left a sliver of her will in it." Ashveil blinked. "I don’t understand. Why would anyone like BS-Rita?" Puppetlord tilted his head, grinning. "Oh? Then why does Foolishness understand?" Ironclaw: "He’s projecting." Deceitful Bloom: "He’s projecting." Captain: "He’s dead." Barista glanced sideways at Captain crouching among the demons, eyes glassy, muttering nonsense. She leaned toward Drummer. "How long’s he been ?" Drummer raised a skeletal fist, black cloak slipping to reveal white bone. "Wahoo, dead!" Rita found herself in a world of grayscale. She was still inside the whirlpool zone, but her flow of time ran normal, like Motor’s. The hook in her mouth tugged upward. But it and the bait she had nearly claimed, Burn the Sea, passed harmlessly through her body. Real objects couldn’t touch her now. Just as she could phase through other players and every kind of skill. So this was the shadow world. A thousand applications flashed through her head. As she drifted past Motor, her eyes flicked to Fat Goose—already gone. Cinnabar too, vanished, leaving behind a strange metal shard that dropped into Motor’s hand. His expression didn’t even shift. He’d expected it. Maybe the shard was his real prize all along. Rita couldn’t devour baits while shadowed, but she could see their info. She zipped through clusters of bubbles, scanning names. One caught her eye. Preferred: Orpha. What kind of shopping channel nonsense was that? Orpha—was it Mistblade’s? Or that Glitter Strawberry Fish? She didn’t linger. She kept moving. A third of the students were dead already, more had been reeled ashore. The survivors were bleeding, struggling, burning everything. Another bubble. Preferred: Orpha. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ novｅlfire.net