This time, Rita and her team didn’t end up fighting Pomango. The moment Pomango stepped into the Worm Tavern, the tavern owner instantly teleported her to a private room before a brawl could even start. The meal itself cost thirty thousand gold. Rita even ordered the most expensive dishes and drinks on the menu, asking the Worm Tavern to deliver them to Lightchaser, GodDraw77, and Wail. Since it was already late, she decided to make it dinner. After the fishing tournament years ago—when she’d gone bankrupt in a single second—she’d learned one thing: if you suddenly have money, spend it fast. There wasn’t much team coordination to be done anyway. No matter when the team match would be held, a few days weren’t going to make them more synchronized. Nobody was about to share what special skills they really had either. All they could do was give their best when the match started. Still, by the end of the meal, Rita could tell at least one thing: every single one of them truly wanted the championship. The team match winner could choose a skill from the skill library—and the few scraps of information leaked from past champions made it clear how special that prize was. Each person saw a completely different set of skills, but every skill inside was absurdly powerful. No one who had ever glimpsed their skill library had walked away disappointed. It was as if those skills were tailor-made—crafted to hit the exact desire of the player who saw them. Syntax was seventh year, while NightFury, Crab, and Quex were sixth. None of them had many chances left. When the meal was over, Rita finally let out a small sigh of relief. She didn’t go straight back, though. Instead, she wandered through the Endless Desert. The Divine Game always brought her to new cities, and she’d learned to treat it like a yearly vacation. She walked alone through the golden streets. It was a little lonely—but she didn’t want to find Fat Goose or Motor. She didn’t want to see more of how everyone else had changed. Even if most hadn’t waited for her, that one elf—the one GodDraw77 had once described as "someone who never stays anywhere for long, no matter who she meets"—had searched for her for years and brought her back. And Lightchaser was rich. Obscenely rich. Of course, knowing Lightchaser’s temperament, she probably hadn’t cared whether the adult Rita wanted to come back or not... Rita’s mind wandered as she explored the city. She picked up ingredients for [Wrong Season]—the four seasonal materials she’d been missing—and spent a fortune on dried leaves and spring blossoms. Finally, she bought a pair of black tactical gloves to cover the divine relic on her hands. She kept walking until dusk painted the horizon, then returned alone to the Twilight Library. As an honorary student of Moonlight Marsh, her dorm remained one of the best despite her three-year absence. The hallway near her room had a perfect view of the Endless Desert, and right across from her was the room of Moonlight Marsh’s seventh-year class president—Mistblade. She hadn’t realized that until she saw the nameplate on the door that morning. The Twilight Library’s architecture was full of deliberate beauty. Rita resisted the urge to teleport or fly, instead following the elegant winding corridors until she reached her floor. There, leaning against the wall beside her door, stood a tall, graceful figure. Everyone had grown up. The Moonlight Marsh uniforms somehow looked even better now. The white fabric trimmed in crimson suited Mistblade perfectly. The white-and-black of her ears and tails didn’t clash at all; they made her seem vibrant, alive. The setting sun poured over her, tinting her in shades of gold and crimson. She stood still, gazing at the black tip of her tail in thought. In the three years since they’d last met, her tails had multiplied—six fox tails now hung behind her in quiet motion. Rita froze. She thought about turning back, but it was too late. The moon fox who’d apparently been waiting by her door for quite some time had already lifted her gaze. Against the sun, Mistblade smiled faintly. "Are you angry?" she asked softly. "Because of [Endless Autumn: On the Chessboard]?" Mistblade’s tone was different now—so much more refined than before. Every pause, every inflection carried purpose, a rhythmic poise that made her voice almost musical. She straightened and began walking toward her. Even in those simple steps, there was grace and command—elegance woven into motion, every gesture of her hands, her tails, the subtle rhythm of her breath. This was the real Mistblade now. Not the warm, impulsive one who had run up to greet her before the Fun Match. That Mistblade was gone. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢~𝔫𝔢𝔱 Just like the Maple Syrup who once sat on the gem shop steps with a bottle of milk, watching the world go by—the mischievous one who used to flick her friends with her tails when she laughed—that girl was gone too. As Rita studied her, Mistblade was studying her back. Rita had grown taller, the black Moonlight Marsh uniform fitting her perfectly. The long coat draped neatly over her frame, and the way she moved—the small, deliberate gestures of her arms, the balance in her stance—reminded Mistblade of Lightchaser. Every step was measured, every motion controlled, like someone always ready to draw her black-and-red dagger and strike without hesitation. Her face, now almost fully matured, carried that same calm beauty as GodDraw77—refined, gentle, almost harmless. And yet there was something in her presence that made others tense instinctively. Warm, but dangerous. A contradiction that no one could forget. Before the Fun Match, when she’d stepped down from the starry dragon, she still had that trace of childishness in her eyes. Her smile had been easy, expectant, and bright as she searched for Mistblade and Fat Goose. But after that match, something had changed. It was as if she had grown up all at once. Her voice and manner were still teasing, her tone still lighthearted—but there was something new behind it, something sharper. Mistblade could tell Rita had deliberately said that "Toast to Pomango" line after spotting Pomango in the tavern doorway. Classic Rita—always mischievous, quietly cruel in her humor. She always said Maple Syrup was the mean one, but among all of them, Rita had always been the one who loved to play tricks the most—quietly and with precision. But she was different now. Mistblade couldn’t tell exactly when it had happened. Was it the moment Maple Syrup drove a spear through her chest and pinned her to the wall beneath a storm of thousands of attacks? Or was it the moment she herself realized she had used [Endless Autumn: On the Chessboard] against her closest friend? They stood in silence for a long time. Eventually, they walked together to the end of the corridor and leaned side by side against the wall, looking out at the desert sunset. The Twilight Library was named for this exact moment. Every evening, as dusk fell, the Endless Desert gave rise to a mirage. At that hour, everyone in the desert—residents and students alike—would stop what they were doing and come outside to watch. No two mirages were ever the same. Some explorers had tried to find the landscapes reflected in them, only to discover they weren’t from anywhere in Arisentna at all, but glimpses of other worlds. If the world was this vast, boundless expanse, how many more lay beyond it? Were there moon foxes there too? Neither of them spoke. Tonight’s mirage was a sea of endless forest, the wind rippling through it like dark green waves. Mistblade watched quietly, lost in thought. After a long silence, she finally said, "I haven’t really used [Endless Autumn: On the Chessboard] much this past year..."