Liam flung the doors wide that morning, and a shout rippled through the waiting throng—"No time limits starting today?"—igniting a stampede as the melon-eaters surged in, wild with glee.
"Move it, grab a machine!" one barked, elbows flying, while another pleaded, "Save me a spot!" their desperation a chorus as they poured into the cafe's newly vast interior.
The space's overnight growth—120 machines from fifty—barely fazed them now, their shock dulled by yesterday's marvels, but the stakes had spiked: no limits meant seats were gold, held till closing if they could manage it.
Before, a missed first wave meant a wait; now, it risked a day on the sidelines, and the crowd scrambled, a frenzied ballet of greed and grit to claim their digital thrones.
Hu Tao stormed in early, Zhongli at her heels, Tartaglia and Keqing close behind—each snagged a rig, their resolve steeled after yesterday's lessons, the Honor List a siren call in their sights.
Keqing had burned the midnight oil, slashing her Yuheng duties to free this day, a workaholic's rare rebellion sparked by the lure of Dig to Ascend's unclaimed crown.
She'd even delegated fluff tasks—a marvel in itself—her focus honed to a razor's edge, gaming now a mission where every second shaved off Liam's demo mattered more than paperwork.
Tartaglia mirrored her fire, vowing clearance today, Keqing his chief rival—Liam's 2:06 Digging run, looped in their minds overnight, had cracked its secrets wide open for both.
Each fulcrum, each swing, they'd dissected—half a day, Liam reckoned, and one would plant their flag first, the race a coin toss between their relentless drives.
Hu Tao, lighter in spirit, stuck to Super Mario, her plumber's quest a smoother ride—she'd mapped its tricks, her fifth-level lead a quiet boast as she danced through pipes and foes.
The cafe hummed, barely settled, when Ningguang swept in, her workday trimmed to a skeleton crew of secretaries, her Tianquan curiosity piqued by this otherworldly den she'd yet to conquer.
She traded pleasantries with Liam, her charm securing a seat—no urgent jade deals today, just a yen to taste the alien delights that had Liyue buzzing like a kicked hive.
Games intrigued her less than "videos," and she dove in—first, Boss Hu Tao Teases Employee Zhongli, its "Smelly Peach" gag doubling her over, a rare laugh shaking her poised frame.
Then she clicked The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, its icon new and gleaming, and Zhongli joined her, melon-eaters clustering too, drawn by the title's golden promise.
Darkness swallowed the screen, a woman's voice rising soft and somber—"The world has changed," she intoned, her words weaving through water, soil, wind, a lament for a past erased by time.
"I know it, I still remember," she sighed, the screen flaring with classic strings, dark gold letters blazing—The Lord of the Rings—a herald that hushed the room, eyes wide and waiting.
Flames roared, a ring forged in their glow, and her voice returned, spinning its tale—"Three were given to the elves, immortal, fairest, wisest of all," as pointed-eared beauties gazed at their bands.
"Seven to the dwarf-lords, great miners, crafters of stone halls," she continued, seven stout, bearded figures clutching their own, their rugged pride etched in every line.
"Nine to men, hungriest for power," she added, nine kings—old and young—lifting their rings, ambition glinting in their eyes, a thirst that would prove their doom.
"Strength and will to rule all races poured into these," she said, "but they were deceived—for another ring was forged, in Mordor, in Mount Doom's fire, by the Dark Lord Sauron."
A hulking figure loomed on lava-scarred earth, his hideous armor dwarfing the gold band on his claw, runes flaring as his malice seeped into its core, a supreme ring to bind them all.
Middle-earth erupted—war swallowed free lands, Sauron's thrall spreading like plague, and the cafe's watchers leaned in, breaths held as the screen painted a world aflame with strife.
Resistance flared—elves and men united, a last stand against Mordor's tide—and the system's polish sharpened every clash, hundreds of thousands clashing in a ballet of steel and blood.
Graceful elves, stalwart humans, twisted orcs—their armies sprawled vast and vivid, a spectacle so grand it dwarfed Teyvat's wildest tales, hearts pounding in the cafe's stunned silence.
Zhongli's amber gaze flickered, a rare admission slipping free—"This outscales any war I've witnessed," his voice low, awed by a mortal host no Demon God clash could rival.
Teyvat's wars millennia past had sundered peaks and skies, but its sparse souls never mustered such numbers—Middle-earth's breadth and populace loomed larger, a titan beside their own land.
Ningguang gripped her armrest, the epic's sweep stirring her strategist's mind—power, betrayal, unity—a mirror to her own games, yet grander, its stakes etched in fire and rings.
Hu Tao paused her Mario mid-jump, peeking over, the plumber's whimsy paling beside this saga—her mischief bowed to its weight, a tale she'd tease Zhongli about later.
Tartaglia and Keqing faltered, their Digging swings slowing—Middle-earth's chaos tugged their focus, a lure they resisted only by sheer will, the Honor List still their grail.
Liam watched from the counter, his system gorging—the film's shock, Zhongli's reverence, Ningguang's intrigue spun a richer vein than any game's grind, a jackpot he'd barely tapped.
This wasn't just a movie—it was a thunderbolt, The Lord of the Rings planting a seed of wonder and dread, its unfinished arc a hook to reel Teyvat's boldest deeper into his web.
***
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