No sooner had they entered the grand capital of Lamipol than Sophie's group was whisked away to the tournament's designated residence. Swallowing her urge to explore, Sophie focused on coaching Yakx—though the royal chefs' lavish spreads almost made up for it.
Under Charles' guidance, Yakx, Pierre, and Eddie had improved rapidly. At this rate, the championship was as good as theirs.
Then came the draw.
"Number four?" Sophie grimaced. *"Couldn't we get six or eight? Even five would've been better!"* (Five was her lucky number.) Resigned, she patted Yakx's back. "Four it is! It's *your* lucky number now!"
Her pep talk still ringing in his ears, Yakx strode toward the arena—only for Sophie to freeze.
"*What the—?*" She gaped at the lanky, wand-wielding teenager on stage. A *teenager*.
The blond boy sneered past her. "Just forfeit, Yakx. Spare yourself the humiliation."
Sophie whirled toward the referees. "Hey! This isn't—"
"Teacher Sophie," Yakx cut in calmly, "the tournament groups all noble minors together, regardless of age. It tests adaptability and comprehension."
"Ristin," Yakx shot back, mounting the platform, "today you'll learn what defeat tastes like."
Though half Ristin's height, Yakx's presence dwarfed his opponent's.
---
Sophie's nails dug into her palms as Yakx tanked an ice spike to the chest—protected only by his Orphiel-family black-gold vest. Gritting his teeth, he retaliated with a chained fireball.
Ristin barely dodged. *"Since when could he cast* that *?"* No longer playing, the older boy unleashed an advanced spell. Yakx's shield shattered on impact, sending him sprawling. Blood trickled from his lip as he scrambled up.
Time was running out.
Dashing forward, Yakx lobbed a water orb—then *another* fireball hidden within it.
"*Simultaneous dual-casting?!*" Ristin barely raised a barrier before the explosion sent him skidding to the edge. Furious, he gathered crackling lightning in his palms—far beyond tournament limits. *"Die!"*
A head-sized bolt shot toward Yakx—
*FWOOSH!*
A white streak (courtesy of Snowball) knocked Yakx flat. The lightning grazed his hair, detonating against the arena shield in a deafening *BOOM*.
Medics swarmed in as the head referee declared:
"Ristin disqualified for three years! Yakx advances!"
The judge's gaze lingered on Snowball. *"A familiar with archmage-level reflexes... Interesting."*
---
Back at the infirmary, a bruised but beaming Yakx recounted his victory. "Three years of losing to him—*three!* Now he's too old to compete next year!" He winced at his split lip.
Sophie dabbed his cheek. "Why's a seventeen-year-old so obsessed with a nine-year-old?"
"Generational feud," Yakx shrugged. "His grandfather lost my grandmother to mine. Their family oath: *'Surpass the Orphiels in every generation.'*"
Sophie facepalmed. *"Real life really* does *have soap-opera plots."*
---
Royal healers worked miracles. By next morning, Yakx was healed—and done with the tournament. Beating his rival was trophy enough.
(Count Castro, ever pragmatic, had only wanted him to socialize with noble peers anyway.)
Free to explore, Sophie dragged the boys through Lamipol's markets—with Yakx's unlimited funds.
"That one! And that! *Ooh*, that sparkly thing!" She amassed everything from farmer's hoes to toddler dresses (Charles' picks, drawn to rainbows).
Then Snowball trotted up with a men's shoe twice his size.
"...Boat," Sophie explained after the fox 'spoke'. "For next lake trip."
Yakx blinked. *"Okay, that's genius."*
Their shopping spree ended abruptly when armored guards stormed the street, encircling them.
A cold voice cut through the chaos:
"Enjoying yourself, *Yakx*?"
The boy's face darkened. **Trouble had arrived.**