There were surprisingly few formalities to go through, after winning the match. No ceremony, no presentation of the merits they'd won—after Nala and her party had been teleported back from MossBlock Maze they found themselves in a largely bare room with a wide information slab upon one wall. Upon this was written:

+200 - Victory

+80 - Kills (4)

x2 - PerfectVictory

x2 - Untouched

x1.5 - SwiftKill

+150 - Rank-In Bonus

1830 Tactic Merits Earned

Team Ranking: 9 / 12

CONGRATULATIONS

Mist stared up at the slab, then turned to the others.

"We ... we won. We won! We actually won, look at this, we won! Almost two thousand merits, I don't even know what we can buy with those—"

"Equipment," Praetorian said. "A stave for myself, if there's no objection, perhaps some armour for the zombie—new clothes at least—"

"This is fine," Amanda mumbled, retrieving the dress Mist had made from a locker. Beside her, Mist blushed as she reclaimed her spear.

"Of course, our leader must have the final say," Praetorian said, offering Nala a sweeping bow; she acknowledged the gesture with a solemn nod. "After all, without her unconventional but undeniably effective plan we'd have none of this."

"Yeah, gotta admit, you killed it with that whole 'target Amanda' thing," Sly said. He offered an apologetic grin to Amanda. "Uh, sorry about that, by the way."

"Whatever," Amanda muttered, as Mist helped her put on the dress.

"You must be suffering from a few puncture marks," Praetorian said. "I'll attend to them later."

"No thanks!"

"Come come, I am a professional, I assure you—"

"NO THANKS."

Praetorian shrugged extravagantly. "So be it, though your continued opposition vexes me. When you change your mind you know where I can be found—no more than a dozen metres away, ahahaha."

Amanda shuddered, and Mist gave her what she hoped was a supportive look.

"In any case," Praetorian said, "what's say we spend a few of our freshly-earned merits upon a shared meal—shall we return to the Blue Haven? I wouldn't at all mind making that our regular haunt, those dumplings have been calling to me. Nala? What say you?"

Nala gave the slightest of nods.

"Splendid. Splendid! Is there anything further to be done here? No? Rather anti-climactic, but then I suppose there are rather a few matches going on, I shouldn't have expected any kind of grand ceremony—"

"There can't be that many matches!" Mist said. "Look, we're nine out of twelve, so there are only twelve teams—"

"There are more than forty teams in the preliminaries," Nala said. "But only the twelve highest-ranked can compete in the tournament."

The others stared at her.

"I, uh ... well," Praetorian said. "Goodness, the tournament itself. What a treat that will be."

"Is this good?" Mist asked. "I mean ... can we win again? I didn't do much ... nothing really ... just stood there..."

"So, uh ... yeah, I kind of don't get how the whole thing works," Sly said. "We're in the tournament now? Like, for reals?"

"Unless we are knocked out of the top twelve."

"Is that, like, likely?"

"No."

"Isn't there, um, something like a 'test of worth' too?" Mist asked. "I think I remember reading that ... somewhere..."

"Test of worth, huh." Sly glanced at Nala. "You think we can pass that?"

"Yes."

"In any case," Praetorian said, "let's not weigh ourselves down with these cumbersome thoughts of the future and what complications it may hold, let us focus on the moment—on our victory. We won, so let us celebrate!"

There was one brief stop on the way to Blue Haven; Nala used some of their newly-won merits to purchase FeatherTokens, two apiece. At seventy merits each they weren't cheap, but Nala considered them necessary:

"These allow instant teleportation home," she explained, as she distributed them among the others. "Use them if you're in mortal danger."

"Good idea, Nala!" Mist said. "Um, are we going to cancel our demerits too? Or is that too expensive..."

"One thousand merits cancels one demerit," Nala said. "But party merits cannot be used for that."

"Oh."

The gourmet quarter wasn't particularly far from Bright Battle Arena, and Nala's party wasn't bothered along the way. It was almost as if the bullies and hunters of the academy had read their cautiously optimistic mood and couldn't bring themselves to sully it. Or at least that's how Mist saw things, the others didn't quite share her idealistic sentiments.

"But it really is quiet tonight!" Mist said, as she and the others walked towards Blue Haven. "People are happy and calm and not awful! One girl even smiled at me!"

"Was she elven?" Praetorian inquired.

"No, a halfling—"

"Ah well, never mind, here we are! I vote we begin with one of everything and a double order of dumplings. After that, well, who knows where the night may take us?"

In fact the night took them towards the discovery that Blue Haven sold not just food but drinks as well, in particular a deceptively intoxicating brew with the innocuous name of PureWater.

From there things became quite rapidly merry.

"Tzugakk! Tzugakk my very splendid fellow, you must allow me to press you to another drop, there there whoops well! Well no bother. Plenty more, plenty more merits to buy plenty more ... everything. Sly my friend, Slythanelly, your cup appears regrettably empty WE must rectify this heinous scenario forth, forthwith."

"Darkcede, you're forgetting someone."

"Aha! No, never never never, never would I forget my valued charge, Amamamanda Willow. Pass you cup. Pass your cup, do excuse me. There. There there. Filled to the brim—past the brim, if you please. For myself also? Oh yes why not. Why not indeed."

Amanda rolled her eyes as she took back her cup, taking a sip before glancing at a wide-eyed Mist.

"What?"

"Um! Just ... um, I was wondering ... is it nice? To get drunk?"

"Don't ask me. Immune to poison, remember?"

"Oh! That includes alcohol? I thought 'Drunk' was a separate status effect..."

"Amanda!" Tzugakk suddenly cried, raising his cup—this was met with cheers of 'AMANDA!' from Sly and Praetorian, and much spilled PureWater did follow.

"Yes, hurray for me," Amanda mumbled.

"Amanda," Tzugakk said, leaning forward to address her with the earnestness of the inebriated. "I am sorry. So sorry. Nala won't say this, she does not understand, but I do. Amanda. I am so sorry I threw a DarkVenom flask at you."

"Me too," Sly slurred. "Me too, not the flask thing, the arrow thing. ScatterSnot. ShatterHot. Scatter ... thing. With my arrow-shooty-thing. Wasn't my idea, dude! Blame Nala. Nala's fault, Nala's fault ... that we won!"

"We won!" echoed Praetorian and Tzugakk, and all three of the boys smashed their cups together before drinking the little that was left unspilled. "BLAME NALA!"

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I think I might be learning a lot, tonight," Mist confided in Nala—who sat with her hood concealing her face, eating little, drinking less, and speaking the least of all. "I think I'm having a good time, actually. Even though I can't have alcohol. I have to keep, um, pure ... I think alcohol counts ... probably better not to risk it..."

Nala turned a little, her serious grey eyes showing beneath her hood. She seemed about to say something before an angry voice cut through the merry atmosphere:

"THERE they are. Little CHEATS."

In the narrow restaurant's entrance stood three fighters.

"Oh dear," Praetorian said, before collapsing into a fit of giggles which set Sly off in turn, the two of them leaning against each other as the fighters strode up to the table.

"What the HELL is so funny?" one growled—which set Praetorian off further.

"I, I, I do apogolise," he managed, before the fighter grabbed him.

"Shut UP!"

"No no, no offence taken. Meant. Taken? No, meant—"

There was a heavy impact and Praetorian spluttered out a pained cry, the fighter's punch sending him sprawling back into the table, upsetting half-empty bottles and plates of food and generally creating an unholy mess.

"Come on," growled another of the fighters, bald with round black glasses. "Up, all of ya. Let's do this straight. See how you get on in a REAL fight—"

The fighter stopped, turning along with his companions at a small but significant noise—behind the counter, the stern-faced owner of Blue Haven had taken a large cleaver from the wall. He said nothing, just stood there holding the cleaver, looking at the fighters as they looked back.

"Hey," one of the fighters muttered to the others. "What class is that old guy?"

"Dunno, dunno, cook?"

"Cleaverguy."

"Chopmeister."

"Darkchef!" Praetorian contributed, from where he still lay sprawled over the table.

"What in the world is going on in here? Oh! You guys! Hey, Summer! Summer, they're in here, leave those halflings alone and get over here!"

This newcomer was big and brash, red vest worn open to show off his tanned and well-muscled body, blonde hair tied back into a rough ponytail, his eyes sparkling blue. From his belt hung two long cutlasses.

"So," he said, after everyone had stared at him a bit. "What IS going on here? Because my little sister—"

"Not YOUR sister!" came a voice from outside.

"—wanted to talk to those guys—" here he gestured at Praetorian and the others "—but I'm not sure how you guys—" another gesture, this time at the three fighters "—fit into things. The old man with the improbable cleaver I'm putting aside for the moment, I'll just assume that's how you do around here. Hey!" he said, as a serious girl in a serious dress pushed past him. "An 'excuse me' MIGHT be nice!"

The girl ran her dark eyes over the situation within the restaurant, then spoke:

"Where's Mathias Dunstaff?"

The bald fighter grunted. "Screw him."

"I see." The girl stepped up to the fighter, no trace of fear showing despite being half his size. "Get out."

"Hah, what? What the hell—"

"You lost your match, what are you doing now, getting revenge? I don't have time for that. Get out."

"You'd better shut your mouth, girl," the fighter growled. "Dunno if you're new here or whatever, but you're just merits on legs—"

"What?" the girl said, crossing her arms. "Are you going to hit me? You don't want to do that."

"She's right, you know," big-and-brash said, from where he leant against the wall beside the entrance. "You really shouldn't hit her."

"The hell?" The fighter pulled out his sword, long and shining with a dangerous gleam. "Why, because she's a girl? That AIN'T how it goes here."

"Conrad, hold up, something's weird—"

"Man, shut up, don't tell me what to do." The bald fighter identified as Conrad glared at the girl, then glanced back at the owner, who was still holding his cleaver in a meaningful sort of way.

"Well?" said the girl. "What now?"

Conrad gritted his teeth together, then growled as he attacked. The girl raised her hand to meet his strike, letting out a soft cry of pain as the blade bit into her palm—although this was drowned by Conrad's surprised bellow as a bright flash and a tremendous force pushed him back against his fellow fighters, this accompanied by a crackling dark aura that sprang up around him.

"What the hell?" he grunted, as the girl inspected the deep cut in her hand, blood dripping matter-of-factly to the wooden floor. Conrad looked at his own hand, surrounded by dark mist. "What the hell is this? What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything," the girl said, tracing a finger over her palm to heal the cut. "You're the one who acted."

"Come on," one of the fighters muttered. "This ain't worth it, let's just go."

Conrad grunted and swept his sword around—not in a strike this time, but rather a violent, dismissive gesture.

"Move it," he growled. "NOW!"

The girl stepped aside, arms tightly crossed, watching the fighters as they tromped past. Big-and-brash gave them a friendly wave and a bright smile as they left, and the last of them spat on the restaurant's floor before pushing his way out.

"Well that's just uncouth," big-and-brash murmured, before smiling at Mist and the others. "It's a bit odd to say this after all that, but hello!"

"T-thank you," Mist said, as she helped the others get Praetorian up. "Those guys, they were, um, I mean ... thank you! You too, sir, thank you!"

The man behind the counter accepted Mist's thanks with a solemn nod, then began chopping noodles with his cleaver.

"Awkward silence~" big-and-brash half-sang under his breath, before turning a wide grin on all assembled. "Okay, introductions! I'm James Bloodspit, pirate—" he gave a piratey sort of bow "—and my little sister here—"

"I am not—just shut up, let me do this. " The girl took a breath, then smiled at Mist and the others. "I'm Summer. Summer Rain. THAT is my brother over there, his name's Night."

Mist and the others turned to look at the far end of the restaurant—previously unnoticed and leaning against a wall was a slim young man wearing dull brown clothing. There was nothing striking about him aside from his eyes, which were angular and dark and bright—rather similar to Summer's.

"This guy's just my brother's boyfriend," Summer continued, jerking her head at James, who waved then made a face—

"What do you mean 'just', I am practically FAMILY—"

"He's annoying but useful, ignore him and he goes away. Eventually. Sometimes. Excuse me a moment, I forgot to do something. Sir," Summer said, addressing the restaurant's owner, "I'm sorry about your floor."

The owner nodded in acknowledgement of Summer's apology, perhaps indicating that a little blood upon his nice clean floor wasn't going to ruin his night. Summer smiled at him, then turned to the others.

"We heard your match today," she said. "Where's Nala?"

"She's ... huh?" Mist looked around. "Where IS Nala?"

"Gone!" Praetorian wailed. "Abandoned! No ... no ... that's not right ... abandoner ... abandonia..."

He trailed off, mumbling into Sly's shoulder—who was snoring gently, his mouth wide open. Further snores were coming from beneath the table, where Tzugakk could just be seen curled up on the floor.

"Your team is much more adorable than I expected," James said, as he pushed in beside Amanda. "Hello! James Bloodspit, pirate. You're rather ... blue. I like it, don't get me wrong—ooh, you're freezing! Let me touch your face—Summer! Let go!"

"Push him away if he's a nuisance," Summer said, giving James a warning look before releasing his wrist. "Night, could you control your boyfriend? And is Nala gone? I really wanted to talk to her—"

"Talk then," came Nala's voice, from ... somewhere.

Summer looked around, then smiled.

"First of all," she said, addressing the air, "you played well today. Out of all the matches we listened to, your team was the only one that used any kind of strategy. All the others just threw themselves at each other until one side ran out of players."

"That's why we won," Nala's voice came again, perhaps from near the entrance, perhaps not.

"Hmm. I saw your rank. Ninth, which means you've got a chance to compete in the tournament ... if you get through the monster hunt."

"Monster hunt?" Mist said. "I don't know anything about that—Nala, did you know—"

"The test of worth." This time Nala's voice seemed to come from beside the counter. Or maybe not. "That hasn't been announced. The final twelve aren't fixed."

"No, it hasn't—and no," Summer said, pointedly, "they aren't."

There was a soft silence, then, the only noise being snoring from Sly and Tzugakk and the gently satisfying chop-chop-chop of the restaurant owner preparing noodles.

Summer smiled as Nala appeared in front of her, pushing the hood of her cloak away from her face as she stepped forward.

"Hello, Nala," Summer said. "It's an honour to meet you."

Nala inclined her head in the barest of acknowledgement, her eyes upon this strange new girl, on the mantle she wore, dark grey and solid green. Though Summer was short, she was still almost a head taller than Nala.

"Summer Rain."

Summer raised her head a little, her bright eyes still upon Nala.

"James Bloodspit."

"Oh, that's me—hello!"

"Night Rain."

At the back of the restaurant Night looked up, arms crossed.

"None of these names," Nala said, "are on the list of participants in this year's games."

"Not yet," Summer said. "But there are three days left in preliminaries. You entered the top twelve with a single high-scoring victory. Do you think we could do the same?"

Mist blinked, the first time she'd done so since Nala had reappeared. She exchanged a worried glance with Amanda, then turned her wide-eyed gaze to Summer as the girl continued:

"Don't take this as a threat, but I think if we fought here and now, there's no way you could win against us. Do you agree, Nala?"

"No."

Summer frowned.

"If you attacked us here and now," Nala continued, "we would not fight. If you attacked us here and now, we would be gone. If you attacked us here and now, then we would choose the moment and the means of our victory."

Amanda leaned closer to Mist and whispered, "Is that our Nala?"

Mist didn't reply. She was too busy gazing at Nala in wide-eyed awe.

"Well," Summer said, suddenly and sharply, making Mist jump a little. "It's just as well we're not going to attack you. Like I said, don't take it as a threat. If we face you, it'll be in the games. Until then, it seems like you've already made enemies around here and you're not conventionally strong, so I propose a partnership—"

"No."

Summer blinked. "What?"

"I don't need your protection." Nala looked back at Mist and Amanda. "Help the others. Wake Sly and Tzugakk. Praetorian is fine."

"Praetorian is fine!" Praetorian repeated, thrusting a triumphant fist towards the ceiling before slumping back.

Summer watched as Nala's party organised themselves. James looked on with an air of slightly bored amusement, and Night stood silent in the shadows, gazing at nothing in particular.

"The PepperLeaf noodles are good," Nala said, as she helped a droopy and grinning Tzugakk walk past Summer. "If you're hungry."

"Thank you for the recommendation," Summer said to Nala's back, her expression still slightly puzzled. "I'm right about the monster hunt. That's going to be the test this year."

Nala didn't reply to this, simply left the restaurant, but Mist smiled shyly at Summer on the way past.

"Um, the dumplings are good too," she said, before scurrying away, a rather green Sly leaning against her armoured shoulder.

Amanda said nothing as she left, but the expression she wore at having Praetorian cling to her arm spoke to her displeasure.

Then there was silence in the restaurant, aside from the sound of something boiling and the soft hiss of steam. Summer added her voice to this:

"That didn't really go like I planned."

"You come on too sinister, I've told you before," James said, from where he sat with a bowl of soup he'd somehow procured. He slurped up some noodles and made an appreciative noise before continuing: "Plus she's a dwarf, they're notoriously unfun. Didn't you think she was unfun, Night?"

Night shrugged, then performed a secret ninja trick to make a pork bun disappear.

"Hm," Summer said, her gaze on the restaurant's exit. She puffed out a little sigh, then turned to smile at the owner. "PepperLeaf noodles, please," she said. "A large serving."