What… is this?

As I glanced around the room, I was speechless. My brain scrambled to catch up with what I was seeing. There, standing proudly on a mannequin, was a dress. But not just any dress.

My dress.

The one the wish spell had created.

“How… is this possible?” I asked as I moved toward the dress, the soft click of my heels on the polished floor the only sound in the room.

I really do like high heels now, do I?

The fabric shimmered under the warm light, its icy blue silk catching every glimmer as if it had been plucked straight from the depths of a frost-covered sovereign cave. The embroidery mirrored the dress patterns I remembered.

Lola scurried behind me, her holo-tablet clutched in both hands as she glanced down at its glowing screen. “Let me see…” she muttered, scrolling furiously as I reached out to touch the dress.

My fingers brushed against the fabric, and I let out a relieved breath. It felt… different. More fake and less magical than the one in-game.

This is the reality; game is just that. A game.

The bodice was soft yet structured, and the skirt—well, it wasn’t really a skirt. It was one of those clever fake ones, like the ones tennis players wear, blending functionality with elegance.

I really need to learn the right terms for clothes, I thought, rolling my eyes at myself. Skorts? Overlays? Whatever. It’s gorgeous, and I’d better not trip wearing it.

“It’s a custom job, Mister Riker ordered for you yesterday after watching the video of yours,” Lola explained, her eyes darting nervously to her tablet. “His note is… uh…” She hesitated, glancing up at me uncertainly.

I raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on my lips. “Go on,” I prompted.

Lola nodded, straightening her posture as if preparing for a performance. In an exaggerated imitation of Riker’s over-the-top tone, she recited, “Miss Charlie, you are as dazzling as you are unstoppable. Take this gift, wear it with pride, and show the world the force of nature that you truly are!”

“Ugh…” I groaned, shaking my head as a reluctant giggle escaped. “Now I actually have to try hard,” I joked, rolling my eyes. “Alright, fine. I’ll wear it. Something else?”

“Yes, Miss Charlie,” Lola said, her voice steadying. “What weapon do you want? All of them are dulled, of course, but they can still hurt.”

“Lola…” I said with a playful sigh, tilting my head. “Of course I know that.” I paused, considering for a moment, before grinning. “You know what? Get me a rapier and a dagger. If they want a show, let’s give it to them. But I’ll need a shot of whiskey.” Sorry, Adam.

Lola nodded, her fingers flying over her tablet as I moved toward the dress. The fabric gleamed under the lights, daring me to try it on. With a deep breath, I began unbuttoning my top.

Why can’t it be as easy as in the game?

“Uh… Miss!” Lola squeaked, her cheeks turning a vivid shade of red as she hurriedly averted her gaze. “I… I’ll go get the weapons and a drink!”

She bolted from the room, her embarrassment practically trailing behind her like a cloud.

The stockings were a nightmare to get into. Whoever thought adding diamonds—no matter how stupidly beautiful—to fabric that stretches was a good idea clearly never had to actually wear them. Every time I tried to pull them up, a diamond caught, scratched, or otherwise conspired to make my life miserable.

“Why do people do this?” I muttered to myself, wrestling with the delicate fabric. “What kind of sadist invents sparkly leg traps?!”

Oh wait, it was me who wished it!

Stupid past Charlie!

After what felt like an eternity of tugging and maneuvering, I finally got them on, wobbling slightly as I adjusted the fit. I’m a genius. A genius who now understands why people pay others to dress them.

“You are absolutely stunning, Miss Charlie,” Jerry said, his voice warm and almost admiring.

“What do you need?” I asked suspiciously, tying strings at the back while glancing in the mirror. The tiara even matched the in-game one—except it wasn’t magically glued to my head like in the game. “Oh, wait. I’m stupid!” I exclaimed, spotting a fastening string tucked discreetly along the band. “There’s a string!” I tied it, securing the tiara in place as I muttered, “Game logic makes real life feel unnecessarily complicated.”

“I don’t need… anything?” Jerry’s voice sounded genuinely confused.

“That was a joke, Jerry,” I replied, smoothing out the skirt as I stepped back to admire the dress. “Don’t worry about it. My jokes are terrible. Or great. It depends who you ask.”

Just as I finished adjusting the dress, there was a light knock at the door. “Yes! Come in!” I called, still fidgeting with the tiara for good measure.

Lola walked in hesitantly, her eyes squeezed shut like she was bracing for an explosion. In one hand, she clutched her ever-present tablet; in the other, she held a rapier and a dagger. “Here,” she said, extending the weapons awkwardly in my general direction.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Lola, I’m done,” I said, taking the weapons and giving her an amused look.

Her eyes fluttered open, taking me in. She froze, her mouth opening slightly as if to say something but deciding against it.

“You okay there?” I asked, testing the balance of the rapier.

“You look…” She paused, visibly flustered before managing, “You look perfect, Lady Charlie.”

“Well, thank you,” I said, twirling the dagger lightly in my hand. “Now let’s hope I fight as well as I look.”

As we left the room, Lola turned to me, her shoulders slightly hunched. “I failed you, Lady Charlie. I couldn’t get whiskey. We could stop by the bar, maybe?” she asked, her tone cautious, as though unsure if she was crossing some invisible line.

“At a bar? Of course, what an excellent idea!” I said, my grin widening.

Lola blinked, clearly uncertain whether I was serious or setting her up for some kind of scolding. “Lady, if what I said is improper—” she began, her words rushing out, but I stopped her with a dismissive hand gesture.

“Not at all!” I said, my grin turning playful. “I meant it, because I like pubs, especially Patrick’s. Great atmosphere, terrible darts players. What’s not to love?”

Lola only nodded, her expression a mix of surprise and relief as she turned to lead the way down the hall.

The corridors were an industrial maze, winding and narrow, with walls that gleamed like brushed steel. Overhead, holo-displays flickered to life, throwing colorful ads onto every available surface.

Finally, we emerged into a massive open space that looked like that cavern with a stupid dragon. The room was vast—easily large enough to hold thousands of people—with high ceilings. Steel-like beams crisscrossed above, supporting holo-lights that bathed the space in… Ads for Riker’s products.

Of course he does that.

The bar dominated one side of the room, a long, polished counter that was like liquid chrome.

Despite the room’s being weird, the atmosphere felt strangely welcoming. Not like Patrick’s, but… Fine. The hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter gave it a lively energy. The clinking of glasses and the faint notes of upbeat music drifting from hidden speakers added the very needed energy.

“Well,” I said, taking it all in with a cautious smile. “If they want to host a rime-fight club, this would be the perfect place.”

Lola blinked at me again, unsure whether I was joking.

“Let’s find that whiskey,” I added, nudging her toward the bar with a wink.

Behind the counter stood a droid, its v4 design unmistakable. Great. Just great. “They’ll replace us all one day,” I muttered under my breath, half expecting the droid to chime in with a rebuttal.

Instead, it tilted its head slightly, its synthetic voice precise. “What customer wants?”

“Irish whiskey for me, and…” I trailed off, glancing at Lola, who looked more uncomfortable by the second.

“Nothing for me,” she said quickly, shaking her head as though the idea of ordering might summon trouble.

The droid’s luminous eyes flickered momentarily, and then it replied, “Sadly, the inventory is not stocked with any whisky made in Ireland. Error. I cannot serve nothing.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling in defeat. “Just get me something similar. Fast.” I turned to Lola, raising an eyebrow. “We need to hurry, right?”

She checked her tablet, fingers flicking across the screen with practiced precision. “We… don’t have to rush. Mister Riker postponed it,” she said, hesitating slightly.

“Oh?” I leaned casually against the counter, intrigued. “And why would Riker, of all people, delay his grand spectacle?”

Lola winced, clearly torn between professionalism and relaying the absurdity of the situation. “Uh… it seems the… What? Uhm…portal wasn’t looking great.” She glanced at her tablet again for confirmation. “They’re remaking it. ETA is about ten minutes, maybe less.”

I couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped me. “The portal wasn’t looking great?”

Lola smiled faintly, though she tried to hide it. “It’s Riker,” she said simply, as though that explained everything.

“Right,” I said with a sigh, turning back to the droid. Its mechanical limbs moved with uncanny precision as it prepared my drink.

The droid placed a glass of amber liquid on the counter, its voice devoid of any emotion. “Closest match to request: bourbon from Kentucky. Enjoy.”

Jerry is so much better.

I lifted the glass, examining the light catching in the liquid before taking a sip. Smooth, warm, but not quite the bite of Irish whiskey. “Close enough,” I muttered, pushing off the counter. “Let’s get moving before Riker decides he needs a new coat to match the portal.”

Lola fell in step beside me, her tablet clutched tightly in her hands. “Do you really think they’ll replace us all?” she asked suddenly, glancing nervously at the droid as we walked away.

Not if I do something about it.

“Replace us?” I said, swirling the bourbon in my glass. “Nah. We’re too unpredictable. Besides…” I smirked, tilting my glass toward her. “Can you imagine a droid trying to match Riker’s wardrobe? Total system meltdown.”

She laughed softly, and for the first time, it didn’t seem so nervous.

We reached the backstage just as Riker strode onto the main stage, his blinding coat practically glowing under the lights. The first notes of Rimelion’s theme played, a sweeping orchestral piece that sent a shiver down my spine.

Wait… this was the first time people were hearing it, right? Maybe it had been teased in a promo somewhere, but here, in this moment, was the first time people heard it fully.

A legendary time indeed.

His voice boomed from the sound system, commanding, effortlessly overpowering the swelling music. I glimpsed the audience—rows upon rows of faces, a sea of eager eyes. Thousands of people packed into the arena.

No, not thousands—tens of thousands. Thirty thousand, maybe more.

And millions on the stream.

“I…” My throat tightened, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “Damn.” My voice hitched, barely audible over the thunderous applause. In one swift motion, I downed the rest of my drink, the liquid burning its way down but doing little to dull the sudden spike of nerves. “This will be hard.”

From the corner of the backstage, the bandit leader emerged, his presence somehow both commanding and awkward. His gaze darted toward me, his attempt at a confident grin failing miserably. “Worry not… uh, beautiful Sword Queen. We… uh… we don’t have a script, obviously. How good is your improv?”

I smirked, the alcohol finally blunting the edge of my fear—not enough to make it vanish, but enough to keep it manageable. “I live by it,” I said, my grin widening.

The leader visibly relaxed, though his posture remained stiff. Behind him, the rest of his bandit crew trickled in, each one awkwardly trying to greet me with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“Hi, uh, Lady Sword Queen.”

“Great to meet you, m’lady.”

One of them even managed a nervous bow, his hat slipping off. It was almost charming, in a chaotic sort of way.

“I have an idea…” the leader said suddenly, his face lighting up with a spark of inspiration. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Wait for my signal before you enter, okay? We’ll play it by ear, but the signal is ‘get him, boys.’ Got it?”

I raised an eyebrow but nodded, my grin turning mischievous. “Got it. ‘Get him, boys.’ Simple enough.”

He nodded, his confidence bolstered by my agreement, then turned to his crew. They all shuffled closer, muttering among themselves as they worked out whatever theatrics they were planning.

Meanwhile, I glanced back at the stage, where Riker’s voice soared over the roaring crowd. The energy out there was electric, a tangible pulse of excitement that seeped even into the backstage.

This was going to be chaotic.

And I was ready for it.