I said goodbye to my friends, a final round of hugs and grins exchanged, before heading out with Lola and my guard ensemble trailing behind me like some oddly formal procession. Our path twisted through bustling corridors filled with neon-lit signs and the endless hum of the convention. After a few turns, I realized something important.

“Uh… Where are we going?” I asked Lola, glancing around as if the walls would answer for her.

“The Big Hall,” she replied with a perfectly straight face, her tone carrying all the gravitas of an official royal decree.

Oh yes. Very big hall. How creative.

“Nice name…” I muttered under my breath as Lola subtly corrected my course, steering me toward a different hallway. “So, what’s the schedule? Still the semi-finals, where they can challenge me, and then I battle the winner?”

Lola blinked, clearly surprised by my knowledge. She eyed me nervously. “Uhm, yes… But that was decided this morning. When did you—?” she started before trailing off, her confusion evident.

Damn. Gotta be more careful with what I say.

Before she could press further, a very enthusiastic girl darted in front of me, clutching a t-shirt featuring—of all things—me fighting bandits and heroically saving Riker. I had to sign it, of course.

They sure print fast.

“Jerry, your idea?” I whispered, keeping my voice low as I finished my signature.

“The contract I agreed on,” Jerry’s voice chimed smoothly in my ear, as if reciting legal poetry, “says: Charlie hereby grants permission for the limited use of her likeness, subject to her prior review and explicit written approval, for agreed purposes only.”

Riker must’ve found a creative loophole. Or… just ignored it. I clenched my jaw, my eyes narrowing. Of course he did.

Lola noticed my expression and gave me a worried glance. “Lady? How did you know?”

“Nothing,” I said, forcing a grin. “Just thinking about how much I love legally binding contracts. I just assumed it was like that… Never mind that. Explain anyway,” I said, waving away her unfinished question and trying not to dwell on how I knew something I shouldn’t.

And don’t think too much about it, Lola. Please.

As we moved closer to the hall, the crowd grew thicker, fans clustering around me at every step. I stopped frequently, signing posters, shirts, and even a holographic frame featuring a looping replay of my performance. Each stop slowed us down, and I could see Lola getting increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked by.

“At first, the plan was for only the tournament winner to challenge you,” Lola explained while I scribbled my name across a glossy poster featuring a dramatic shot of me mid-battle.

After I signed it, I noticed a man selling the t-shirts right in front of me. I beelined toward him and exchanged one for signing three.

“Let me guess,” I said, glancing up at an older man holding out a Riker-themed hat for me to autograph, “Riker thought it was boring.”

Lola furrowed her brows as if the very idea of Riker making things boring offended her sensibilities. “We need to hurry,” she said pointedly, before adding, “and yes, he was the one who changed it. He said a straightforward tournament lacked flair.”

I nodded to her statement, but then I spotted something that made me do a double-take. A man was casually selling the same t-shirts I had just signed moments ago.

I didn’t hesitate. Moving straight toward him, I flashed my best grin. “Hey there,” I said, tapping one shirt hanging on display.

He blinked, clearly startled by my sudden approach. “Uh… yes, Miss Charlie!” he stammered, visibly nervous. “Would you like one? A special deal just for you—”

“Tell you what,” I interrupted smoothly, plucking a shirt off the rack and holding it up to inspect the print. “I’ll sign three more if you give me one. Deal?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded so quickly I thought his head might detach. “Absolutely, Miss Charlie! Anything for you!”

Within seconds, I had the shirt in hand, and true to my word, I signed three more for him. As I walked away, now proudly holding my very own bootlegged merch, I glanced back with a smirk.

Thanks, Riker, for turning me into a walking franchise.

Lola had enough and motioned toward the guards, who stepped in, gently but firmly creating a path through the increasingly dense crowd. Fans were reluctantly ushered aside as we made our way toward a discreet side door near the hall’s entrance.

I’m so drained already… And it hasn’t started yet…

“So, how does it work now?” I asked, genuinely curious. Maybe it differed from the future.

“Any semi-finalist can challenge you,” Lola explained, keeping pace beside me. “But if they do, they give up their place in semi-finals, a chance to be… the chosen one. If they win against you, however…” She paused dramatically, clearly quoting something verbatim. “They earn the title of The Sword Ruler for themself. They still have to fight the chosen one.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Just as we reached the backroom, the first thing I noticed wasn’t the crowd of employees or the buzz of activity—it was Riker’s coat. Honestly, I could probably spot him from Rimelion.

“Riker!” I called out, my voice overpowering the noise.

My emotions are still a mess.

He turned around, that ever-present grin plastered on his face. “Ah, behold! The illustrious Sword Queen graces us with her magnificent presence! Fear not, for I have decreed a change in the arena befitting your grandeur! A mere plain? Perish the thought! No, no—only the noble, rolling hills shall serve as a worthy stage for your unparalleled prowess!”

Of course, he meddled. If I’d had any doubts, Lola’s exasperated groan next to me confirmed it.

Hills weren’t part of the original plan.

I crossed my arms, ignoring the theatrics. “Where are my money?”

Riker froze. “Mo-money?” he stammered. “What?”

“Yeah, money!” I said, whipping the t-shirt I’d just gotten at him. He flinched as it smacked into his chest, surprise flickering across his face before realization dawned.

“Miss Charlie! Ah, such a golden opportunity presented itself—I simply could not resist the temptation! Your captivating beauty, flawlessly intertwined with your remarkable acting prowess and breathtaking swordsmanship, has made you an instant sensation!” He shifted into his usual sales pitch, his voice full of the charm. “Surely, with a star of your stature, a mere 50% fee on my part seems but a modest token for my generous services... wouldn’t you agree?”

I blinked, momentarily thrown. Wait, fifty percent for me? Is that… good? Before I could decide, my irritation flared back up. “Hey! Don’t change the subject!” I jabbed a finger at his chest. “I care about the fact that I did not agree! And does that include all those ads you’re plastering everywhere? How much are we actually talking about?”

For the first time, Riker looked genuinely uneasy, a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead. “You must understand, Lady Charlie, such prominence does not come without a price! All the tireless marketing efforts we’re investing in you—oh, they don’t simply materialize out of thin air!”

“How. Much, Riker?” I asked again, my tone ice-cold.

Riker’s eyes darted around nervously, and with an exaggerated gesture, he clicked something on his wrist device before glancing at Lola. “Ah, alas! I must personally ensure that the hills are nothing short of perfection—worthy of a spectacle as grand as your upcoming triumph!” And just like that, he bolted, coat flaring behind him as he disappeared through a side door.

I sighed, turning to Lola, who was furiously tapping on her tablet, her fingers practically a blur.

After a few tense moments, she gulped and looked up at me. “He granted me access to—” She paused, her eyes wide as she read whatever popped up on her screen. “Oh no.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh no’? How much?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Lola hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. She bit her lip before finally mumbling, “It’s… a significant negative number.”

I blinked, absorbing that for a moment before leaning in. “So you invested in all the ads and have no profit to show for it?”

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted, her tone apologetic. “It will be… a while before you get to see any credits.”

I massaged my temples, feeling the tension gathering there like a storm cloud. With a resigned sigh, I shook my head. “That’s fine. Wasn’t exactly counting on it anyway. I’m here primarily for recruitment for the battle. Let’s focus on the event.”

Lola gave a determined nod, and we began walking toward a waiting area. The corridor was bustling with activity—stagehands dashing about, last-minute tweaks to lighting and sound being made, and the faint hum of holo-screens projecting event stats flickering in the background.

“Mister Riker set up a registration page for the battle,” Lola said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Thousands have already signed up!”

“Paid by the t-shirts?” I muttered bitterly as I checked the rapier I was given for this challenge. The blade gleamed under the bright backstage lights, perfectly polished and ready.

But was wooden somehow. And blunted. Lola tried—and failed—not to laugh. “Probably.”

I sighed dramatically, twirling the rapier once to loosen my wrist. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hope they actually come to help.”

The beams above weren’t nearly as convenient as those on the main stage. I eyed them with mild disappointment, my fingers itching for something dramatic. Lola, meanwhile, was shaking her head vehemently, her eyes wide with concern.

“Fine…” I sighed, letting go of that plan. I shifted my focus to the sound beyond the walls. It didn’t take long before Riker’s unmistakable voice boomed through the very big hall with all his signature flair, announcing the imminent conclusion of the tournament and—wait for it—introducing me as The Sword Queen.

“What?” Lola and I said in unison.

I glanced around, catching sight of a worker near the side door, motioning frantically in my direction.

“It wasn’t supposed to be—” Lola’s protest was cut off as I sprinted toward the stage without a second thought.

I burst through the door, and the sight before me made me falter for a split second.

Hills.

Everywhere.

The terrain wasn’t nearly as flawless as the portal’s projection, but it was impressive. They’d somehow hauled in massive boulders and scattered them among the holographic terrain, creating a patchwork of real and virtual elements.

Great. Hills.

Because apparently a flat arena wasn’t dramatic enough for Riker’s tastes.

I stared at the patchwork of real and holographic terrain, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Sure, throw in whatever obstacles you want—it’s not like a few bumps in the ground would make any difference to someone of my skill level.

Though knowing Riker, he probably thought adding terrain would make for better camera angles. At least he didn’t add a volcano.

Yet.

No time to overthink it. I darted forward and leapt onto one of the larger rocks, landing with a dramatic flourish of my rapier.

The blade gleamed under the artificial sunlight, its polished edge catching every angle as I twirled it.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement rolling through the air like a tangible force. I blinked, trying to process what was happening. Four people were gathered near me, half-hidden behind an artificial hill that still flickered faintly with glitchy projections.

I raised an eyebrow, unsure whether this was planned or another one of Riker’s spontaneous improvements.

One of them, an older man dressed in elegant Chinese traditional attire, caught my eye. He gave a small shrug, as if to say, Don’t look at me—I just showed up.

Before I could react further, Riker’s voice thundered once again, as dramatic as ever. “And now, behold! The challengers for the Chosen One—rise and meet your destiny!”

The artificial hill in front of them shattered with a loud, theatrical crack, revealing the challengers. They stepped forward in unison, their postures varying from stoic to confident.

“Do you wish to try your hand at glory, or continue in the tournament?” Riker asked with his usual tone.

The first to respond was the old man. He gave a polite shake of his head, his expression serene, as if he had no intention of skipping.

The second was… well, a stark contrast. He couldn’t have been older than his early twenties, and his outfit—hoodie emblazoned with my face, paired with mismatched sweatpants—made me question whether he had wandered in by mistake.

But no, he was serious. He took a step forward, his hand resting on a wooden great sword strapped to his back, and declared with all the confidence in the world, “I shall challenge her! Let our swords meet and let them speak of eternal love across dimensions!”

It took every ounce of my willpower not to lose my composure right then and there.

Come on, don’t break the role.

I kept my poker face. “Well…” I said, stepping down from the boulder with an exaggerated flourish. “I suppose we’re doing this.”