"Finally made it in."

It was not an easy task for Merka to get into the banquet venue. Despite her explanations to the receptionist that she was not a family member of any of the participants, the group of staff dressed more splendidly than herself simply refused to believe her. Only after presenting the invitation and going through a series of meticulous verification procedures did the receptionist finally allow Merka to enter.

Arriving at the banquet venue, Merka leaned against the huge table covered with a white tablecloth, feeling utterly exhausted.

"Italian food again, more Italian food."

"Ugh, I can't stand Italian food."

At this moment, Turing had already stealthily slipped in and amidst the chaotic crowd, no one noticed a sudden appearance of a girl in the corner.

Pouting her small lips, she stood next to Merka, holding a small plate with a mousse cake, savoring it spoonful by spoonful.

On the table were platters of fava bean puree and mashed potatoes with a Mediterranean-flavored fish sauce; cheese corn pudding rolled into small mountains with chicken and bacon; cheese-baked pasta; butter-and-cumin basted beef shank; and a seafood risotto with a complex texture and a hint of undercooked rice, none of which caught Turing's attention.

Having had too much of these dishes in her childhood, Turing was already tired of them.

"Merka, looks like they're playing a game over there."

Turing had slightly adjusted her appearance with a backdrop to hide some of her distinctive features, so overall, she looked similar to her original self, but upon closer inspection, one would notice some differences between this girl and the real, flawless Turing.

Merka's gaze crossed Turing's figure and looked towards the stage not far away, where it seemed a lively and interesting activity was taking place.

"Ladies!"

"... this latest model... Harley... right on... our stage."

"Just a few... volunteers please... come up to the stage."

"The winner... will receive... this Harley motorcycle."

[It seems like they're playing a trivia game.]

[Is the prize the motorcycle on the stage?]

Intermittent voices mixed in the noisy venue and drifted over from a distance.

Turing frowned, then scooped another spoonful of cake into her mouth.

With a brief glance, Turing noticed several bodyguards standing guard by the stage, standing next to the steel and iron motorcycle at the center of the stage as if it were some precious treasure.

"Oh, they also have these two-wheeled vehicles overseas."

[Don't know how to ride them either.]

"But it seems the top speed is only a bit over a hundred miles per hour."

"For the magicians of Acadia, it's meaningless."

Having been immersed in the elite education system of Acadia since childhood, Turing naturally had no interest in such foreign oddities that were impractical - even if the grotesque and skeletal motorcycle had a price tag of one and a half million, and even if there was a male model in revealing attire standing beside the motorcycle, there was still no appeal to Turing.

The values ​​dominated by aristocratic education have always looked down on external influences; the core ideology of Acadia advocates enhancing one's own strength, enriching one's knowledge, with everything else being secondary.

But standing beside Turing, Merka couldn't help but stare.

It seemed as if he was peering through the gently swaying crowd in the center of the ballroom, the nobles conversing and clinking glasses by the dining table, his two eyes fixed on the Harley motorcycle at the center of the stage.

In Merka's eyes, that motorcycle was no ordinary vehicle, but rather a wild beast that had shed its sinew and flesh, its ferocity and brutality in life preserved in its deathly state as a specimen. All that remained was a skeletal frame of steel exuding a dark metallic sheen, recounting the savage and cruel existence of the departed.

Soon, the roster for the game was filled, and contestants took their turn to go on stage, preparing to answer the host's questions.

Surrounded by onlookers resembling an entertainment program audience, there were cheers and jeers from the crowd below when someone gave a wrong answer.

"Merka, why don't you give it a try?"

Turing could tell that Merka wanted to participate but had not acted on it.

"Forget it, it's all girls here."

Merka chuckled, raising the champagne glass from the nearby table to take a sip.

He reluctantly turned his gaze away, glancing at the dance floor not far away, where the faint smoke drifted like the lingering toll of bells in the evening Notre Dame, dancing as if in gentle veils, gentle and fluid.

"Actually, Turing, you wanted to dance with me, right?"

"But you didn't want me to smoke, so you didn't tell me."

Turing widened his eyes, staring at Merka's murky ink-black eyes, rendered speechless.

The evening breeze played with Turing's hair as it wafted through the latticed window, stirring up his emotive soul.