The bell chimed like silver rain on tiles, and the teacher set his book down like a quiet stone in a pond.

“Alright, class, that’s it for now,” he said, voice like autumn sunlight through leaves. “Train solid this afternoon. Tomorrow’s the school meet—just play it loose.”

“Yesss—” The chorus rose like sparrows in a banyan, lively and layered.

He said “just mess around,” but nobody there would throw soft punches; chances like this were rare, like a comet crossing a night sky.

Two hearts beat off-tempo, though—Ling and Alicia, drifting like paper boats apart from the current.

Ling was lost in a dream of a three-thousand-strong harem, a palace of lanterns and silk.

Alicia clicked photos of Ling’s sleeping face, each shutter like a moth’s wing, a glinting thread at her lip betraying hungry delight.

Her bliss lasted as long as dew on grass; a flock gathered, chirping around her like starlings on a wire.

“Alicia, will you represent our class?” Voices pecked like raindrops on bamboo.

“Alicia, Alicia, are you going with Ling?” Eyes shone like polished jade.

“Is it gonna be a sister duo? I’ve got faith in you two!” Laughter rippled like wind over wheat.

So many mouths, so many ripples; even Alicia couldn’t catch every wave before it broke.

The noise fluttered into Ling’s dream and tugged her awake; she rubbed her eyes like brushing frost from plum blossoms, murmuring in a hush.

“Who dares disturb the king?” Her voice rose like a foxfire in mist.

Faces blinked, a beat of stunned rain; the girl who’d planned to draw a doujin snapped first, a dangerous glint like a blade’s cold edge.

“Reporting, Your Majesty,” she said, riding the game like a crane takes off. “Southern barbarians invade our lands. We need Your Majesty and the Empress’s seals to mobilize.”

Ling, brain still wading through morning fog, swept her hand like a fan through incense.

“Granted—” The word fell like a seal on wax.

She pressed her right thumb into red ink, blooming like a tiny camellia, and stamped the paper with a cute whorl of fate.

Seeing Alicia hesitate, Ling tugged her sleeve like a kitten pulling at silk, urgency flashing like thunderheads.

“What’s wrong, my consort? Why not seal? Our country’s about to fall—”

Alicia, nudged by that storm-soft plea, sighed like tide pulling back and set her handprint on the registration form.

Ling, still dazed as a moon in fog, handed the sheet—two prints shining like twin suns—to the girl with a flourish.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The doujin artist bowed a crisp ninety degrees, formal as a pine in winter.

“You may rise.” Ling’s tone drifted like palace bells.

The court play kept rolling like lacquered wheels; palms covered mouths, laughter caged like sparrows behind sleeves.

Alicia felt helpless, but Ling’s clumsy adorableness was a sparkler in dusk; her mood lifted, the contest forgotten like a pebble in a stream.

With the main quest done—getting Ling and Alicia to sign up—the crowd moved like mischievous foxes while Ling’s mind still floated.

The boys were benched like spare spears, and the girls teased under the boys’ envious stares, a festival under paper lanterns; Alicia joined in, too.

No one knew how long those ripples lasted; when clarity finally returned, Ling’s first sight was a ring of faces around her like a wreath of asters.

Lucky they were all girls; otherwise, her reflex might’ve fired off a Magic Cannon like a comet from a sleeve.

She dropped her guard like lowering a parasol, and then a question struck like a black-thread bolt—“Ling, how tall are you?”

Wise as Yufan Ling, she blanked the arrow, pretending not to hear, her smile a paper fan.

“Why’re you surrounding me?” Her tone tried to shift the wind.

It didn’t matter; not a one there was normal—teasing kept rolling like waves against a cliff.

“We’re seducing Lady Ling,” someone said, sugar-thick as honey on rice paper.

“We’re flirting with Lady Ling,” another chimed, voice a cat’s paw on silk.

“We’re toying with Lady Ling,” a third giggled, mischief like cherry petals in a whirl.

The barrage stunned her like lightning in clear sky; once her feet found ground, Ling squeezed through the circle like a fish through reeds and ran.

A whole pack of loli-chasers is terrifying, she thought, like wolves with ribbons; especially when I’m such a cute loli.

Even in the scramble, she didn’t forget to pull Alicia along, their footsteps drumming like rain across flagstones.

They ran for minutes, breath fogging like tea steam; no one chased, so Ling’s shoulders loosened like ropes untied.

“So,” she asked, eyes searching like stars over water, “what actually happened?”

Alicia frowned, a crease like a crow’s feather; something bitter rippled up from memory.

“Do you really want to know?” Her voice sat heavy, like a stone in a bowl.

Ling nodded, puzzled, like a sparrow cocking its head.

Alicia sighed, a soft tide across sand, pulled out her phone, and opened a video like lifting a lid from a secret jar.

On-screen rolled Ling’s foolish—adorably foolish—antics and chuunibyou proclamations from before her mind returned, all neon and fireworks.

Like… Ling standing on the desk, striking a standard JoJo pose, the frame snapping into that bold comic style like ink spreading on rice paper.

She dropped the classic line with a grin: “Your next line is—Ling is the cutest in the world!”

The students answered in perfect chorus, a temple-chant of chaos: “Ling is the cutest in the world!”

Black history hits hard, like a winter gust through cotton; Ling’s cheeks burned pink, and mist rose at her lashes like morning over a lake.

“Yo—you… you delete it! Delete it now!” Her voice trembled like a kite tugging its string.

Alicia just raised the phone high, a moon beyond reach; Ling hopped, little springs like a rabbit in clover.

But the lady trumps the loli; height marked the gap like a wall between courtyards.

After tries that fell like leaves, Ling lowered her head, hands rubbing eyes like kneading dough, a soft sob threading out.

“Mmm—Alicia-sis, Alicia-sis is bullying me! Sob, sob.” Her cry was rain on a kitten’s back.

The Loli’s Cry lands a critical hit, like a drumbeat in a warrior’s chest.

The Loli’s Cry effect is overwhelming, like spice spilling into soup.

Alicia can’t rise again; she drops her guard like a cloak.

“Ah—don’t cry. Sis was wrong. Here, don’t cry.” Her voice gentled, a warm lamp in frost.

She dangled the phone like fruit on a branch; Ling’s eyes flashed like a hawk’s, her smile hooked like a fish.

In a blink, she snatched the phone, turned, deleted, and handed it back—moves smooth as flowing water, clean as a blade through silk, a hero among lolis.

Alicia stood stunned by the fake tears, a statue under snow; when her mind returned, the deed was done, leaving only a proud loli with a nose tilted like a little crescent.

Watching Ling’s nose point toward the sky, Alicia weighed a secret like a pebble in the palm—should she tell her about automatic backups?

Forget it; better to keep it for herself, and cue her own stage. The lights shifted like clouds.

Thud. Alicia dropped to her knees, a sudden kneel like thunder on slate.

“I’m dumb, truly dumb,” she lamented, voice flowing like a river of regret. “I knew lolis fake-cry, and still I…”

Set aside the tale of loli and lady for a breath; in a hidden corner, an unseen plot was unfurling like vine over stone.

The principal eyed the black-clad man before him, confusion misting like breath in cold air.

“So the prize for this meet is… two female slaves?” he asked, words heavy as wet clay. “That stuff’s not worth much…”

The black-clad man wore a merchant’s smile, neat as lacquer, smooth as oil on water.

“Brother, they’re not simple slaves,” he purred, pointing like a reed toward a current. “Check the purity of the magic in them.”

The principal opened his magic sense, a window like rice paper sliding, and a surge hit him like a tide through a gate.

“This… this level of magic concentration!” His eyes lit like embers catching dry pine. “For alchemy, it could boost someone by a whole level in one go!”

“Of course,” the man said, words falling like gold coins. “As a champion’s prize, nothing fits better.”

“Hahaha! Of course!” Laughter rolled like drums in a festival hall.

“Good. I’m glad you like it.” The man turned smoothly, a shadow slipping between lanterns.

Out of the principal’s sight, that shadow-smile sharpened, a plot blooming like night-blooming cereus; oddly, the two slaves in the cage wore the same curve, a moonlit smile behind bars.