"Students, spring’s warm bloom is back. In birdsong and sweet air, we welcome our beloved sports meet... Lastly, have fun. Also, this time’s prize is rare. You’ll love it."

Everything else slid off like rain on tiles; only the last line lit the oil. The pervs peeling off shirts did it from “excitement”... I guess.

Alicia tugged Ling’s sleeve like a reed in a breeze. "Ling, think we can just coast through?"

Ling cut that surrender thought clean, voice snapping like a drawn blade. "No way. We won’t lose to this ant swarm."

Ling had other reasons. The real hook was this: she’d peeked past the curtain with the Script and read the principal’s heart.

"These two ‘slaves’ aren’t some simple prize," he thought, watching the cheers ripple like wheat. He had no plan to say that part out loud.

Heat flared under Ling’s ribs like a lantern. Obvious—my future harem, neatly gift‑wrapped. By story logic, they’re probably two little sister types. Sisters in bloom? My favorite harvest.

The thought snowballed; excitement foamed at her lips like honey. Ling didn’t even notice. Alicia, at her side, caught the odd glaze in her eyes.

"What’s spinning in that head, you little dummy? Move. Prep room, now. Thirty minutes, we’re up for the eliminations."

"Aye-aye."

Credit where it’s due: the porcelain‑doll and big‑sister pairing turned heads like sunflowers. Whistles trilled behind them as they slipped into the prep room.

Ling looked down on these creatures who thought with their hips, like swine nosing in mud. (Maybe someone forgot her own eighteen years as a shut‑in.) She shadowed Alicia, step for step. Let Alicia shoo flies; Ling wouldn’t spare the ants a glance.

—Thirty minutes later—

"Alright, Ling. Our turn."

Alicia scooped Ling into her arms and strode onto the ring, like carrying a cat through rain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome our contestants. This round is elimination. Rules: One, no killing. Two, a 100‑player free‑for‑all. Only the last ten on the platform advance. Three, no flight or hover magic. Four, fall off and you lose; lose combat ability and you lose. The rest matches the General Competition Rules. We won’t repeat them here."

When the announcer finished, a giant screen rose like a monolith. Bright red letters bled across it.

"3—2—1—"

The countdown hit zero. The screen flashed red like a flare, and the match ignited.

Contestants scattered like wolves scenting prey. Alicia was no exception. "Pick a few and knock them off the stage. Don’t kill, okay?" She tossed that back and dove into battle.

Many spotted Ling alone, a single lamp in a storm. Her doll‑like face misled them. They charged her first, some kicking magic to boost speed. To Ling, they crawled like snails on wet stone. She planned a proper showboating. So she played the clueless newbie instead. She blinked wide, glassy eyes, a deer in the dew. That look poured fuel on their greed; they sprinted harder.

A burly man riding wind magic reached her first. Gusts coiled around his fist like pale snakes. His mouth split in a classic fodder grin. "This head is mine!"

He slammed that wind‑laden fist forward, a hammer built to crush dry twigs. On a normal body, it’d mean powder and silence. One had to wonder if he’d read the rules.

Fortunately for everyone, he aimed at Ling. She caught the blow mid‑gust. His force broke like surf in a teacup, stopped by her small, paper‑white hand.

Before his shock could breathe, her other pink fist swelled in his vision like a rising moon. She drove it home. The big man pinwheeled with a gale, rolled across the dirt, and skidded out amid a spray of brown dust.

Eagerness drained from many eyes like tide from a bay. Fear pooled instead, heavy and cold. They’d pegged her as a pampered little princess out to play. Now they saw why she stood firm on this stone.

Irritation pricked like nettles under Ling’s skin. One punch, and they’re already scattering? Shouldn’t a proper script have them band together and dog‑pile me?

"Dammit. I’m not done. Why hide like rats?"

She lifted a hand and snapped the farthest man’s four limbs like dry branches. The rules said no killing. Everything else was fair game, right?

Watching a man folded in one strike and left in pieces, the crowd swallowed hard, throats clicking like pebbles. This put them between blade and cliff.

There was no clean escape. As their eyes met Ling’s, pressure climbed their spines like cold vines. A few snapped under it, crazed, breaking their own hands and feet, then lying down as defeated. Losing limbs burned like salt, but it beat catching a stray shot to the head. The rules would eject a killer. But if you’re dead, who cares whether your killer gets benched?

Ling didn’t think that far. She just fired the Magic Cannon, shot after shot, like fireworks ripping the night. Bodies littered the floor, hovering a breath from death. Joy welled up, hot and bright. Her blood drummed. Yes—this felt good.

She eyed the remaining bodies like a harvest not yet cut. There was more delight to reap.

Ling didn’t notice her gaze heating, bright as a child finding a shelf of new toys.

"Hahahahaha! So fun, so fun. Big brothers, come play with Ling. Ling will play with you, nice and slow."

On any other day, that line would hook every loli‑lover, set a few minds drifting. Today, only fear coiled in their chests like smoke.

Right—an idea sparked, wicked as a foxfire. I could cut off their hands and stitch them onto others, watch the panic bloom. Or slice them down to only a head. Then needle their minds so they can’t slip into mercy’s dark. Make them watch themselves die. And then, and then…

Ling was still weaving new games when Alicia’s shout cracked down like thunder. "Enough! Ling, what are you doing?"

Alicia’s voice halted her mid‑motion, like a hand on wild reins. The trapped fighters stared at Alicia like shipwrecked men sighting a lighthouse.

Ling blinked, puzzled, a fawn in drizzle. "Big sis Alicia, did I do something wrong?"

Alicia stepped close. Her long fingers traced the blood that had bloomed on Ling’s cheek. She tried to wipe it away; it only smeared into an ugly red streak.

"Hey, Ling. Didn’t I say no killing?"

Ling shook her head, innocence clear as spring water. "I listened, big sis Alicia. I didn’t kill them. See? They’re all alive."

Alicia looked around at the strewn ‘bodies,’ where torn limbs still coughed little sprays of red like broken fountains. She glanced back at Ling, her gaze growing strange. This girl… does she have a very odd definition of alive?