While Tunzuo and Olivia sprinted down the cobblestone road with one hundred twenty percent of their potential unleashed to save their own skins, a completely different scene was unfolding in the Saint Medea Capital Academy principal’s office in the distance.
“Buurp—!”
Fafnir let out a hearty drunken belch that shattered the office’s tranquility, sprawling lazily on a plush pink cat-paw sofa embroidered with cute paw pad patterns, swirling her wine glass with flushed cheeks, her gaze roaming brazenly over the graceful figure who had just stepped out of the teleportation gate.
“You’re late, stinky fox. What’s the matter, getting addicted to playing house? Don’t forget, you were the one who called this meeting first.”
Antuxi stepped out of the teleportation gate with elegant poise, her expression as haughty as ever.
Upon hearing Fafnir’s rude greeting, a faint, knowing smile curled at the corner of Antuxi’s lips.
“Watch your mouth, you dumb dragon. I had to come up with excuses to placate those two little ones. You know, a perfect script requires dedication to every single detail.”
Antuxi strode over with the graceful gait of a cat and settled herself onto the round panda-shaped sofa across from Fafnir.
But just as she sat down, as if remembering something, her sly fox eyes narrowed and swept over Fafnir.
The next second, Antuxi curled deeper into her sofa, then discreetly scooted the entire piece of furniture away from Fafnir, deliberately widening the distance until she felt satisfied.
Antuxi’s inexplicable behavior left Fafnir completely baffled.
She set down her glass and clicked her tongue in displeasure.
“Hey, stinky fox, did I do something to offend you? Why are you acting so standoffish? We’ve known each other for how many years now, and you pull this crap?”
With that, Fafnir hoisted her cat-paw sofa and dragged it straight toward Antuxi.
But just as she came within half a meter, a transparent ripple materialized out of thin air.
Thud!
Her entire face squished against the invisible mirror-like surface, features grotesquely deformed, looking utterly ridiculous.
Fafnir had slammed head-first into a spatial barrier.
As if spotting something filthy, Antuxi pinched her nose with two fingers of one hand while waving the other dismissively at Fafnir, as though shooing away a foul odor.
“Shoo! Shoo! Stay away from me! I don’t want to be associated with a debauched dragon who tells her kids bedtime stories about her love life. I still have a reputation to maintain.”
Fafnir froze, her expression stiffening for a few seconds before she scratched her head awkwardly, her gaze wandering.
Damn that little wench, how can she just blurt out everything! And bringing up ancient history like that, in front of the very person involved?
Despite her thoughts, Fafnir quickly slapped on an even more shameless grin, extended her sharp claws, and popped the spatial barrier like a bubble with effortless ease, pressing toward Antuxi once more.
“Don’t be like that, An. That was ages ago. Besides, aren’t we still besties? Besties don’t need this kind of boring game.”
Watching Fafnir plaster herself closer with that brazen face, Antuxi said nothing, simply hefted the panda sofa from under her and scurried across to the other side of the principal’s office.
And so, an utterly absurd scene unfolded inside the Capital Academy principal’s office.
“Who’s your bestie?! I can see right through your impure intentions!”
Two legendary witches whose names alone could make the universe tremble thrice over were now acting like a pair of toddler witches who just learned to walk, carrying sofas and chasing each other in a pathetically childish game of tag.
In the end, the meaninglessly chaotic chase concluded when Fafnir swept her tail through a block castle that some witch had spent two or three painstaking hours constructing.
“Both of you! Stop right now!”
Beside the toppled block castle, Andersen puffed out her little cheeks, her face swollen like a hamster hoarding food, glaring at the ruins of what had once been her castle, eyes filled with resentment and fury, her shrill voice ringing through the office.
“Just how old are you two?! Acting like little witchlings! Roughhousing in the principal’s office is one thing, but you actually dared to knock over my castle! That was a one-to-one replica of the Elf King’s Court that I painstakingly built! My archway! My watchtower!”
Meanwhile, the pair who had just been chasing each other, Antuxi and Fafnir, snapped to attention the instant Andersen blew her top, then with remarkable synchronization raised their hands and pointed their index fingers straight at each other’s noses.
“My two eyes saw it crystal clear—the big bad dragon did it. One tail swipe, devastating power, the case is clear, the evidence conclusive. I recommend immediate execution.”
Antuxi wore an innocent expression, her playful fox eyes brimming with sincerity.
“Bull! Don’t listen to that stinky fox’s nonsense! It was her deliberately squeezing me that made me lose my balance and crash into it! I’m reporting this—it’s premeditated framing!”
Fafnir hopped around in agitation, clearly incensed by Antuxi’s accusation.
“Enough, enough! I can’t be bothered to argue with either of you!”
Andersen massaged her temples in frustration, gazing at the two legendary witches before her who were both shirking blame.
She couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—truly, problem children remain problem children at every age.
To spare her ears further pollution, Andersen forcibly swallowed the pent-up frustration in her chest and slammed her small hand heavily on the desk, producing a loud bang.
“Both of you, sit down! Weren’t we here to discuss business today? Cause any more trouble and I’ll toss you both out!”
Seeing Andersen take the initiative to drop the matter, Antuxi and Fafnir each reined themselves in.
The two witches exchanged a glance, reaching a tacit understanding of mutual benefit, mentally high-fiving each other.
Andersen shook her head and let out a long sigh.
She turned and climbed up onto her tall office chair, propped her chin on both hands, and tried her best to look serious.
“So tell me—supreme ruler of the Witch Council, and biggest sponsor of the Witch Academy Tournament—what brilliant insights do the two of you have about this year’s competition?”
At Andersen’s inquiry, Antuxi and Fafnir, who moments ago had been bouncing with excess energy, instantly switched forms, becoming proper, dignified witches.
Antuxi elegantly crossed her legs, hands resting on her knees, radiating incomparable arrogance and nobility, while Fafnir propped her chin on one hand, grinning wildly, exuding unbridled dominance.
“It’s not much of a demand, really. We just want those two little ones to gain some experience. You know, Andersen—flowers raised in a greenhouse can’t withstand storms.”
Antuxi’s smile was gentle as water, like a devoted mother thinking only of her daughter’s wellbeing.
“Seconded.”
Fafnir followed suit instantly, signaling her complete agreement with Antuxi.
Watching the unscrupulous witches putting on prim and proper facades while scheming in their heads about how to sabotage their own precious daughters, Andersen could only slump helplessly into her office chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.
She reached into her belly pouch and pulled out a notebook printed with yellow ducklings, tossing it onto the desk.
“Then you two write it up yourselves. Just don’t go overboard—there are other contestants in the tournament too. Don’t traumatize other people’s kids.”
Despite Andersen’s final attempt at dissuasion, Antuxi and Fafnir weren’t listening, and their execution was impressively high.
Whoosh!
Two hands shot out simultaneously, snatching up the notebook.
The two heads that had been hurling insults at each other just moments ago immediately pressed together, hair tangling, cheeks touching, as they began jointly drafting a scheme grand enough to go down in history.
“Hey, stinky fox, what brilliant ideas do you have first?”
“Ohohoho~ My dear daughter just mastered the use of spiritual power, so she’ll inevitably want to show off. That won’t do. As her mommy, I naturally need to design some targeted obstacles—can’t let my adorable daughter get too cocky~”
“Throw in a batch of monsters with high soul resistance, plus terrain specifically designed to counter spiritual entities. The third sector can have a Sea of Silence that blocks all spiritual perception, and while we’re at it, toss in a few dream beasts specialized in devouring spiritual power.”
“Hehehe, you’re so wicked—treating my goddaughter like a toy, not a shred of pity in you.”
“Shove it. I never agreed to let her call you godmother, and I don’t acknowledge those little schemes of yours. Forget that—what about you? Got any ideas?”
“Hehe, I don’t care about your approval—she already said it, so I’m her godmother, period. As for my girl, she’s gotten a bit full of herself these past few years, so yeah, she needs a reality check. How about a king-rank legendary dragon species with absolutely terrible meat quality?”
“Oh~ You’re no saint yourself, pulling such a ruthless move.”
“Hehehe, keep it on the down low, down low. It’s us, after all.”
Watching Antuxi and Fafnir huddled over the notebook, occasionally cackling like wicked stepmothers from fairy tales, Andersen across from them couldn’t help but clasp her hands together and silently mourn for Tunzuo and Olivia in the void.
I’m sorry, little Tun, little Long.
Forgive your principal for not protecting you.
If you must blame someone, blame the mothers you ended up with.
The principal did her best.
After a period of intense, utterly inhumane scheming, Antuxi and Fafnir finally set down their pens and slid the densely written notebook back to Andersen with beaming smiles.
Andersen picked up the notebook and gave it a quick skim, feeling her head throb and her temples pulse.
“Can I just say—could you two possibly come up with some realistic conditions?”
Andersen pointed at the elegant yet chaotic handwriting in the notebook, her fingers trembling, clearly livid.
“I can find over a dozen contradictory biomes in just the first ten pages! You want a deep-sea kraken in volcanic terrain? Are you planning seafood barbecue?!”
“Let me be direct with you—under current conditions, there is no folded space that meets your requirements! Deal’s off!”
Andersen spread her small hands, attempting to use this as a pretext to make Antuxi and Fafnir back down.
But all she got in return was a breezy sentence from Antuxi.
“Then just make one.”
Antuxi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her iridescent pupils blazing with an arrogance that proclaimed her supremacy over heaven and earth.
“There are three legendary witches present. Is there anything in the universe we can’t accomplish? A temporary world with special ecology? Easy peasy.”
Andersen’s head shot up at those words.
She stared blankly at Antuxi for a long moment before finally squeezing out a sentence.
“Seriously? Just to screw over two kids, you’re willing to forge an entire world that defies common sense?”
“Absolutely serious.”
Antuxi and Fafnir said in unison, displaying unprecedented unity and unwavering conviction when it came to sabotaging their daughters.
Seeing this, Andersen could only let out a helpless sigh, accepting the two witches’ take-it-or-leave-it terms.
She picked up a quill, slashed a decisive checkmark on the notebook, and said through gritted teeth:
“Fine. If you want to do it, do it. I can cooperate on shaping the world. But I’m warning you now—some of the special monsters need to come out of your own pockets, and they need to be set up as special stages. If those two can’t beat them or start crying when they lose, that’s not on me, and I’m not comforting them either!”
Hearing Andersen’s words, Antuxi and Fafnir actually fell into momentary silence.
The monsters were easy enough—both of them had vast resources, money was no object.
But how to reasonably lure those two little girls over without handing this special privilege to other young witches?
That was the crux of the problem, and indeed a delicate craft.
Just as Antuxi and Fafnir sank into deep thought, brows furrowed, a mysterious voice—somewhat androgynous, carrying an ethereal quality—abruptly rang through the minds of all three witches, bypassing their eardrums and resonating directly in the depths of their souls.
“How about I serve as the guide? I have a feeling this year’s academy tournament is going to be quite fun.”
Hearing the voice, all three witches turned their heads simultaneously to see a mysterious witch with a voluptuous figure leaning against the office doorframe.
The mysterious witch was strikingly alluring, clad in a dark purple gown draped with an accompanying dark purple cloak trimmed with gold embroidery.
Her hood was pulled low, half her face shrouded in shadow, revealing only occasional glimpses of jet-black hair strands and a pair of lifeless silver pupils.
In her hands, she toyed with a deck of tarot cards, and the yellow crystal pendant around her neck gleamed brightly, threads of fate coiling around her form.
“Ah, Salatia.”
Antuxi gazed at the newcomer, a meaningful smile curving at her lips.
Clearly, this one was an old acquaintance.
Salatia Siris, Witch of Fate, legendary rank, foremost leader of the Divination School, known throughout all of Dunayala as the wicked witch who most loved to tease young witchlings.
Salatia didn’t speak, but her voice transmitted clearly into all three witches’ minds through telepathy, her gaze roaming over Antuxi.
“I heard the Chief has been blessed with a daughter, so I came specifically to offer my congratulations. I wonder if I might have the opportunity to properly enjoy—oh, pardon me—to properly look after the Chief’s beloved child?”
A slight smile curled at Salatia’s lips, carrying intentions unfathomable to any witch.
Naturally, Antuxi was most welcoming of this.
She even rose proactively and extended her hand warmly toward Salatia.
“Oh, of course, my dear Salatia. Since you’re here, this performance will become all the more spectacular. I believe my darling daughter will adore you—after all, who could resist a beautiful weaver of destiny?”
Watching Salatia’s sudden appearance, Andersen couldn’t help but let out another long sigh, feeling the situation growing messier by the minute, increasingly certain that this year’s academy tournament would be a bloody storm.
But after a bout of “me orc-finkin'” contemplation, Andersen’s eyes suddenly lit up—she’d thought of a fun idea too.
“Since Salatia’s joining in too, then why not…”
Andersen muttered under her breath, pulling out her grimoire from the drawer and flipping through it rapidly, eventually digging out an account that had long been buried at the bottom.
“At this point, might as well let little Tun and little Long suffer a bit more. I think that child needs experience too—and who knows, maybe she could become good friends with little Tun and little Long. After all, friendship forged through mutual support and rivalry is the strongest kind, right?”
Andersen typed a message into the chat window as she spoke, a smile on her face claiming it was all for the children’s benefit, having been successfully assimilated by the roomful of scheming witches.
“My oh my, it seems this year’s academy tournament really is going to be quite lively.”