The moment Rika's name lit up on Buddy's scroll, Ephraim was already scanning the tavern like a hawk. The bustling air of fried meat, ale, and tension did little to distract him as his eyes swept every shadow, every booth, every—
There.
A flash of crimson disappearing toward the back door.
Ephraim squinted. The redhead from the bar counter—the one with the military drip and resting bitch face—was suddenly trying to sneak out. His gaze snapped to her hips, and sure enough, a faint glow pulsed through her pants pocket. His scroll wasn't lying.
"HEY HEY YOU! YOU THERE WITH THE RED HAIR! STOP! ARE YOU RIKA?!"
The woman didn't even flinch to acknowledge him. She just bolted. Smooth pivot, sudden dash. She was out the tavern's back door in two heartbeats.
"SHIT!" Ephraim cursed, bolting after her like a bloodhound. Buddy tried to keep up, but his sandals were more spiritual than sprint-ready.
As they crashed through the tavern's back alley, Rika leapt onto a crate, then another, and vaulted into the air.
And then she stretched.
Her legs elongated, her arms swung like whips, catching the edge of a rooftop and slinging her across the skyline like some kind of magical spider monkey.
Ephraim skidded to a stop and blinked.
"Ewwwwww, WHAT THE HELL?!" he shouted, launching himself up with his magnetic essence and latching to a lamppost, then another. "BUDDY STAY HERE—I'LL GET HER!"
Buddy wheezed and gave a defeated thumbs-up from the alley.
Swinging after her, Ephraim watched in mild horror as Rika's limbs wrapped around buildings and flagpoles like twisted licorice. She was fast. Too fast. But his magnetism wasn't for show—each swing brought him closer.
"WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?! WE'RE TEAMMATES!" he yelled, breath ragged.
Rika didn't look back. "NO WE ARE NOT! LEAVE ME BE!"
"We literally have a scroll that says otherwise!! You can't argue with scroll law!!"
She screamed in frustration and kicked off another wall, sailing higher.
Ephraim sighed, mid-air. "Dammit… fine. You made me do this."
He reached out, grabbed a floating metal banner in the air, bent the magnetic field, and slingshot himself forward at full velocity. His shoulder crashed into Rika mid-swing, and they smashed into a roof, then tumbled off, slamming into the ground below like a pair of rogue comets.
Ephraim rolled to his feet, hands raised in surrender. "Wait, wait, wait, can't we just—"
He didn't finish.
Rika's arm flung back like a slingshot, twisted grotesquely, and then fired forward like a damn rocket punch.
"OH SH—!"
WHACK.
The punch caught Ephraim square in the jaw, flinging him across the street into a lamp post, which bent like a rubber straw.
He staggered to his feet, blinking through pain. "COME ONNN, WHY ARE WE EVEN FIGHTING?!"
Rika was already mid-lunge, her arms elastic and snapping like whips. "CAUSE YOU WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Ephraim ducked and danced, trying to get a word in. "DON'T MAKE ME HIT A PRETTY LADY!"
That was the wrong line.
Rika's entire face twisted. Her lips curled, eyes flared, and her cheeks darkened with rage.
"WHAT. DID. YOU. JUST. SAY TO ME?!"
Ephraim saw it a moment too late. A giant fist the size of a small cart came barreling toward him.
"…Ah, fuck."
BOOM.
He went sailing through the air like a t-shirt shot from a cannon, crashed through a bakery sign, then splintered into the face of a clock tower, embedded several stories up.
"…aughh… my everything… aughh…"
He peeled himself off the wall and looked down at the crater he made in the clock face. "Welp. Guess I'm finding the apartment."
Ephraim dropped from the tower, magnetic field softening his fall, and landed lightly in the middle of a stunned crowd. At least, stunned until they noticed his complexion.
A murmur rolled through the crowd. Then, silence. And one by one… they left.
Only the guards stayed.
One stepped forward, hand on his weapon. "What happened here?"
Ephraim dusted himself off. "Domestic dispute. Kinda."
The guard squinted but didn't press. Ephraim walked off, muttering under his breath. After a dozen wrong turns, two attempted muggings, and one old man who tried to sell him enchanted goat milk, he finally made his way toward the Arena District—home of the Colosseum and, supposedly, housing for contestants.
When he arrived, the district buzzed with activity. Floating banners advertised the next round. Spectators haggled over tickets. Tourists snapped magical photos. A royal ferry glided overhead, its golden trim marking it as VIP.
Ephraim paused as he saw a familiar figure in the ferry—Salt. She sat in the window, eyes distant, a security detail flanking her.
He stared after her until the ferry vanished behind the Colosseum walls.
"…Huh."
Then, back to the mission.
After pestering six random strangers, two cats that might have been sentient, and an old woman who cursed him for asking directions, Ephraim finally found Building 28.
He stepped inside.
The air inside the lobby was cool, quiet, almost sterile. The kind of quiet that made you paranoid.
And there, at the front desk, stood none other than—
"YOOOOO BUDDYYY!"
Buddy turned, scroll tucked under one arm, and smiled serenely. "Hello, Ephraim. I'm glad you found the building."
Ephraim jogged up, exhaling. "Yup yup. Pain in the ass to find. Some dude tried to stab me."
Buddy tilted his head. "Did you… bother him first?"
Ephraim clutched his chest dramatically. "Of course not! Why would you even think that?! I just asked how to find this place."
"My apologies, friend. I shouldn't have assumed."
"Nah, nah, you're good." Ephraim grinned. "I do be botherin' folk sometimes. Anyway—I'm in room 100, right?"
Buddy looked at the parchment, then paled. "Oh my. They've placed you in the beggar's wing. Right above the lightskin prostitutes with pixie cuts. How… tragic."
Ephraim's eyes lit up like festival lanterns. "REALLY?! LET'S. FUCKING. GOOOOOO!!!"
He practically moonwalked to the elevator, hooting.
Buddy shook his head, amused. "Hopefully we'll see Rika tomorrow… in Round Two."
Ephraim shot finger guns over his shoulder. "Bet your ass we will."