Chapter 90: Stelle: If That's the Reward, What's the Punishment?
"Alright, let's shelve that boring topic for a second. I want to talk about Leon instead."
Serval leaned across the table, her eyes gleaming with sudden interest. She paused her rhythmic polishing of the mechanical component in her hands. Although the woman sitting across from her had masked her emotions flawlessly just moments ago, Serval had still caught a fleeting shift in the atmosphere. It wasn't so much a logical deduction as it was pure, unadulterated intuition.
"Leon is a benefactor to Belobog. He stated that as long as we cooperate to complete his script, he will solve the city's crisis."
Cocolia smoothed the fabric of her skirt, her posture immaculate. She knew Serval was fishing for gossip, but she kept her voice perfectly level, steering the conversation back to safe, diplomatic waters. She refused to veer into the ambiguous territory her old friend was so desperately trying to uncover.
After all, she was the Supreme Guardian of Belobog. She had a reputation to maintain. Even sitting here with her former best friend, she could hardly confess that she had been the one to throw herself at him...
"You trust him just like that?" Serval raised an eyebrow, entirely unsurprised by the deflection. She set her polishing cloth down. "Aren't you afraid of being played?"
"Of course I am afraid."
Cocolia answered immediately, the diplomatic mask slipping just enough to reveal the exhaustion beneath. "Belobog cannot survive another false dawn." She let the silence stretch for a heartbeat, her gaze darkening. "But based on the overwhelming strength he has displayed, and... my own judgment from our brief contact, he is not a man who deals in empty promises."
"You have only known him for a few days, and you already trust him this much?"
A strange, sour knot tightened in Serval's chest. The feeling was subtle, yet sharply distinct. It felt exactly like watching her most cherished, broken childhood music box being effortlessly repaired by a total stranger. This stranger had simply walked in, made it play a melody far more beautiful than before, and left her standing on the sidelines with nothing to do but watch.
The abrupt surge of jealousy caught her completely off guard.
"Are you implying you have an issue with my judgment?" Cocolia's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the shift in the blonde's tone.
"Well, not exactly." Serval quickly blinked away her daze, forcing a bright, half-joking smile onto her face. She leaned her chin on her hand, adopting a probing tone. "Actually, I trust his strength and character quite a bit too. He really has been a massive help to us. And..."
She dragged the syllable out, watching Cocolia's micro-expressions like a hawk.
"Don't you think he's incredibly handsome? He has this... otherworldly charm to him. Tell me, Madam Guardian, if I decided to pursue him, do you think he'd agree?"
Cocolia froze. The regal composure shattered as she actually began to run the logistical calculations of Serval joining the fold.
"Hey... what is with that look?" Serval's playful smirk faltered. Instead of snapping back with a sharp retort or rolling her eyes, Cocolia had fallen into deep, serious contemplation. The rocker's amusement was rapidly replaced by sheer bewilderment.
"I think you actually have a solid chance." Cocolia finally spoke, giving Serval a slow, evaluating sweep from head to toe before nodding with absolute solemnity.
"Huh?"
Serval's jaw dropped. Her elbow slipped off the table, and the velvet cloth she had just set down tumbled onto the floor.
"I said, it is entirely possible." Cocolia repeated, her tone deadpan.
"Possible what, possible?! I was joking!" Serval waved her hands frantically, a furious blush spreading across her cheeks. "Why are you taking a joke so seriously?!"
"No, I think it really is a viable strategy." Cocolia leaned forward, clasping her hands elegantly over her lap. "I do not expect to keep our benefactor chained to Belobog forever. However, if he establishes deeper roots here, he might be far more willing to intervene should the city face another crisis in the future."
She looked out the frosted window, her voice dropping a fraction. "I do not know the true scale of the forces lurking among the stars. But over seven hundred years ago, when the Antimatter Legion invaded, the outside world chose to abandon us to the ice. That historical fact alone proves they are not all-powerful."
"You are being way too utilitarian right now, Cocolia." Serval frowned, shaking her head. "You know I hate that political mindset. Whether it's feelings or relationships, you can't just calculate them on a ledger like military assets."
She stared at the Supreme Guardian, genuinely unsure if the woman was plotting a political marriage or just messing with her.
"And that exact mindset is why you have remained single all these years." Cocolia smiled faintly, entirely unbothered by the accusation. "I think finding a partner would do you some good."
"Tch. Listen to you, talking like you're some seasoned romance expert." Serval scoffed, rolling her eyes. They were two sides of the same coin; neither of them had the right to lecture the other on their desolate love lives.
"No..."
Cocolia shook her head. Seeing Serval's smug 'we are both lonely spinsters' expression sparked a sudden, intense flare of annoyance in her chest. A deeply petty, indescribable urge to win washed over her.
"I am different now."
"Aha! I knew it! Cocolia, you—!" Serval practically vaulted out of her chair, pointing an accusing finger with a scandalous, triumphant grin.
Cocolia immediately realized her mistake. A furious heat rushed to her cheeks, painting them a soft, delicate pink. If the Silvermane Guards could see their stoic, terrifying Supreme Guardian looking this thoroughly flustered, their jaws would hit the snow.
"Spill it. How does it feel?" Serval pressed her advantage, leaning so far over the table she was practically in Cocolia's lap. Her eyes were wide with ravenous curiosity.
"So what if it is true?" Cocolia took a slow breath, forcing her racing heart to steady. A soft, stunning smile unconsciously tugged at the corners of her lips.
"As for how it feels..." She let her voice trail off, her gaze drifting back toward the window as if lost in a deeply fond memory. Then, under Serval's suffocatingly expectant stare, Cocolia shifted her eyes back. Her smile sharpened into something sly, almost predatory.
"...If you are that desperate to know, why don't you go find out for yourself?"
"Hey! Cocolia!" Serval gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror. "When did you get so wicked?!"
Far away from the quiet tension of the Overworld, the heavy metal doors of the Boulder Town Fight Club slammed shut. The muffled roars of the underground crowd faded into the background as the four members of the Astral Express Crew stepped out into the dim, neon-lit streets.
"Hahaha! Dan Heng, I can't breathe! 'Cold Dragon Young'—who even comes up with these titles?! It's too perfect!"
March 7th was clutching her stomach, completely doubled over. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she wheezed, utterly unable to stop laughing at the moniker the Fight Club promoter had slapped onto their stoic archivist.
"Is it truly that amusing, Cold Pink Dragon Young?" Dan Heng retorted, his face a mask of absolute, soul-crushing exhaustion.
That particular nickname had been Caelus's fault. A few days ago, March had loudly complained about why Dan Heng was the only one who got a cool title. Caelus, without missing a beat, had casually branded her with the knock-off version.
And then there was Stelle.
"I still think 'Silly Little Pink Fuzzball' is a much more accurate fit," Stelle muttered, her hands buried deep in her jacket pockets.
"Stelle! What is that supposed to mean?!" March puffed her cheeks out like an angry blowfish, jabbing a finger at the tall girl. "You don't actually think I'm a total ditz, do you?!"
"How could I?" Stelle tilted her head up at a perfect forty-five-degree angle, staring intensely at a rusty pipe on the ceiling. She puckered her lips, attempting to whistle a jaunty, innocent tune to cover her tracks.
Ffffft.
Instead of a whistle, only a pathetic, leaky rush of air escaped her lips. She blinked, suddenly realizing she had absolutely no idea how to whistle.
"Oh, you are so dead! I'm giving you a terrible nickname right now!" March stomped her foot indignantly.
"Oh? What nickname?" Stelle dropped her gaze, her golden eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity.
"Since you have this weird, gross obsession with digging through public garbage," March announced, crossing her arms with a triumphant smirk, "your new official title is the 'AAA-Grade Trash Can Recycling King'."
"Wait, there's such a good thing?" Stelle's eyes widened in sheer delight. "If that's the reward, what's the punishment?"
"Hold on, no! That title belongs to me! How could you just hand it over to Stelle?!" Caelus stepped between them, looking deeply offended by the injustice.
"March bestowed this honor upon me, Caelus." Stelle lifted her chin, looking down her nose at him with supreme, unearned arrogance. "Deal with it."
"March. Please." Caelus immediately spun around, grabbing the pink-haired girl by the shoulders. He stared at her with desperate, shining eyes. "Give me a trash title too."
March 7th stared blankly at the two chaotic raccoons masquerading as galactic heroes. She rubbed her temples, caught somewhere between a heavy sigh and hysterical laughter.
"You guys realize that wasn't a compliment, right?!"
"Look. Over there."
Dan Heng spoke up at the exact right moment, his voice cutting through the rising volume of the trash-panda turf war. He pointed a slender finger down the winding alleyway, singling out a very familiar, very shady figure trying to slip away unnoticed.
The meaningless argument evaporated instantly. The members of the Astral Express Crew perked up, their eyes locking onto the blue-haired merchant, and broke into a dead sprint to give chase.
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