Heading back.

Painfully, I push myself off the floor, feeling like I'd been trampled by a herd of wild beasts. Gritting my teeth, I manage to groan out, "Just what sort of training do you do?" Seriously, she's strong as hell. Even if she's part dwarf, she's way above their strength.

Eira ignores my question entirely. "Get over here," she commands, her tone brooking no argument. "We're adding all the hidden features. It shouldn't take too long since I have everything prepared."

I sigh, slowly rising to my feet. "Okay, okay," I grumble, trying to regain my composure. "You know, the punch wasn't necessary."

She shoots me a glare that could melt steel, yanking my hand and dragging me towards a table littered with an array of peculiar tools. Without missing a beat, Eira grabs a thin needle, and before I can protest, she pricks my finger, drawing blood. I watch with mixed emotions as she does the same to herself, her face showing no hint of discomfort. The two filled needles are then emptied into a small pipe, the mixed blood shimmering darkly.

The entire scene feels almost surreal. The casual way Eira goes about it, the bizarre technology surrounding us—everything feels like a fever dream. But then again, her line of work has always bordered on the uncanny.

She pops her gum nonchalantly, strutting over to her desk. With a few deft taps, a holographic screen lights up. Moments later, a large mechanical arm lowers itself from the ceiling, its end poised above the half-completed Dragon's Eye Sniper.

"Put these on." Eira's voice interrupts my thoughts as she tosses a pair of dark glasses my way. "Wear them or your eyes will burn."

Catching the glasses and sliding them on, I'm met with a world tinted in hues of red and blue. Through them, I watch as the machine begins its work, the delicate tip vibrating at an impossible speed, etching intricate runes into the sniper with the blood mixture.

Eira heaves out a colossal black case, at least thrice her size, placing it on the table. The metallic clang of its weight fills the room. I lean in, curious, eyes shining with anticipation. There's something incredibly alluring about a box of secrets.

"I'll be able to finish in time," Eira comments, brushing back a stray strand of her hair, "but seriously, this thing is a monster."

"Of course it's a monster," I smirk, picturing all the potential this weapon possesses. "It's going to make Kings and Queens tremble."

She glances at me, a hint of amusement in her frosty eyes. "Hey, how are the stockpiles? Zeke has been giving you information on the factories, right?"

The mere mention of Zeke's name sends a wave of disdain across Eira's face, and she clicks her tongue in annoyance. "Yeah, that fucker has been doing his part. I didn't really check the data; I've been too busy for that." With a swift motion, she slides over a shimmering holographic screen towards me.

The displayed information is a treasure trove. Rows upon rows of various weaponry with their designated classes - E to A, with a solitary entry for S class. I absorb the data, feeling a rush of exhilaration.

"Look at this," I murmur, scrolling down the list, "the 'Lunar Lancer', an E-class long rifle with precision sight. We've got about a thousand of those. Then there's the 'Solar Scorcher', a B-class mid-range assault weapon. 200 units available."

Eira nods, watching my reactions keenly, "Keep going."

I continue scrolling, "Ah, 'Aurora Annihilator', an A-class shotgun with elemental ice rounds. Fifty units. 'Twilight Tempest', another A-class, a semi-automatic with wind-infused bullets, twenty units. There are so many..."

My eyes suddenly widen as they land on the lone S-class. "The 'Stellar Slayer'. Only one unit. It's a high-caliber sniper with enchanted ethereal rounds." Heh. It's nowhere near as strong as the dragon's eye but after seeing the power of the dragon's eye, people are going to want the next best thing. "I'm surprised you managed to make one. How good is it?"

Eira leans over, her eyes narrowing at the screen. "That's the one. Once we release the Dragon's Eye Sniper, and the world takes notice, then we introduce this beauty. I made it fundamentally different so it's a completely different experience."

"We planned to make it 183 centimeters," Eira begins, her voice steady, "however, due to some complications, I had to tweak the design and make it 244 centimeters." She unlatches the case, revealing an assortment of intricate parts, gleaming under the ambient light of the workshop.

"Oh..." I breathe out, taken aback by the sheer complexity laid before me. "This is... Do you have all the parts ready?"

Eira simply raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. In the world of craftsmanship, she's unparalleled. I can't help but think, Damn, she can really do anything, huh?

With a resigned sigh, she says, "I have most things ready. Here, what do you think?" From within the case, she extracts another, larger one, opening it to reveal seven elongated bullets. They gleam with an ethereal light, made of high-quality magic stones, etched with intricate runic designs.

I feel a shiver of excitement as I examine them, each bullet at least eight inches long. "These will be locked in the gun, right?" The gravity of their creation isn't lost on me.

Eira nods firmly. "That's right. No one will be able to research them."

In the weapon's world, these bullets are game-changers. While the gun itself is a masterpiece, with a core crystal that can absorb mana from miles away, eliminating the need for physical ammunition, these particular bullets make it something else entirely. They amplify the gun's shot, making it at least five times more potent.

"This is what truly makes this weapon a monster," I whisper, mostly to myself.

Eira's gaze lingers on the bullets. "It wasn't easy acquiring the resources for these. To create them, you need the core of a lich. I'm not sure how that Darius man managed it, but it definitely wasn't easy." 

Reaching into my bag, a pit forms in my stomach, and I can't help but feel like I'm about to touch a live wire. "Okay, okay, here goes nothing..." I mutter.

"Hey, Eira..." My voice trails off as I think of the best way to phrase this, but I decide on the direct approach. "...you see, Lysandra kinda... you know..." Slowly, I pull out the damaged suit and mask, holding them out almost apologetically.

Eira's face changes from calm curiosity to pure fury in an instant. "Oh, you motherfucker," she mumbles, taking a step closer.

I barely have time to react as her fist crashes into my gut, knocking the wind out of me and sending me crashing to the floor. As I groan in pain, a single thought races through my mind, Damn you, Lysandra! Why do I have to get a beating because of you?

"H-hey Eira, come on, I didn't do it!" I gasp, trying to prop myself up on my elbows.

She narrows her eyes, clearly not in the mood for excuses. "You're responsible for it," she snaps, delivering a swift kick for good measure.

Groaning, I watch as she snatches the suit and mask from my hand, her fingers delicately tracing the damage. "Dammit," she hisses, her voice tinged with frustration, "this is not easy to fix, you know."

Dragging myself upright, I try to regain some semblance of dignity. "Is there anything else you need?" I ask, hoping to divert her wrath.

Eira clicks her tongue in annoyance, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. "Just get out. I have more work to do now, thanks to you."

Stretching, I make a mental note to keep a safe distance from Eira for the foreseeable future. "I'll be visiting more often now," I comment, trying to maintain a casual tone despite the recent altercation. "Something's going to happen very soon." With that, I make my exit, feeling the weight of her glare on my back the entire way out.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Amid the grandeur of the Corridor One, a peculiar stall stands in stark contrast to the bustling surroundings. The stall is bathed in warm, vibrant hues that evoke the essence of a tropical paradise. A large wooden sign sways gently, displaying the silhouette of a coconut tree, an emblem of what the stall offers.

Beneath a canopy of woven palm leaves, the tropical fruit stall remains untouched by the throngs of attendees, save for two figures. Isadora sits perched on a wooden stool, her face betraying nothing of her inner thoughts. Her signature black hair cascades over her shoulders, shimmering beneath the soft glow of the lanterns.

In front of her is an array of tropical beverages, each served in carved-out fruits. Among them is a vibrant purple pineapple, the peculiar coloration of pineapples in this realm. Held in Isadora's hand is a drink, its hue matching the pineapple from which it's derived—pineapple water.

She blinks slowly, her gaze falling onto the drink, her expression unchanging. Lowering her face, she sniffs it, the unfamiliar aroma drifting into her senses. Her eyes, always unreadable, shift towards the far end of the table, where a familiar coconut sits.

Back and forth, her gaze flits between the coconut and the pineapple drink—coconut, pineapple, coconut, pineapple—a silent debate unfolding.

Suddenly, a flash of memory punctures her blank demeanor. In her mind's eye, a vision of V materializes, albeit in an unconventional form. He appears as a tiny, Chibi-style goblin, gesturing animatedly, his voice nothing more than a series of indistinguishable sounds: "blah blah blah, coconut, blah blah blah, new, blah blah blah, I set up a stall for you to try, blah blah blah, just as good as coconuts."

The atmosphere grows inexplicably intense as Isadora's unflinching gaze fixes on the pineapple water. It's a moment of profound gravitas, the kind that makes onlookers hold their breath in anticipation. The vast universe of the Corridor One seems to shrink, focusing on this single point in time where a woman confronts her drink.

The world itself seems to come to a standstill.

Isadora's usually stoic eyes widen—a subtle, yet significant alteration in her demeanor. The soft glow of the lanterns reflects in those deep eyes, making them twinkle ever so faintly. With deliberate, unhurried motion, she draws closer to the straw, letting the unfamiliar liquid grace her lips. As the flavor bursts onto her palate, the glimmer in her eyes intensifies, the previously tranquil pools revealing a hint of surprise.

Just as the last of the pineapple water disappears into her mouth, Biana, who'd been lounging beside her, stirs from her sleep. She stretches, yawning, a droplet of drool escaping her lips. Groggily wiping it away, she remarks with an annoyed smirk, "Just what the hell is wrong with you? Is that it? You only show emotions to your drinks?"

But Isadora remains undeterred. Unresponsive to Biana's teasing, she simply reaches for another drink, continuing her silent tropical beverage journey.

Biana chuckles and snuggles deeper into her pillow. Spotting a bottle of wine nearby, her eyes light up with mischievous glee. "Hehehe, I can finally drink~," she declares, uncorking the bottle and taking a generous gulp. The flush that quickly tints her cheeks betrays her low alcohol tolerance, but it doesn't deter her spirits. She leans back, bottle in hand, embracing her fleeting drunkenness with the same audacity with which she approaches life.

In the midst of the academy festival's fervor, Isadora meanders with an air of serene detachment. Held delicately between her fingers is another serving of pineapple water, the purple hue shimmering in the ambient light. Atop her head, she's managed a precarious balancing act with five coconuts stacked in a neat tower, clearly intent on savoring them later.

Dragging behind her, however, is the stark contrast of Biana's boisterous drunkenness. Her slurred speech is almost a song of its own. "Oi you fucker~ Fight me~ Come on! I'll beat your ass," she mutters, narrowing her hazy eyes at Isadora.

But then, something—or someone—catches Biana's attention. "Hey hey, stop it already!" she exclaims, managing to wriggle free from Isadora's grasp. Her gaze is fixed intently on a distant figure. "I need to make sure I'm seeing this right," she declares to no one in particular.

As if testing her sobriety, or perhaps the lack thereof, Biana snatches up another bottle of wine. With gusto, she chugs it, swaying dangerously with each gulp. But her focus remains unbroken. Stabilizing herself just enough, she lifts her head to get a better view.

There, strolling amidst the festival crowd, is V, unmistakably so. And next to him, a child. Biana squints, trying to decipher the resemblance or lack thereof. "I did see right. Oi, they don't look alike, right? They don't look like siblings, right? SOooOooOoooOo that means he has a kid, right?" she queries, grabbing the arm of a bewildered student passing by.

The student, thoroughly confused and a touch scared by Biana's intense drunken scrutiny, simply hurries away without a word.