The next morning, Moto woke to a familiar, mouth-watering aroma drifting through the bustling streets. He followed it, nose twitching, until he found the source: a vendor standing over a vat of bubbling oil, pulling out golden rounds of magwinya, steam rising in fragrant wisps.
"Magwinya..." Moto whispered, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Minutes later, he returned carrying a large bucket overflowing with the treats. The others blinked at the sight as they gathered at a small restaurant table. The sizzling fat cakes sat piled high in the center, grease paper crackling beneath them. Moto dug in immediately, burning his tongue but grinning through the pain.
"What's this?" Aemon asked, holding one up curiously.
Moto chewed dramatically. "The perfect union of yeast and flour, married together in a bath of boiling olive oil. It goes by many names, but—"
"It's not that deep," Najo cut in flatly, earning a snort from Tanaka.
After the meal, Moto's expression turned serious. "There's something you should know. Najo and I... we were sent here to gather intel about Sango. To aid in negotiations for peace".
Tanaka's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. "Then we have to start where the Hwange landed! They say it looks like an alien forest, and even now, new discoveries are being made daily—"
"Sounds boring," Najo interrupted, leaning back. "We should play ball instead".
Tanaka bristled. "How is that going to help us?"
Before they could argue further, the magwinya vendor—a woman with arms as thick as tree trunks—leaned on their table. "If it's games you want, the annual Tag Tournament starts tomorrow. Sign up today and you'll have something fun to do and time to work in between".
The group froze.
"Wait—you were listening this whole time?" Moto blurted.
"She's literally right next to us, bro," Aemon muttered.
"Hold up, you're not gonna tell anyone, right?" Najo added quickly. "It's supposed to be secret".
The woman smirked. "I'll keep quiet—if you give me fifty percent of whatever you earn from the tournament".
Negotiations flew back and forth until, grudgingly, they agreed. Papers were signed, and the briefing was given: three rounds, each four days apart. Round one: a battle royale. Those still standing by sunset would advance.
Later, Aemon tugged at Moto's sleeve. "Hey... teach me. Please. At least the basics".
Moto grinned. "Fine. But you'll learn faster by doing".
They trained until late into the night. By morning, the team stood at the edge of the arena: a sprawling field split into patches of grass, gravel, and bare earth. Moto and Aemon were placed on the gravel side. Tanaka and Najo ended up together, much to both their dismay.
Contestants gathered—towering giants among them, wings and horns gleaming in the sun. The horn blew.
Chaos erupted.
A bull-headed man lowered his horns and charged straight at Moto. Moto leapt, only to be caught mid-air by the whip-like tongue of a chameleon hybrid. He slammed against the ground with a grunt.
The bull snorted, pawed the gravel, then thundered forward again.
Aemon panicked. "Grillet—now!"
Inside his head, Grillet's voice hissed: If I go, you'll be left wide open. Look at him—he's already half-crazy.
Moto kicked himself up just as the bull's horns tore through the ground where he'd been. He turned to Aemon, eyes wild but smiling. "Lesson one: just keep moving! Sync with me!"
"O-okay!" Aemon stammered, rushing to his side.
The chameleon lashed its tongue again—only for Grillet to burst out, swatting it aside with a snarl. "Tch. Pathetic".
On the grassy side, Najo glared at Tanaka, who was crouched low, book held open over her head.
"Hey! You're supposed to be helping!" Najo yelled.
"I am helping," she replied coolly. "I'm making sure we don't lose".
"By hiding?"
"By observing," Tanaka retorted. "Look around—are you planning to fight a hundred opponents one by one? Or do you want to be smart about it?"
Najo faltered. "Uh—"
She pointed discreetly. "See those two over there? Rabbit twins. Already terrified. Take them down, conserve energy, and build momentum systematically".
Muttering about not being her bodyguard, Najo charged, dispatching the duo in seconds.
Tanaka smirked, scribbling in her notes. "Good boy".
Back on the gravel, Moto and Aemon had just finished off the bull and chameleon. Aemon turned—then froze.
Across the field, a girl stood, golden-yellow eyes gleaming. Her blade dripped crimson as she pulled it from her fallen opponent. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, locking eyes with Aemon.
Inside his mind, Grillet's world twisted. A figure in a straitjacket writhed violently, chains rattling, chair legs screeching against stone. For the first time—one of the chains snapped.
Aemon staggered, breath caught in his throat.
Moto glanced at him, confused. "Aemon? Hey—what's wrong?"
But Aemon's eyes were still locked on the girl.
And somewhere deep inside, the struggle had only just begun.
Elsewhere, in Nirvana.
Sheu and Asher step into a world painted neon. Towers pulse with light, streets alive with a dazzling hum. Music echoes, somewhere between futuristic and nostalgic.
Asher spreads his arms. "Here we are. Nirvana."
Sheu only stares, silent.
"C'mon, not even a little excited?" he prods.
She says nothing.
"Alright, sheesh. We're gonna need to blend in." He pulls two bottles from his pack. "I got us dye. Blue and pink. Which do you want?"
"Blue," she says flatly.
"No way. You're taking pink."
...
Moments later, Sheu emerges with half her curls streaked blue, Asher grinning beneath a bright pink afro.
"Perfect," he says smugly.
Sheu gives him a look sharp enough to cut neon.
Together, they slip into the glowing current of Nirvana, their investigation just beginning.
To be continued...