Tournament Begin (2)

I walked back to the stand, and I found the tournament a bit boring. Maybe it's because still the first day, so it was boring.

As I walked back, I wasn't paying much attention and didn't see the person who was running towards me. 

When I came to, it was too late, and the force of the collision knocked me and that person down to the floor.

"Can't you watch where you're going!" The person said angrily.

"You should be the one who watches where they're going. After all, you were the one running and didn't avoid me." I retorted wth an equal frustration.

I then look at the person. It was a female with honey blond hair, wearing a training outfit and light armour. She's either a mercenary or a contestant.

"Ugh, I don't have time to argue. I need to go to the waiting room." She said as she stood up and left.

Well, that answers that question.

I continue my way to the stand

By the time I returned to the stall, the sun was starting to dip just enough to cast long shadows between the stands. The chaos had settled from hurricane to strong breeze, and our team was visibly riding the high of post-battle adrenaline and sugar dust.

And It seems the commercial stand team was also there.

"General returns," Vale announced, tossing me a grin as he leaned against a half-empty crate of tart shells. "Did you fall into the arena, or just take the long way back through noble politics?"

"Neither," I said, flashing the envelope of tickets. "But I come bearing gifts—and news."

"Wait, what is that?" Mira asked, frowning as she counted coins into a cloth pouch.

"I'll explain later," I said, slipping the envelope into my coat. "We're wrapping up soon anyway. Pack what we can sell tomorrow. No leftovers, no waste."

"Leftovers?" Syd scoffed, sweeping crumbs into a jar. "The only thing left is one lonely Count's Revenge and a quarter pitcher of Fairy Tales. Even the guards came back for seconds."

Farrah, red-cheeked and hair frizzed from heat and enchantment, collapsed onto a nearby stool. "Please tell me the surprise is sleep."

"Better," I said, hands on my hips. "But it's a surprise, so I'm not spoiling it out here. Once we're back at the orphanage, after we tally the earnings."

"Ooh, mysterious," Mia said, stirring the last of the juice into storage flasks. "Is it edible?"

"Does it sparkle?" asked Garret, balancing on the edge of the bench, foam sword still strapped to his back.

"I'm not answering any of that," I said, biting back a smile. "Clean up, load the cart, count the coins—we'll talk once we're all home. Matron Celine included."

"Now you're just being cruel," Mira muttered, but her eyes glittered with interest.

It didn't take long to close up. The cart was heavier with coin than with goods, and as we rolled it back toward the orphanage under the dimming sky, laughter echoed in tired tones from everyone around me.

There were smudges of custard on aprons, syrup on shoes, and a victorious exhaustion in every step.

We'd done it.

And once we were back, with our team gathered, our coins counted, and warm bread from Matron waiting—

That's when I'd tell them.

Tell them what I'd secured with those noble connections, those arena passes, and a whole day's worth of perfect chaos.

By the time we returned to the orphanage, the sky had turned soft with dusk, streaked in pinks and purples like the inside of one of Mira's berry tarts.

The main hall smelled faintly of dinner—vegetable stew, warm bread, and roasted something, courtesy of Matron Celine and her endless culinary wizardry. But the real feast was still to come.

Gold.

Not literal coins, though we had plenty of those. Mira, Vale, and I had counted every last piece at the kitchen table while the others changed out of flour-dusted aprons and into something less "festival-worn."

102 gold.

34 silver.

And 76 bronze.

And that was after restocking costs.

We'd earned more in a single day than the fruit stand usually made in two months.

When everyone was finally gathered, Mira nursing a mug of water, Syd slumped beside a bread basket, and Garret wearing a towel like a cape, I stood at the head of the table and cleared my throat.

"Alright," I said, holding up the now slightly wrinkled envelope from my coat. "This is the surprise."

Mira narrowed her eyes. "If it's a letter of noble complaint, I want plausible deniability."

"It's not," I said, grinning. "These are sixteen full-access passes to the Alcasa Grand Tournament. Good for every match."

There was a beat of silence.

Then an explosion.

"You're joking!" Farrah gasped.

"You stole them, didn't you?" Syd demanded. "Be honest."

"I earned them," I said, holding a hand to my heart with mock offense. "Alfon wandered off. I found him. Lady Thorne was grateful and offered me a noble seat. I asked for these instead."

"Of course, you turned a rescue mission into marketing leverage," Vale muttered, but he was grinning.

"You're giving them to us?" Mia asked.

I nodded. "All of you. You've earned it."

Cheers broke out across the room.

"However," I added, and the cheers wavered suspiciously. "There's a catch."

Groans.

I raised a finger.

"Only for the ones who were assigned to the arena stall."

Jake, Link, and Garret looked up mid-chew, alarmed.

"You three still get the tickets," I reassured, "but you also get the privilege of subtly—and not-so-subtly—promoting our stand from inside the arena."

"By... yelling?" Garret asked, hopeful.

"Not by yelling, just recommending it to people who look hungry and thirsty. In the bleachers."

Jake stared. "So we just have to do this."

"Correct."

"That's it?"

"Correct."

"You didn't lie and will ask us to steal, right?"

"Of course not."

"B—"

"Just take it as a reward," I said, with a slight smile on my face, "with a bit of a side quest."

Jake paused. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth curled into a wide, crooked smile. "Thank you, Eamond," he said, voice sincere, eyes brighter than usual. "Really."

Link, who had been balancing a bread roll on his head, suddenly perked up. "Do we get tarts too?"

"Yes. But only if you shout something like, 'Hydration fuels heroes!' at least once per match."

He immediately stood and gave me a dramatic salute. "For juice and glory!"

That was all it took.

Garret leapt up from his seat. "I'm bringing the wooden sword. I don't care if people stare."

"You have to bring the wooden sword," Jake said, already rummaging in his bag. "It's part of the brand now."

"I'm going to charm the crowd," Link declared. "Do you think I can juggle bottles of Fairy Tales without dropping them?"

"No," said everyone in unison.

Syd leaned against the table with a lazy grin, arms crossed. "This isn't even my part of the stand, and now I want to go. Can we print flyers? What if we enchant them to flap around like butterflies?"

"Let's not give the nobles heart attacks," I said, chuckling. "But enthusiasm noted."

The room was now alive with energy. The boys were buzzing, each of them shouting over the other with increasingly ridiculous ideas, while the girls was excited, but not that excited:

"I'll start a chant!"

"I'll get the fighters to endorse the drinks!"

"What if I sneak one to the announcer and they read the name out loud—'Fairy Tales for the brave!'"

"We need face paint."

"Wait, no—drink paint."

I shook my head, smiling as the conversation devolved into wild ideas and theatrical reenactments of their future arena roles.

Garret was already choreographing a routine. Jake was plotting a secret code to track crowd reactions. Syd was drawing something on the back of a napkin that looked suspiciously like a drink-powered war banner.

And for a moment—just a moment-I stood back and watched.

Proud.

Invested.

They were part of this.

Part of something bigger.

Sure, we were selling tarts and drinks. But to them, it was more than that.

It was a business we built from flour, sweat, and reckless ambition. It was a future, one coin, one cheer, one customer at a time.

And seeing their excitement now, knowing they'd carry that spirit into the arena like tiny entrepreneurs with way too much energy?

It made every sleepless night worth it.

"Well then," I said, raising my mug, "to Story Brews & Heroic Bites."

The boys all raised whatever they had in hand—bread, cups, crumpled flyers, the wooden sword, and the girls rise their cups, and even Matron Celine rised her glass

"To sugar and success!" Jake shouted.

"To citrus justice!" Link below.

"To noble confusion," Syd muttered under his breath, smirking.

We clinked everything together in a chaotic, slightly off-sync toast.

Tomorrow, they'd step into that arena not just as viewers, but as messengers, sellers, and believers in something we made together.

And if they shouted loud enough?

The whole city would believe, too.