NOVEL NEXT B2. Chapter 21: Thirteen Days to Save Everything. Again. No Pressure Though
The walk from the Premier Guest Suite to the Great Hall took exactly thirteen minutes—Mo knew because she'd counted every second since leaving Emily's arms, like some lovesick teenager who'd just discovered that scientists could literally cure magical plagues while looking unfairly good in morning light.
Each step took Mo further from the warmth of Emily's arms and closer to the cold reality of Tournament politics. Her skin still tingled where Emily had touched her, and her succubus powers leaked out in visible wisps of energy that made passing students suddenly remember urgent appointments in the opposite direction. A first-year actually walked into a pillar trying to avoid her path, then apologized to the pillar.
"You're glowing," Nyx observed. "Literally. There's rose-gold energy trailing behind you like perfume."
"Shut up," Mo muttered, trying to tamp down her powers.
"Oh, this is delicious." Nyx's form shimmered through several dramatic poses—spurned lover, scandalized auntie, delighted gossip. "Our goblin revolution prophet, undone by a night of… wait, let me guess the genre. Romance? Scientific collaboration? Romantic scientific collaboration? Your aura's doing that thing where it can't decide between 'professional respect' and 'please kiss me again'."
"Nothing happened," Mo said quickly. Too quickly.
"Mmm-hmm." Nyx's grin could have lit a dragon's forge. "That's why you look like someone who definitely got eight hours of innocent, nothing-happened sleep."
They paused, their expression shifting. "You know, it's almost like when you and Jul…"
Nyx stopped abruptly, their form actually flickering with dismay as they realized what they'd been about to say. "Oh. Oh, Seven Hells, Mo, I didn't mean…"
"It's fine."
"No, it's not. That was..." Nyx shifted into something smaller, more apologetic. "That was incredibly insensitive. Julian is the last person you need to be thinking about right now."
"Maybe he's exactly who I should be thinking about," Mo said, surprising herself with the admission. "I fell for a brilliant researcher during a crisis once before. Look how that turned out."
"Mo, no." Nyx's form solidified, reaching out to grasp her arm. "Emily is nothing like him. She's not using you, she's not hiding some grand plan…"
"How can we be sure?" Mo's voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't see it with Julian either. Not until it was too late."
Nyx was quiet for a moment, then: "You're right. You didn't see it with Julian. But you know what? Neither did I, and I'm literally a walking deception. Maybe with a bit more style than he was. Still, he fooled us all, even the faculty. That's not on you."
"Alright, let's focus," Mo said as if to herself. "Results first, emotional crisis later."
***
The Great Hall was already packed when they arrived, its vaulted ceiling adjusting height based on the collective power level of assembled students—currently stretched thin trying to accommodate several ego-inflated legacy students whose actual magical ability couldn't light a candle. The gothic columns sulked at having to work overtime. Students clustered in faction groups, voices rising and falling like tide patterns as rumors spread. At the center of it all, the results board shimmered with barely contained magic, numbers and names rearranging themselves as final calculations processed.
FIRST TASK RESULTS - REVOLUTIONARY SUPPRESSION STRATEGIES
The golden letters materialized slowly, dramatically, because even Academy infrastructure had a flair for theater.
Morgana Nightshade - 94 points
Territory retained: 100%
Casualties: 0
Economic projection: +347% revenue
Innovation bonus: +15 points
Violence penalty: UNDER REVIEW
Mo's heart stopped. Under review. The two words that could destroy everything.
Cordelia Emberclaw - 87 points
Territory retained: 100%
Casualties: 12 (surgical elimination)
Economic projection: +89% revenue
Efficient brutality bonus: +10 points
Lucian Frostbrook - 83 points
Territory retained: 97%
Casualties: 1 (natural causes, assisted)
Economic projection: +156% revenue
Poetic justice bonus: +8 points
Marcus Darkmore - 78 points
Territory retained: 89%
Casualties: 17,000+
Economic projection: -67% (workforce eliminated)
Traditional methods bonus: +5 points
The list continued, and both Nyx and Valerius were not too far from the top ten.
"Seventeen thousand casualties and he still gets a bonus?" Nyx said incredulously. "That's not even efficient evil. That's just bad middle management with a body count. Any estate that lost that many workers would…" They paused. "Actually, that explains a lot about why we have Cape Swirling as a mandatory course."
"Traditional methods," Lucian said, arriving with frost patterns spiraling around his collar—a sure sign of stress. "The Academy rewards what it's always rewarded. Mo's approach challenges that."
Before anyone could respond further, the board shimmered again, the text rearranging itself with deliberate slowness.
TOURNAMENT STANDINGS - CUMULATIVE POINTS
Mo's stomach dropped as she scanned the list.
Cordelia Emberclaw - 326 points
First Task: 87 points
Winter Ball: 239 points
Of course. Cordelia had practically owned the Winter Ball, collecting points like dragon's gold. For the same reason, Valerius held second place, even if his first Task score wasn't perfect. Mo kept reading, her eyes moving down the list. Third place, fifth, tenth, fifteenth...
Morgana Nightshade - 94 points
First Task: 94 points
Winter Ball: [SCORE EXPUNGED]
The brackets around her Ball points seemed to pulse with malicious intent. Not zero. Not lost. Expunged. As if they'd never existed at all.
"Twenty-second," Mo whispered. "I'm in twenty-second place."
"Out of forty-five contestants," Nyx pointed out, though their usual cheer sounded forced. "That's still upper half."
"Barely," Valerius said. "And without those Ball points..."
As soon as Valerius joined them, Mo noticed how Lucian's frost patterns immediately shifted from chaotic stress spirals to elegant geometric designs—like anxiety represented in a chart. Valerius unconsciously angled his body to shield the ice demon from the crowd's jostling, while pretending to examine his perfectly manicured nails. Their pinkies were exactly one centimeter apart. Mo had been a barista long enough to recognize 'we're definitely not dating' distance when she saw it.
"The real question," Valerius continued, his aristocratic drawl carrying perfectly calculated concern, "is who requested the review."
"Oh, that would be me."
They turned to find Dorian approaching, Darian at his side with a scroll and a quill, making notes on the go.
"You?" Mo kept her voice level, though her powers stirred with irritation. "How could you even do that?"
"Someone had to point out the obvious manipulation," Dorian said, loud enough for nearby students to hear. His voice carried that particular tone of righteous indignation that only came from people whose families had been manipulating systems for so long they'd copyrighted several techniques. "Drawing blood? That may be violence. Drawing blood for a signing? That's just a bureaucratic procedure. Regardless of what you want it to look like. So, I used my family's connections in the High Council..."
"That were already quite eager to find more grounds to push on my provisional status," Mo finished.
Darian's enchanted quill moved across his parchment with practiced speed. She could already see tomorrow's headline: NIGHTSHADE ADMITS TO MANIPULATING TOURNAMENT RULES.
"Careful," Darian said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Everything you say here is on record. The Academy Tribune has quite a reach these days. Even some Council members started reading my newspaper after we broke news about your shenanigans a few weeks ago."
The threat was obvious. Dorian had connections, Darian had a platform, and together they could shape the narrative around Mo's methods. Truth had never been a particular concern for demon journalism—sensationalism sold papers, and scandal sold even better.
"Speaking of narratives," a familiar voice cut through the tension. Cordelia appeared in a swirl of scales and barely contained violence. "I have a wonderful quote for your little tabloid. 'Dragon nobility consumes a few reactionary demons.' How's that for a headline?"
Darian paled slightly. Even tabloid journalists knew better than to directly antagonize dragons.
"Now then," Cordelia continued, her vertical pupils dilating with predatory interest, "let's discuss what really matters. The bloodletting. As this non-competing brat mentioned, the High Council sources are leaning toward dismissing it as bureaucratic procedure—which would be disastrous for Mo."
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She pulled out what looked like an ancient scroll. "There are some bylaws that weren't used since my great-aunt was a student here. We just need to argue that the bloodletting was violence—calculated, minimal, but still violence. It satisfied the task requirements without the normative massacre."
"You're defending her?" Dorian said incredulously. "I thought dragons were not the ones to jump the gun."
"Careful there, if you really don't want to be eaten," she smiled with that smile that had too many sharp teeth. "I'm defending my business interests. And I should mention that my family has already filed an official statement supporting Nightshade's approach. We have significant investments to protect, after all."
The surrounding crowd had grown, drawing students and even some faculty members drawn to the drama. Mo spotted Professor Malvoria watching from the shadows, her expression unreadable.
"Investments," Dorian said, his voice dripping contempt. "Is that what we're calling populist goblin-loving propaganda now?"
"Not only that," added Darien. "I heard that a certain human consultant was seen near the Premier Guest Suite last evening. Mo, do you have anything to say about that?"
"That suite is also one of our investments," Cordelia said, loud enough for the gathering crowd. "We sponsor this Academy quite well to have some additional benefits."
Darian's enchanted quill practically vibrated with excitement as he scribbled.
"Oh, so what is it?" he asked, his tone predatory. "Dragon nobility steals a human pet from a succubus, or is it another investment in the notorious D.E.V.I.O.U.S. framework? The optics alone…"
"Are nobody's business," Mo snapped, feeling her powers stir beneath her skin, rose-gold energy beginning to leak at the edges of her control.
"Oh, but they are," Darian countered, his quill never stopping. "I should say I really enjoy that interaction. So, did I misread the scene? A demon noble—provisional or not—forming intimate bonds with lesser races? The traditionalists will have a field day. 'NIGHTSHADE'S HUMAN FETISH: WEAKNESS OR PERVERSION?' I can see the headline now."
Mo's magic flared, the temperature around her spiking as her succubus bloodline responded to the insult. The rose-gold energy took on shapes that were decidedly not professional—for a moment, everyone within five meters got a magical projection of exactly how Mo felt about Emily's hands, before she wrestled it back into vague, angry swirls. Three students dropped their books. One started fanning themselves, their cheeks suddenly very red.
"Careful," Dorian warned with false concern. "Losing control in public? I don't think your fellow succubi would thank you if their campus privileges were limited even more than before. That's exactly the kind of instability the High Council wouldn't want to see from provisional leaders."
The energy around Mo intensified, her rage building toward something explosive…
"Mo." Lucian's hand touched her shoulder, frost meeting heat in a hiss of steam. "Not here. Not now."
"He's right," Valerius murmured from her other side, his aristocratic calm a counterpoint to her fury. "This is what they want. Don't give them the satisfaction."
Nyx materialized between Mo and the provocateurs, their form shifting into something vaguely threatening. "Besides, if anyone's going to cause a scene, it should be me. I'm better at it."
The gentle pressure from her friends—Lucian's frost cooling the rage in her blood, Valerius's steady presence anchoring her to reason, Nyx positioned like a shield between her and her enemies—helped Mo wrestle her power back under control. She pressed her feet firmly into the ground, feeling the solid stone beneath her boots. Five things she could see: the board, Lucian's concerned face, students backing away, Darian's quill, sunlight through the windows. Four things she could touch: the floor, her sleeve, Lucian's cold hand, the air growing cooler. Three things she could hear: whispers, her own heartbeat slowing, someone's nervous laugh.
The grounding technique worked, pulling her back from the edge. Each sensory anchor helped dissipate the rose-gold energy crackling under her skin, dispersing it harmlessly into the air.
"How touching," Darian observed, still writing. "The troublemaker requires handlers to maintain basic composure."
Before Mo could respond, the board shimmered again, drawing everyone's attention back to the results. The 'SCORE EXPUNGED' notation beside her violence penalty pulsed ominously, still unresolved.
"They're taking their time with the review," Dorian observed with satisfaction. "Perhaps they're debating whether to disqualify you entirely."
"Or perhaps," Cordelia interjected, "they're going to recognize new approaches when they see more of Mo's actions in the upcoming tasks. Don't think that only you have connections on the High Council."
The board flickered once more, new text materializing beneath the standings:
SECOND TASK ANNOUNCEMENT
The golden letters seemed to pulse with their own light, commanding attention from the entire hall.
TASK TWO: DIPLOMATIC CRISIS RESOLUTION
Date: Yule Eve (13 days, 23 hours, 42 minutes left)
Nature: Multi-faction negotiation under extreme pressure
Special Parameters: CLASSIFIED UNTIL TASK COMMENCEMENT
Warning: This task will utilize advanced simulation magic drawing from current political situations
Additional Warning: External consultation prohibited
Final Warning: Failure conditions include war declaration, loss of life among the ruling class, pocket dimension collapse, or a diplomatic incident resulting in a casualty rate exceeding 30%
Mo stared at the board's warnings. "So just to be clear, the failure conditions include: starting a war, killing aristocrats, destroying reality, or... achieving a 30% casualty rate. But 29% casualties would be fine?"
"Institutional standards," Valerius said with the tone of someone who'd given up trying to understand Academy logic. "They had to draw the line somewhere."
"They drew it at 30%," Mo said flatly. "That's not a line. That's a suggestion with genocidal wiggle room."
"But that's a very conservative approach. Traditional," Valerius said quietly. "I'm not really surprised."
"Threats, bribes, and playing sides against each other," Lucian finished. "While Mo's approach..."
"Is too humane and would involve trying to find common ground between groups that have been enemies for centuries," Mo said, staring at the board as her violence penalty remained stubbornly unresolved.
***
Later, in a quiet corner of the Academy's vast library, Mo's inner circle gathered around a table covered in political theory texts and magical governance treatises. Someone even brought a coffee pot—real Earth coffee—and the familiar scent helped ground Mo's spiraling anxiety, though she couldn't help but notice how many more students were drinking it lately. The Academy's tea purists had been in an uproar for days.
"Have you seen this? Picked it up at the entrance," Valerius asked, sliding the library's copy of yesterday's Academy Tribune across the table. The headline read: COFFEE CRAZE OR SUCCUBUS PLOT? The Nightshade Empire's Most Insidious Export
Below it, Darian's byline introduced an "investigative piece" suggesting that coffee's addictive properties were perfectly suited to a succubus's manipulation tactics. He'd even interviewed a professor of Botanical Warfare who claimed that "caffeine dependency creates an emotional vulnerability that certain demonic subspecies could theoretically exploit."
The article included a helpful diagram showing how "bean-based mind control" worked, complete with arrows pointing to various parts of a coffee cup labeled things like "dopamine hijacking zone" and "free will dissolution accelerator." Someone had already graffitied "THIS IS JUST CAFFEINE YOU DRAMATIC WALNUT" across the article.
"Theoretically exploit," Mo muttered. "As if I need coffee to influence people when I have actual powers."
"It's actually quite clever," Nyx admitted grudgingly. "He's taking something true—the coffee trade is exploding—and twisting it into something sinister."
"The worst part is it's working," Lucian said, gesturing to a group of students at a nearby table who were eyeing their coffee cups suspiciously. "I heard three different people today wondering if their newfound coffee preference was 'natural' or 'influenced.'"
Mo picked up her own cup, swirling the dark liquid thoughtfully. "You know... maybe we should let them think that."
Everyone turned to stare at her.
"Mo, no," Valerius said immediately. "You just spent months establishing that you're not using your powers to manipulate…"
"But if they're going to believe it anyway," Mo interrupted, a slow smile spreading across her face, "why not use their paranoia to our advantage? We've done it before. Remember the Ball? And even before that, after my… outburst. Sometimes the best way to handle ridiculous accusations is to lean into them just enough to make your opponents look foolish."
"That's... actually not terrible," Nyx admitted. "If everyone thinks coffee is your secret weapon, they'll be so focused on that, they'll miss your actual strategies."
"Speaking of actual strategies," Mo said, setting down her cup with deliberate care, "we need to focus on what they're really planning. The coffee conspiracy is just Darian's latest distraction piece. The real deal is Task Two."
Lucian nodded, ice crystals forming on the table as his stress manifested. "They know exactly what they're doing with the timing. Yule Eve—when everyone's exhausted from the term, guards are down... The challenge will not be as straightforward as the first one."
"And when most students' families are expecting good news," Valerius finished. "The pressure will be immense."
"They're going to simulate something relevant to our experiences," Mo said, forcing herself to focus on the more immediate threat. "Or something close enough to that. Force us to choose between what we chose for our methods and winning."
"Then we prepare for that," Lucian said, frost patterns spreading across his notepad as he sketched scenarios. "We analyze every possible governance crisis they could throw at you."
"In thirteen days," Nyx pointed out, their form shifting into something dramatically elongated as they gestured at the Tribune. "While also dealing with whatever deliciously nefarious sabotage Darian has planned on behalf of his darling cousin. Speaking of which…" They paused mid-flourish, their expression shifting. "Did anyone else notice how supportive they were of each other in the past few days and especially during the results announcement? For moral support, obviously. Family solidarity and all that."
"Darian was definitely... attentive," Lucian said carefully. "But it is probably understandable. Dorian wouldn't stop complaining about how he was wronged to anyone who'd listen. And there are fewer and fewer of those with every hour."
"Attentive! Yes! Exactly the word!" Nyx's form erupted into a cascade of colors that suggested they were overcompensating. "Cousinely attentive! Supporting his family's honor after that devastating Ball incident. You know, when Dorian made his position on... fluidity... so abundantly, dramatically, publicly clear by literally fleeing from my magnificent masculine presentation."
Mo exchanged glances with Valerius and Lucian. They'd all noticed the way Darian had positioned himself protectively near Dorian, the way their hands had almost touched several times, the shared looks that suggested something far more intimate than cousin concern.
"Right," Valerius said carefully. "Family support. Nothing else."
"Precisely!" Nyx's form solidified into something aggressively cheerful, with far too many sparkles. "Because Dorian—sweet, rigid, traditionally-minded Dorian—would rather eat glass than associate with someone who doesn't fit his narrow definition of acceptable. He made that crystal clear when he chose public humiliation over dancing with me." They laughed, high and bright and slightly manic. "There's absolutely no way he'd ever... that he could possibly..."
They stopped, seeming to realize they were practically glowing with dark defensive energy. If that was even possible.
"Whatever their connection," Lucian said diplomatically, "they're coordinating against Mo. That's what matters right now. We'd figure everything else in due time. Right?"
"They're definitely coordinating," Mo agreed, deciding not to push Nyx on this particular blindspot. Not yet. "Darian gets headlines, Dorian gets revenge. Classic mutual exploitation."
"Speaking of headlines," Nyx said, clearly eager to change subjects, here's another one for you. From today.
EXCLUSIVE: NIGHTSHADE'S SECRET MAGICAL PLAGUE CONNECTION—SAVIOR OR THREAT?
Below it, a smaller headline: Inside Sources Reveal The Goblin Prophet's Romance with Human Researcher—Full Details Page 3
"Inside sources?" Mo groaned. "Goblin Prophet?!?"
"We can't deny that to Darian, he truly has some good sources," Valerius said. "But then, walls have ears here. Literally, in some cases. I know for sure that the gargoyles have been selling gossip to Darian for weeks."
"But we were careful… And Cordelia said the Suite is surveillance-proofed."
Before anyone could respond, a raven materialized on their table. Mo immediately recognized one of the Blackthorn Keep messengers. It dropped a sealed letter before launching into the air and flying away with a dramatic screech.
Mo broke the seal, recognizing Grimz's handwriting immediately.