I whistled low. "That’s a lot of power."
"Yes."
"Which ans the failure penalty is going to be equally catastrophic."
Nike’s smile turned sharp. "Smart boy."
[Failure Penalties:]
Loss of 1,000 Schema Points
All Ensemble bonds drop by one rank
Permanent Title: [The Pretender] - Combat abilities permanently reduced by 15%. Enemies instinctively recognize you as a false threat.
Nike’s Curse: For one full year, you will taste defeat in your mouth before every battle. Your confidence will waver. Your allies will doubt. Victory will feel like ash even when you achieve it.
I sat back down on my bed, the weight of the quest settling over like a wet blanket.
"This isn’t just about the tournant," I said, connecting the dots. "You’re testing whether I’m worth your long-term investnt. Whether I can actually do what I claim. Build an empire. Beco soone who matters."
"Partially." Nike moved to the window, her wings catching the moonlight. "But it’s also about sending a ssage. To Seraphina. To the VHC. To everyone who thinks they can control you or predict you or use you as a chess piece in their gas."
She turned back to face , and the intensity in her eyes could’ve lted steel.
"Tomorrow, when you step into that arena, you’re not fighting for rankings. You’re fighting to prove that power doesn’t care about pedigree. That soone from Graystone Park with nothing but a bat and a bad attitude can stand equal to princesses and prodigies and legacy brats who’ve had everything handed to them since birth."
I thought about Natalia. How she’d looked at during the Crucible match, her face gone white when Reyna’s marionettes had pounded into the sand. How she’d threatened to kill herself if I died.
I thought about Emi, who’d sobbed into my shoulder while begging to put a baby inside her, who believed I was worth her complete devotion despite knowing exactly what kind of monster I was.
I thought about Skylar, who’d kissed angry and desperate, who saw through all my lies and chose to stay anyway because at least I was honest about being a scumbag.
I thought about Cel, sleeping against my chest last night, finally looking like a real person instead of a political weapon. Who’d whispered my na like a prayer and trusted with her vulnerability.
I thought about Akari, who’d declared she wanted to carry my child like a trophy, who turned everything into a competition but sohow made it feel genuine.
And I thought about the seventeen other people downstairs who’d followed into hell repeatedly because I’d convinced them we could win.
"If I accept this quest and fail," I said quietly, "it doesn’t just hurt . It destroys everyone who trusted . Natalia drops from Covenant to Subjugated. Emi loses the only thing making her feel special. The entire guild falls apart."
"Yes."
"That’s a hell of a gamble."
Nike’s smile returned, softer this ti. "Victory always is. That’s what separates champions from pretenders. Champions bet everything on themselves and win. Pretenders hedge their bets and wonder why they keep losing."
I stood again, walking to where she stood by the window. Below, the Academy grounds stretched out in darkness, dotted with lights from the other dormitories. Sowhere in one of those buildings, Julian was probably planning seventeen different ways to humiliate . Petrova was reviewing surveillance footage. Seraphina was deciding whether I was an asset or a threat.
And tomorrow, I’d have to prove them all wrong.
Or burn trying.
"The bonus objective," I said, pulling the quest details up again. "Personally defeating Julian in single combat during the finals. You’re assuming we make it to the finals."
"I’m assuming you will," Nike corrected. "Because if you don’t, you’ll be dead or broken, and this conversation becos aningless."
Fair point.
I looked at Bartholow, who’d finished his lettuce and now rested peacefully in his castle. The snail had zero concerns about cosmic quests or divine expectations. He just existed, confident in his immortality, unbothered by the weight of the world.
Must be nice.
"What does Unbreakable Will do?" I asked, because if I was going to sell my soul to another deity, I might as well know what I was buying.
Nike’s expression shifted into sothing almost reverent.
"It makes you immune to psychological manipulation. ntal attacks. Fear effects. Aspect abilities that target your mind or willpower. Anyone trying to break your spirit through supernatural ans will fail. Completely. Permanently."
She moved closer, and I realized her height put us almost eye to eye. Her voice dropped to sothing intimate, conspiratorial.
"It also ans that no one—not Apollo, not Aphrodite, not Zeus himself—can ever force a quest on you again. You’d have true free will. True agency. The ability to tell even the Author to fuck off."
Nel’s presence flickered with alarm. "Careful."
But Nike just laughed. "She already knows I’m here. She approved this visit." Her golden eyes bored into mine. "The question is whether you’re brave enough to accept. Whether you can look at those failure penalties and still say yes."
I thought about Kaelen. About the old . The enforcer who’d survived Tokyo’s underworld by betting everything on single monts, by committing completely when the odds looked worst.
I thought about the original Satori, the pathetic kid whose body I’d inherited. How he’d wanted everything but had the courage for nothing.
And I thought about who I’d beco. Sothing stitched together from both of them and pure spite. Sothing that looked at impossible odds and grinned.
"If I do this," I said, "you’re basically asking to put a target on my back. To paint a bullseye and invite every guild to take their best shot."
"I’m asking you to prove you’re worth the divine attention you’ve been receiving," Nike corrected. "To show that you’re not just another mortal playing with powers they don’t understand."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you’re smart." She shrugged, her wings rustling. "You play it safe. You aim for top three instead of first place. You survive the tournant, keep your bonds intact, and live to fight another day. It’s a perfectly reasonable choice."
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