(WLTK) B2 - Chapter 48: “Give Them A Show.”

Ok, I really need your help with this one, guys. This one really kicked my butt.

I tried to give it some flare, but I'm not sure if it turned out to rough or unclear.

What do you think? Does it need more time in the oven?

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Originally, Jeremiah had planned to host the tournament inside the Menagerie itself. The idea had seemed perfectly reasonable — until the first wave of eager registrants and those keen to buy a ticket nearly filled the café to bursting. One look at the growing crowd convinced him that the shop would never be able to contain it. Within the hour, the plan shifted, and the tournament moved to the courtyard.

The logistics, however, had been another matter. He refused to funnel people through the apartment hallway or, worse, his cluttered back rooms. So, with a weary sigh and a reluctant tap on the System Store interface, Jeremiah decided to bite the bullet and install a new doorway directly from the café to the courtyard.

Thinking back on it, he wasn’t sure why he had put it off for so long — the whole installation had been almost laughably easy. After watching the System perform one impossible miracle after another over the last month, the automated doorway kit he’d ordered had seemed virtually mundane by comparison. Yet the memory still lingered.

The moment he’d pressed purchase, a sleek silver drone had appeared in the shop with a soft electronic hum. Once he’d marked the placement for the new door, the machine had gone to work with unnerving precision. Its articulated arms had unfolded in smooth, practiced motion, rotary cutters carving a perfect outline through plaster and wood. The air had smelled faintly of burnt drywall and ozone as it lifted the entire section away in one clean piece.

Then, without hesitation, the drone had lowered the new frame into place — a prefabricated archway of oak and stone, edges already primed and fitted. Jets along its wrists had sprayed a thin bead of sealing compound that expanded, hardened, and shifted color until it blended seamlessly with the wall. By the time the machine powered down, the air was already clear, the dust gone, and a brand-new doorway stood where a solid wall had existed only minutes before.

He could still remember running his fingers along the frame once the process finished. The surface had felt cool and faintly rough, textured like old stone that had been there for decades. Even knowing it was factory-perfect, his brain kept insisting it belonged — that it had always been part of the Menagerie.

He had smiled then, half amused, half impressed. A few weeks ago, he would’ve agonized over every Mark before making a purchase like that, double-checking his ledgers and talking himself out of the expense three times before finally giving in. Now, though, spending two hundred Marks to save himself the headache barely made him blink.

He still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but amusement curled faintly at the corner of his mouth as he flicked open his System wallet.

—✦—

Quantum Marks: 6,233

—✦—

The sight drew a low whistle from his lips. Even if nearly a third of that came from two weeks of careful saving, earning 4,155 Marks in a single day was unbelievable. He leaned back against the counter, grin tugging wider as the sounds of the festival drifted in through the new doorway — the hum of voices, the pulse of distant music, and the mingled scent of sugar glaze, roasted beans, and rain-damp air.

Such was the power of a festival.

Now, with the glowing countdown on the overhead screens ticking down toward five minutes, people were starting to file through it in droves. Families, vendors, and even a few uniformed Kindergarten guards took up spots along the perimeter, hands tucked into jackets, eyes scanning the growing crowd. Jeremiah followed them through, brushing shoulders with excited spectators as the murmur of voices swelled.

Once outside, Jeremiah could see the courtyard had been transformed.

Where he had once looked out on a patchwork of pavers and planter beds, there now stretched a small stage — ringed by strings of lights and the makeshift seatings. The ash tree at its center rose like a living pillar, its branches heavy with ribbons and paper charms that fluttered in the breeze. Beneath them, the crowd pressed close in a wide circle, laughter and chatter rolling like surf against the old stone walls. The scent of damp soil and roasted sugar lingered in the air from the nearby stalls in the alley.

It had taken less than a week to turn the quiet courtyard into this.

The light had changed out here — softer, filtered through the high branches overhead. A light mist still hung in the air, turning every shout and laugh into something almost golden. Somewhere near the front, Mero zipped past in a trail of silver, shouting something indistinct over the din before disappearing toward the tree.

“Jeremiah!”

A high, bright voice carried over the noise.

He turned just in time to see Stella weaving through the crowd, her skirt swishing like a bell as she ran. The girl’s floral dress burst with color — reds and yellows blooming against the fabric like a garden in motion. A single sunflower gleamed in her hair, its stem coiled perfectly around the braid that framed her cheek. He blinked, realizing that the flower’s stem was woven into her braid in such a way he suspected she had used a Minor Floramancy talisman to do so. It seemed Lewis’s lessons were paying off.

Right behind her, two small shapes darted through the press of legs.

Tish and Tosh came bounding up with bright, unrestrained energy, tails wagging hard enough to throw off their balance. Tosh’s little vest, dark green and pinstriped, gave him the air of a mischievous ringmaster. Tish, in contrast, wore a puffed blue dress that looked one wrong jump away from disaster. A tiny rose of the same color had been tied neatly around one ear — Jeremiah would’ve bet money Stella had a hand in that, too.

And lumbering faithfully in their wake came Milo.

The old hound dog moved at his own deliberate pace, tongue lolling slightly as he plodded forward. Someone — probably Mani — had outfitted him in a sleek black vest complete with a miniature bowtie. The words STAGE SECURITY gleamed in white embroidery along his side. A pair of mirrored sunglasses perched crookedly across his muzzle, making him look every bit the veteran bodyguard of some high-profile act.

Jeremiah couldn’t help it — he laughed.

“Look at you lot,“ he said, crouching just enough to ruffle both pups’ ears. Tish’s dress wobbled dangerously as she squirmed under his hand, and Tosh gave an approving bark that earned them both a soft chuckle. He reached out and gave Milo’s vest a quick pat. “And you’re looking sharp as ever, sir. Don’t let any rowdy bugs past the line, alright?”

Milo gave a single solemn wag of his tail, as if confirming orders.

Jeremiah straightened just as Stella reached him, breathless but grinning ear to ear. She grabbed his sleeve, eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement that could’ve lit the lamps all on its own.

“Hurry up!“ she urged, tugging on his arm with surprising strength. “Mani’s about to start! We need you on stage!”

Jeremiah followed Stella through the shifting tide of bodies, her hand a small, insistent weight tugging him forward through the crowd.

The crowd pressed close near the stage, where two long tables had been arranged on either side of a raised platform. Between them, perched on its own polished pedestal, stood the Arena Arcadium.

Mani stood beside it, straight-backed, mic in hand, and far more composed than Jeremiah had ever seen him. His dark suit caught the glow of the Arcadium, trim, sharp, boots polished.

For a heartbeat, Jeremiah’s brow rose, and he smirked — the design was almost identical to his Shopkeeper’s Regalia, though tailored to fit a twelve-year-old who had absolutely no right looking that confident.

The noise of the courtyard dipped as the mic crackled to life.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and future beetle barons!“ Mani’s voice boomed through the speakers, bright and brimming with energy. “Welcome to the first-ever Interstellar Coleoptera Battle League District Tournament — right here in the Outskirts!”

A roar answered him — cheers, whistles, scattered claps that rolled across the courtyard like a breaking wave. Mani grinned, soaking in the noise, his showman’s instincts kicking in. When the applause faded, he gave a dramatic sweep of his arm toward the Arcadium.

“For those new to the scene — and judging by this crowd, that’s most of you — the ICBL is all about skill, wit, and just a touch of luck. Each contestant has raised, trained, or bonded with their own beetle partner, and today they’ll be putting those bonds to the test in one-on-one matches inside this beauty right here.“ His palm landed on the Arcadium’s rim. “The Arena Arcadium — powered by the Mystical Menagerie itself, courtesy of our very own Mr. Bridge!”

A second cheer followed, this one rougher and good-natured. Jeremiah lifted a hand in embarrassed acknowledgment as Mani continued.

“Now, I’m sure many of you are thinking,“ Mani said, pacing as he spoke, “What’s so great about watching some bugs fight? Well, let me stop you there, for this isn’t just any old bug fight! This is the ICBL! Where legends are made!”

The screens floating above the stage flickered. Familiar footage from the earlier test fight came to life: the Ferrospark male, its gleaming horn shining in the simulated sunlight, its mandibles clashing against the massive Goliath Bark Beetle whose shell shone like burnished wood. The crowd gasped, the screen’s hum casting flashes of gold and azure across upturned faces. Sparks burst in miniature flames and flares as the Ferrospark lunged.

Sam — or someone else — must have polished up the footage, because even Jeremiah found himself leaning slightly forward, despite knowing the outcome.

The footage ended on a freeze-frame — both beetles locked mid-strike — before the screens blinked back to the live feed. Mani spun toward the crowd with the easy rhythm of someone who’d practiced this in a mirror.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for — let’s meet our contenders!”

Music blared, a fast, pulsing beat that thumped in Jeremiah’s chest. From the wings of the stage, a line of contestants filed in — thirty-two in all. Most were kids barely into their teens, faces pale and nervous under the lights, each holding a small case or terrarium clutched protectively to their chests. But among them stood a handful of others: a woman in her twenties with grease stains on her overalls; a lanky boy with half his hair dyed blue; and, at the very end of the line, an elderly man with a cane so warped it looked ready to snap. He grinned toothlessly at the crowd, holding a jar that rattled faintly with motion.

Jeremiah couldn’t help smiling.

Mani spread his arms, letting the applause wash over the stage. “There they are, folks! The bravest, boldest, and — let’s be honest — most reckless bug tamers the Outskirts have to offer! Each one will be vying for a chance to claim the title of District Champion!”

He paused for effect, letting the buzz of voices fill the space again before continuing, “Of course, what’s a tournament without prizes, right? This event wouldn’t have been possible without the generous support of our sponsors — the good people of the Market Street Collection!”

He gestured toward the front of the crowd, where a group of shopkeepers stood together — familiar faces all. Jeremiah spotted Mrs. Vaughn from the apothecary, two of the brothers from the Crossroads Deli, even Sally and her husband from the grocery across from Jeremiah’s shop, gathered around the unmistakable bulk of Ulrick. The baker raised his hand, a broad grin cutting through his beard, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Mani raised his mic again, laughing over the noise.

Mani turned toward the floating screens with a theatrical sweep of his hand. The crowd quieted, the hum of anticipation thick as the image above the stage flickered and shifted — lines of bright text blossoming across the projection. Numbers and icons scrolled past in neat columns, each accompanied by the shimmer of gold and silver borders.

The list gleamed in the air for all to see — stacks of prize money, shimmering voucher icons, and even a large, fancy terrarium like the ones lining store walls. Each item glowed with its own small allure: one-line descriptions and placement, from 1st all the way down to 10th place. Even those who didn’t place were rewarded with a participation prize of a 20% off voucher redeemable at any store on Market Street.

Jeremiah could feel the shift ripple through the crowd — that edge of disbelief, the breath caught between awe and hunger. The Outskirts weren’t destitute, but they weren’t far from it either. For many, even the smallest of those vouchers could mean a month of comfort. For the kids in the front rows, it meant something rarer still — possibility.

Beside him, Mero gave a low whistle, wings flicking. “You’re not making it easy to top this next year, shopkeep.”

Mani, for his part, soaked in the reaction like sunlight. “Give it up for the folks who keep the Outskirts running — and for putting their wallets where their hearts are!”

The crowd cheered again.

“But…“ His voice dropped a note, sly and conspiratorial. “That’s not all.”

He turned toward Jeremiah with a grin sharp enough to catch light. “Because the Mystical Menagerie itself has prepared a grand prize for our lucky top three!”

Dozens of faces turned at once. Jeremiah blinked, caught mid-thought, then let out a breath and stepped forward, his Regalia glinting faintly under the strings of lanterns. The crowd’s chatter dimmed as he mentally swiped open the faint blue pane of his System interface.

A faint hum rippled through the air. Then, with a soft shimmer, three pedestals shimmered into being along the stage’s edge. Atop each rested a small wooden box, dark and ornate, carved with whorls of flowing patterns that gleamed faintly.

The crowd leaned forward. Someone near the front let out a quiet whoa.

Mani took a half-step forward, grinning. “For our second and third-place contestants…”

Jeremiah lifted the two side lids in unison. A silvery sheen lit his face — twin orbs resting in beds of pale ash, each no bigger than a marble. The light within them pulsed softly, swirling like captured storm light. Gasps broke from the front rows.

“Each will receive their very own Ferrospark egg!“ Mani declared, his voice booming.

The reaction was instant — a chorus of cheers. I seemed the squirrel-sized beetle with a knife for a face had left an impression on the crowd. Even Nic’s sharp profile, visible at the edge of the crowd, tilted in faint approval.

But Mani wasn’t finished.

“And for our Champion…“ He drew out the pause just long enough for the crowd to still again, “…the grand prize!”

Jeremiah set his hand on the central lid and lifted.

Light spilled across his fingers.

The orb inside glowed gold — not the dull, metallic hue of coin, but radiant, alive, as though a sunrise had been caught beneath its surface. The crowd drew in a collective breath. The swirling light within it pulsed, deeper and slower than the silver eggs, each beat like the echo of a living heart.

“The egg of a Ferrospark Matron!“ Mani shouted, raising the mic skyward.

The children near the front nearly climbed the rope barricade, trying to get a closer look, while even the stoic Kindergarten guards shared a look that bordered on impressed.

Mani waited, basking in the wave of noise until it began to fade into laughter and chatter. Then he straightened, mic lowering back to his lips. “And with that, my fine friends…”

He grinned wide enough to show teeth. “It’s time to begin!”

He raised his free hand and snapped his fingers.

A sharp crack split the air — followed by a flash of movement from above. A green shadow dropped from the canopy like a stone, landing in a crouch behind him with a thud that shook the stage boards.

Gasps rippled outward.

Maddie, the Tangled Lynx, rose from her crouch, fur rippling in waves of dark emerald and charcoal. A lit torch was gripped delicately in her jaws, its flame reflected in her golden eyes. She padded forward, fluid as smoke.

Mani turned, smile never wavering. “Thank you, Maddie.”

He plucked the torch from her mouth with an easy flourish and strode toward the Arena Arcadium at the stage’s center. The reflection of the flame gleamed along its carved rim.

“Let the tournament…“ he announced, pausing for breath as the crowd leaned in. Then, voice ringing clear, “Begin!”

He touched the torch to the small brazier atop the Arcadium.

Light burst outward — not a flash, but a wave of color and motion. The brazier flared bright gold, and the Arcadium itself seemed to come alive, splitting apart like unfolding origami. Ribbons of wood, stone, and glowing light rose from its surface, twining through the air before streaming outward across the stage.

The crowd roared, half in awe, half in disbelief, as the pieces reassembled in perfect symmetry along the two long tables.

When the light finally dimmed, four miniature arenas gleamed on each table — eight in total — their surfaces marked by glowing runes and tiny metallic ridges that pulsed like veins of light.

Mero smirked and turned to Jeremiah. “Say what you want, but the kid knows how to put on a show.”