Chapter 47: Mina, Eat Well

The contract was formed at that moment.

She became Zeheriel’s summoned creature, her will branded with an absolute mark she could never defy.

From that day on, Mine disappeared, replaced by a tool that lived only for its master.

Ten years later, when beings called “players” descended upon the Tingyue Continent through the Starfall Tower, Zeheriel—ever cautious—keenly sensed this unprecedented force.

They spoke strange languages, wore bizarre clothing, and possessed the uncanny ability to resurrect even after death.

They were a swarm of unpredictable locusts, capable of disrupting the carefully arranged game he had set.

He needed eyes.

Eyes that could blend in among them.

So, he turned his gaze toward Mine.

He began to teach her.

He made her watch the players’ images captured through his crystal ball and had her mimic their flippant and peculiar way of speaking.

He tailored for her a strange outfit the players called a “JK uniform,” with pink-highlighted silver twin-tails—the most deceptive and approachable look he had selected from countless player samples.

“From today onward, you have a new name,”

Zeheriel shoved a lollipop into her mouth, the sweetness of the candy mingling with the coldness of the contract in her mouth.

“It’s [Can I Eat a Bite of Bunny Cute?]. Remember, you’re also a player—a summoner who loves to travel and enjoys gourmet food. Your mission is to become one of them, and then, tell me everything about them.”

Mine—now [Bunny]—held the lollipop between her lips and nodded.

Her gaze was clear, her smile innocent, as if she were still that girl from the frontier town.

—

“Still hungry? Yingyue likes this, but I’m not used to the taste. Why don’t you finish it for me?”

Falusiel’s voice was soft, like the thin mist rising over a lake on a winter morning.

Her slender, pale fingers gently pushed the heavy white porcelain dinner plate forward.

The plate slid across the smooth linen tablecloth with a faint friction sound, finally coming to a steady stop in front of [Bunny].

On the plate was the Gold Iris Hotel’s most renowned signature dish—Lava Sauce Roasted Dragon Spine.

It was made from the tenderest back meat of a ground dragon, marinated with dozens of spices for twelve hours, then slow-roasted on a volcanic stone slab using the Dwarf Tribe’s secret recipe.

The surface of the dark brown dragon spine was covered with a shimmering layer of golden oil, trembling slightly from the internal heat, releasing an intense aroma that made one’s mouth water.

Most eye-catching of all was the sauce poured atop it.

The sauce was a magma-red, thick and glistening with an otherworldly sheen, as if boiling lava and radiant stars had been sealed together within it.

[Bunny]’s gaze was somewhat vacant.

Her pink-streaked silver twin-tails hung over her shoulders, and the eyes that usually sparkled with mischief and curiosity were now blank.

Her mind seemed to linger on Falusiel’s casual question, unable for a moment to process the sudden kindness before her.

This wasn’t logical.

It didn’t match any of the intel she’d gathered.

In Lord Zeheriel’s directives, Falusiel was a highly rational, extremely vigilant target with almost no emotional vulnerabilities.

The few contacts between them had all confirmed this.

Falusiel watched her quietly, ice-blue eyes like uncarved cold jade—clear, deep, and capable of reflecting all the world’s disguises.

She could tell this wasn’t a natural-born villain.

Deep in her eyes, there was none of Zeheriel’s cruel manipulation, nor the pure bloodlust of monsters.

Instead, there was a well-concealed emptiness and fatigue, like a false flower forced to bloom on barren ground—bright on the outside, yet withered within.

This was a tool.

A pathetic puppet.

Falusiel’s real enemy was the one holding the strings.

So, she made her decision.

This wasn’t mercy, but a more efficient weapon.

Sometimes, a carefully prepared hot meal could break down a person’s defenses more than the sharpest blade of ice.

Especially for a soul that had long lived within lies.

[Bunny]’s hesitation lasted only a few seconds.

She slowly accepted the knife and fork Falusiel handed over.

She speared a small piece of dragon spine drenched in lava sauce and, as if guided by unseen forces, placed it in her mouth.

…It tasted like wax.

Amid the tension, [Bunny]couldn’t enjoy the dish, even if it was the city’s most famous specialty.

But for some reason, fragments of memories from ten years ago—like tattered leaves swept by a hurricane—began to whirl chaotically before her eyes.

She thought of that frontier town, the little plot of land at home where sweet carrots could grow.

She remembered her mother—a gentle woman who could conjure delicious meals from the simplest ingredients even in the hardest of times.

Mother always said: “Mine, eat well and fill your stomach. Only then will you have the strength to keep living.”

Then everything was destroyed.

This bite of dragon spine, this sudden warmth, was like a key that effortlessly unlocked the prison her heart had long been trapped within.

The forgotten Mine—the girl who yearned for food, travel, and a real home—screamed and burst from the darkness.

Mine’s vision began to blur.

She looked into Falusiel’s ice-blue eyes, finding neither interrogation nor murderous intent as she had expected.

The gaze was calm—like a frozen lake—but beneath the surface, she seemed to see a faint, almost-understanding emotion.

She… knew everything.

It was the instinctive awareness prey had toward a hunter’s intent when all disguises became meaningless.

She saw through her identity, her lies, everything.

Yet she didn’t expose her on the spot, nor call for guards.

She simply offered a steaming plate of roasted meat.

It was crueler than any torture.

A crystalline tear slipped uncontrollably from the corner of Mine’s eye, falling onto the edge of the spotless plate and bursting into a barely audible splash.

Then the second, the third…

Tears poured like broken pearls, blurring her vision in an instant.

She chewed desperately, trying to swallow the sob rising in her throat along with the food, but it was all futile.

Grief, resentment, fear, regret, and an indescribable sense of release flooded her like a broken dam, overwhelming her completely.

She recalled reporting Falusiel’s movements to Zeheriel.

She remembered how she used her player identity to approach unsuspecting magical girls.

She remembered how she had indirectly caused the tragic ambush half a month ago.

Zhao Yingyue’s dying expression, Falusiel’s vulnerability when she lost her sword—scene after scene flashed through her mind.

She was no player.

She was a despicable spy, a traitor with hands stained in her own people’s blood.

“Ugh…”

A muffled sob escaped her lips.

She hurriedly lowered her head, letting her ridiculous twin-tails shield her face, hiding her miserable state from those around her.

Her grip on the knife and fork was so tight her knuckles turned white.

She continued to mechanically shove food into her mouth, as if it was the only thing she could do.

Hot tears mingled with the delicious sauce, burning her throat and her heart as they slid down.

She wept.

She understood that from the moment she tasted that meat, the false game was over.

And she herself—this manipulated piece—had finally reached the end of the board.