THE PATH LEADING DOWN the alleyway was a straight shot from the narrow street, but it was still quite long, nearly the length of a football pitch if one had to guess. It ran parallel to another path that intersected with oncoming traffic. Due to the constant urban noise, this location was ideal for muggings as very few would be able to heed what transpired in this brick and cement-layered labyrinth. 

There she stood, surrounded by six men dressed in oddly color-coordinated outfits, blocking the long trail leading out onto the main road. The troublesome bunch had managed to chase her around the city and into a dead end. It was bound to happen since she didn't exactly know her way around the place. But the timing of it all couldn’t be any more inconvenient.

With no hope for escape in sight, she could only stand there with her back to the wall. She internally fumed at her incompetence.

Brilliant! First, you burn your only uniform blouse on the iron board the day before school starts, and then ya go and get yourself lost the day of?! Brilliant. Just brilliant!

The girl then surveyed her surroundings. The alley's end was old, dark, and dusty, but it was also quite broad and spacious. However, based on the boarded-up windows and soot-covered brick walls that permeated her hands, it was clear that the area had not been cared for in quite some time. She was surprised to learn that even a city as large as this one can be slow to maintain its infrastructure.

When her father raised the idea of studying in this city—Marlia City, the renowned Academia Capital of the World—this had to be the furthest thing from what she was expecting. Daytona Fields had only recently arrived here and yet her preconceived notions of the place were beginning to fade quickly. It’d been only two weeks since the move and by now she was already thinking of just packing all her shit up and flying back home. 

“Well, well. It looks like someone’s a bit lost.”

“She can’t be from around here, mate. Half of these alleys lead to dead-ends. Every local knows that...”

“I bet she’s probably the rebellious daughter of some business tycoon. Her type is always bound to be loaded.”

Grinning sheepishly, Daytona looked away and thought, Actually, most of da’s funds were blown on my school tuition, so…

Her eyes then studied her pursuers. Some grinned mischievously at her, while others were sweating profusely and struggling to catch their breath. She'd be in the same boat if she chose to wear a leather jacket in this weather. This was precisely why keeping up with local forecasts was always beneficial.

Daytona examined them more closely and noticed that each of their jackets had unique emblems embroidered on the right side collars. Three of them bore the shape of lime, black, and white-colored caterpillars. Two of them resembled light green chrysalises. And the last one was shaped like a butterfly with black, orange, and white wings.

A monarch…? Her throat tightened as she realized who these thugs were. No way… She had heard that the riffraff was run out ages ago by factions belonging to Requiem and Phoenix respectively. Both schools and their foreign relations committee had assured worried parents that gang activity would be “the least of their worries” and that their children would be “safe and sound”. 

Which begged the question—what the hell are they doing back here?! It was here that she discovered that schools will say almost anything to increase their enrollment. Even if it means lying through their teeth. 

“Now, now, fellas, no need to frighten the poor girl.” Her eyes landed on the shortest bloke in the bunch. He was human, Caucuskan, looked to be somewhere in his early to mid-twenties with black hair styled into an inhumanly large pompadour that bobbed up and down as he spoke. The swirl at the top reminded Daytona of a jelly roll. He wore black sunglasses and a toothpick stuck out lazily from the right corner of his mouth. 

“Alls we’re lookin’ for is a bit of your time, young lady.”

Daytona needed to get the hell out of there as soon as she possibly could. Someone like her, with a massive mana pool, should have been able to put away six thugs with relative ease, but she still wasn't skilled enough to do so on her own. Daytona also didn’t want to give these thugs the satisfaction that they’d rattled her. So she decided to play it cool and bide her time until an opportunity to escape presented itself.  

“And what exactly can I do for you fellas on this fine mornin’?” she asked as cooly and calmly as humanly possible.

The Jellyroll Man stepped forward with his hands in his jacket pockets. “Hm, well, ya see, we’re a bit strapped for cash at the moment. And we wanted to know if you could spare a little change.” He rubbed the back of his head apologetically. “Think that request is something you can honor?” 

He spoke in what was probably the thickest Brookville accent she had ever heard. Though, she figured she was one to talk about unique accents, being from across the gulf and all. Given the butterfly emblem on the short man’s jacket, she surmised that he must be the leader of this merry band.

Still, there was a glaring issue here that she simply couldn't ignore.

“Wait… Is that why you lot chased me all over the city block? For money?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Really? So out of the thousands of people walking around us, youse settled on me?” 

“Yep. Honest to Mother.” 

“Yeah, invoking the name of our Goddess doesn’t make what you’re doing any less of a crime,” the girl pointed out.

“Now, hold on there, sweetheart.” The Jellyroll Man raised his hands in protest. “Who said anything about a crime?” He glanced over at his mates. “We doing a crime, fellas?”

““Uh-uh!”” They all shook their heads in unison. Daytona rolled her eyes. Anyone could tell they had this routine rehearsed for their potential victims. 

“All we’re askin’ for is a bit of change to help us get by for a bit,” explained The Jellyroll Man. “Our buddy, Craig here recently hurt his hand trying to bust through a wind—knitting a sweater for his moms…”

He totally just retconned his story on the fly…

“...so we need to get him some gauze or somethin’ till we get him some proper care.”

As the Jellyroll Man finished speaking, Daytona’s eyes flicked over to the taller lad who couldn’t have been much older than her. He had messy green hair and weasel-like eyes. A diamond-studded earring adorned his left ear.  His jacket bore the design of a monarch caterpillar, and it appeared to be made of organza fabric that reflected the little sunlight that shone into the back alley. 

Sure enough, the guy was favoring his right hand. She could make out a few cuts and bruises on his knuckles and swelling near his pinky. 

“He has minor cuts, but they aren't deep enough to necessitate the use of gauze,” Daytona concluded. “What your lad needs, is a healing spell.”

“What, you some kind of healing expert, girlie?” Craig, the green-haired lad scoffed. He was starting to look annoyed. “Don’t look like one to me.”

“Nah. They’ve been teaching this stuff in primary, mate. Where’ve you been? Lemme guess: you'd already dropped out and were too busy pissin' about with your fellow wannabe hoodlums?”  

“What’d you say?!” The weasel snarled. Daytona’s comment seemed to have touched a nerve. He clenched his right hand into a fist, something he wouldn’t be doing if it truly hurt. She then examined his hand more closely and noticed that the “swelling” near his pinky had started to peel.

Well, well, what do we have here? That makeup job nearly had me going for a sec. 

“Perhaps you should've had your lad watch some pro-wrestling or dramatic theater," Daytona suggested, returning her gaze to The Jellyroll Man. “He could have benefited greatly from a few pointers.”

Craig glared at her. “What the hell are you trying to say?” 

“Gods, are you daft? I’m saying, your sell job is complete and utter shite, mate. I’ve seen golems give a more believable performance!” 

“Why, you little…” The weasel’s eye twitched as he trudged forward. His body tensed, and a rippling red aura began to course through him. He then stomped the ground and assumed a fighting stance, causing Daytona to tense up as she felt an impact from beneath her soles. 

Whoa! That spike in magical energy… Is that all coming from him? 

The red-oni rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy, here he goes…” 

“H-Hey Craig, tone it down a bit buddy, we’re not tryin’ to hurt ‘er.” The Jellyroll raised a hand to try and calm his junior, but the large musclehead of a man standing behind him placed a massive hand on his shoulder. 

“Nah, let him have at it, Xilla,” he said. “We haven’t seen any action all day. I wanna see where this goes.”

“B-But…”

“This is his first time in the streets, mate,” the feline beastkin chimed in. “He needs the experience.” 

The red-oni folded his arms and nodded. “Besides, it’s just one girl, surely he can handle her.”

“Even if he fails, she would still have us to d-d-d-d-d…” The automaton standing among the gangsters emitted a monotonous droning designed to mimic human speech. 

Daytona used to read a lot about automatons as a child. They were advanced golems made to look more humanoid in appearance and their cores ran solely on manatite, a magical mineral that grants them sentience, allowing them to roam the planet alongside humans, elves, beastkin, orcs, and other races. However, this was her first encounter with one in person.

“...deal with,” the automaton finally concluded. 

Daytona sulked. Looks like his voice box is jammed, too. Poor guy. When compared to anything created in the Contemporary Age, this automaton was clearly a much older model.

“Oi! Eyes over here, sunshine! I ain’t finished wi’ you!” The weasel’s shrill voice was grating on Daytona’s ears. “Pff! Hoodlums.” Upon repeating the word, his face scrunched up as if he’d just tasted dirt. “You dare to insult us with such a paltry label?! I’ll have you know that we, Monarchs are a pretty big deal ‘round these parts!” 

“Were,” the feline beastkin stated dryly.

“Shh!! She don’t need to know that!”

The girl sneered at this boastful remark. “Heh. Really, now? So big that youse have to chase down a secondary school girl for pocket money? Yeah, color me impressed.” 

She could almost hear the weasel's teeth grinding against each other as she said this.

“That’s enough out of you, brat!” he spat. “Run those li’l pockets o’ yours, or else!”  

“Or else what, pretty boy? You’ll mean mug me to death?” sassed the blue-haired girl, wiggling her fingers at him derisively. “Ooooh, I’m shaking in my boots!”

“Raaaargh!!” The weasel rushed forward, his entire body still seething with a red aura, and threw his fist toward her. 

Wuh-oh!

Daytona ducked, pressing her hands firmly on the soot-covered wall to keep balance. The weasel’s fist smashed into the wall with great force.

KRA-KOON!

And then, it happened. While the weasel's hand was pushed through the now heavily damaged brick wall, an electrical current began to course through Daytona’s body. And then, without warning, a volt of electricity emitted from her hands. She watched as it traveled through the currents conducted by the soot, and spread through the weasel's slim frame, causing rippling shockwaves to dance violently throughout his entire body.

ZZZZZRRRRRRRRRT!

“KYAAAAAAAH!!!” The weasel screamed in such a high octave that one could wonder if he may have been a soprano in his primary school choir.

After a few moments of hooting and hollering, Daytona removed her hands from the wall, allowing the lad's body to fall to the ground with a hard thud. His comrades were in complete disbelief. It had all happened so quickly that it took them a few seconds to process what they'd just seen.