My body felt weightless, suspended in darkness—a cold breeze wrapped around me like gentle arms. I felt ensnared, drifting on a sticky, gooey surface, as if trapped in a murky liquid. Chains gripped my wrists, and a warm breath brushed against my ears. It was his voice—Sinjin's husky tone whispered to me. His wild bangs and black hair tickled my nose, while the scent of his woody cologne filled the air. His hand glided over my plump lips, and my body was transported back to that rainy day, leaving my mind in a desolate haze. His arms wrapped around my waist, and his voice flowed like honey.

"Wake up, it's almost time, Biscuit Cheeks..."

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his body heat radiating toward me, accompanied by a warm, moist kiss on my cheek.

"Wake up, wife," he echoed softly into the stillness of my unconsciousness. Despite my body feeling limp and numb, warmth flushed my cheeks, and then—Bang!

The car lurched forward, and my forehead slammed into the dashboard with the force of a thousand regrets.

Pain blossomed. Dignity vanished.

I opened my eyes groggily, blinking at Joan, Anastasia, and Patricia—all snickering at my suffering like vultures circling a dying soul.

I groaned, rubbing the sore spot on my head. “This. THIS. This is exactly why I don’t let any of you drive my car.”

I threw up my hands, letting the accusations fly.

Joan? We were stationary, and somehow, somewhere, she still managed to crash into a pole, not even on the highway, but across the road. It’s a feat so baffling that I still wake up at night wondering how it happened. Clover? She nearly ploughed into a truck in the left lane while we were comfortably on the right, and we ended up paying a fine for her sheer recklessness. Patricia? Ha! She didn’t even get a chance—she has the navigational skills of a lost sock and once confidently led us in the opposite direction for an entire hour. Anastasia? Always too drunk to drive—even when she’s not drinking, it’s still a liability. Skyler? She has her car, so she’s gloriously exempt from this disaster zone. And Harper? Oh boy. Every single time I let any of you drive, I come dangerously close to meeting my ancestors.

I exhaled dramatically, flopping back in my seat. “Man, no wonder Sinjin told me to get both a car and life insurance when he met you guys. Every time I hand over the keys, my entire life flashes before my eyes in high-definition horror.”

Then—it hit me.

The true devastation.

I turned slowly, voice dropping into pure sorrowful disbelief.

“…And my supper. My lunchbox. Gone. Lost to the abyss of reckless driving.”

I pointed an accusing finger, my soul nearly departing my body in despair.

"Into the bottomless pits of your stomach."

I inhaled sharply, shaking my head. "I saw it. In HD."

Joan groaned, tossing her hands up. “Harper, lock the doors and windows—just in case she decides to jump.”

Harper blinked. “Jump where?”

Patricia, unfazed: “Out of the window. Straight into the afterlife. She’s about to meet the God of Food and her ancestors.”

Anastasia snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time she’s lost all sense of reason for food.”

Patricia smirked. “Didn’t Sinjin say she was a glutton? Gullible when it comes to food? Oh—wait, remember when she was fifteen?”

Joan gasped, laughter bubbling up. “Oh my God—the chicken stall owner incident!”

Anastasia wheezed. “That wasn’t even a kidnapping—she followed the guy home!”

Patricia cackled. “She had no choice because she threatened to scream that he was a human trafficker, a slave trader, a coloniser if he didn’t give her extra food.”

Vionelle sat there, utterly betrayed.

She pointed to the roof, gazing up at the heavens. “That backstabber. I knew I should’ve sewn his mouth shut.”

Anastasia leaned back, eyeing me suspiciously. “You were muttering in your sleep earlier. What were you dreaming about?”

I froze.

Patricia’s eyes narrowed, a wicked smirk forming. “Don’t tell me... it was something.”

Joan grinned, voice dripping with amusement. “No. It can’t be. It wasn’t... Sinjin, was it?”

My face heated up, and the betrayal doubled.

"Absolutely NOT!" I shot back, crossing my arms.

Harper, barely paying attention, snorted. “It was probably about food.”

I whipped around. “WHAT—No—It was NOT about food!”

Silence.

Patricia stared, unimpressed. “You say that like it wasn’t extremely likely.”

Anastasia leaned in. “Was it... a dream where Sinjin gave you food?”

Joan gasped. “Wait, WAIT—was it a romantic dream where Sinjin gave you food?”

Patricia choked on her laughter. “Oh my God, this is worse than we thought.”

I whirled around, scandalised. “I SWEAR TO EVERY HIGHER POWER, IT WASN’T!”

Harper sighed, barely glancing up. “Whatever you say. Thirty minutes until the warehouse. Try not to dream about your long-lost lunchbox again.”

3O Minutes later…

The laughter dies down naturally, fading into the low hum of the car.

The sky dimmed, shifting to deep greys. The air turned quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but unnervingly expectant.

Joan stretched, glancing at the map. “Alright, how are we still thirty minutes away? This drive feels like a punishment.”

Patricia checked her phone, brows furrowing. “Why does the warehouse pin look glitched? It keeps refreshing like it’s trying to move.”

Anastasia clicked the radio on—only for it to cut to static, a strange, warbling distortion humming beneath the crackle.

She froze.

Harper sighed, fingers drumming on the wheel. “Alright, let’s stop messing around. 5 minutes. We’ll be fine.”

I stared at the winding road, the looming silhouette of the warehouse barely visible now.

I exhaled, shaking my head.

“If I die in here, tell Sinjin it was his fault. His betrayal weakened my spirit.”

Anastasia rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat as she pulled out a cigarette, taking a slow drag of smoke.

“Hold on—five-minute break.” She waved dismissively before exhaling. Then, without missing a beat, she glanced over, amusement flickering in her gaze.

“So, what’s the plan when you graduate from the organisation? Still aiming to be a knight—like you dramatically declared during the introductory drill?”

She smirked, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I quote: ‘I, Vionelle Valentine, want to become a knight!’”

I scoffed, turning my gaze away, fixing my eyes on the rain-streaked window, watching the world blur beyond the glass.

“And? Let me dream, Anastasia. Maybe one day, I’ll have a cool sword and make people kneel before me. Theatrically, of course.”

Patricia snickered. “You? A knight? You’d probably demand a feast after every battle.”

I gasped. “Exactly! That’s called quality leadership. A true knight must never fight on an empty stomach.”

Joan sighed, shaking her head. “God help the kingdom you end up serving.”

Anastasia took another slow drag, tapping her cigarette against the window, her fingers lingering on the glass for just a second longer than necessary, like she wasn’t entirely present in the moment.

“You know, titles don’t mean much in the end,” she murmured, tone lighter, but something in her voice didn’t match the ease of the conversation.

Patricia raised an eyebrow. “That sounds personal.”

Anastasia blew out another ring of smoke, watching it dissolve into the air. “Because it is.”

There was something about the way she leaned back—a practised kind of detachment, like she knew when to shrink into herself just enough to avoid lingering eyes.

I frowned slightly but kept the teasing going, unwilling to let the mood shift too quickly.

“Well, when I’m a knight, I’ll make sure people bow dramatically. None of that shallow respect nonsense.”

Joan snorted. “Bow dramatically? What, you gonna choreograph their kneeling?”

Patricia laughed, shaking her head. “We all know you just want the feasts.”

Anastasia let out a scoff, but her fingers curled slightly tighter around the cigarette, almost imperceptibly—the way someone does when they’ve touched fire before.

“You think being a knight will make people kneel?” she muttered, voice quieter this time. “Where I grew up, people kneeled for survival. Never meant a damn thing.”

Her fingers twitched, just once. She rubbed her temple absently, but the gesture wasn’t casual—it was tense, calculated, like she knew how to silence a headache before it became unbearable.

Patricia glanced at her, expression unreadable.

Joan hesitated, then looked back at the road, choosing not to comment.

Harper, ever steady, said nothing—just kept driving, eyes locked forward as if pretending not to notice the shift.

Anastasia took another slow drag, but this time, her exhale was different—quieter, less controlled, like she was trying to keep something locked in.

She tapped the cigarette against the window again, letting the embers flicker, then crushed it out beneath her fingers.

“I’ll tell you this,” she continued, voice still casual, but the weight in her words lingered. “If you ever make people kneel for you, make sure it’s because they want to, not because they have no choice.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

The laughter had faded.

Patricia cleared her throat after a beat. “Yeah, well… if Vionelle’s knight dream fails, she could always become a chef.”

I whipped my head around. “That’s a clever idea, but excuse me? I refuse to have my legacy reduced to food production.”

The mood lightened just enough, but Anastasia didn’t join in this time.

She leaned further into her seat, shifting slightly as if the car had suddenly become too small.

The blurred silhouette of the warehouse loomed ahead, stretching unnaturally into the mist.

Silence….

We stared into the distance, cold sweat trickling down our backs. I rubbed my eyes and asked, “Do you see what I see?” Patricia patted my back reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Like we said, nothing bad will happen. You’ve just been watching too much anime lately. Didn’t I tell you that binge-watching anime series before the exam isn’t a great idea? You even brought your special collection of manga and manhwa, like *Solo Levelling* and *Naruto*.”

“Well, a woman has to have her entertainment! I’m not like those people who enjoy watching trees and plants!” I retorted. Silence echoed in the car, accompanied by the quiet hum of the engine. The sky was clear at midday. Whoosh! The figure vanished before our very eyes. We looked at each other, sweat dripping from our faces as we thought simultaneously, “Seeing is believing, I can’t believe I just saw a ghost, an apparition!”

Joan peeked through her closed eyes, proudly patting her chest. “Guys, don’t be scared! We’re going to be exorcists, hunters who fight against the forces of evil—demon catchers. Knights in training! See? I wasn’t even scared!” Her hand slightly trembled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Everyone glared at her, thinking, “Who is she trying to deceive?”

“Click!” The car’s radio crackled with static before Skyler’s voice came through—bright, high-pitched, and effortlessly smooth, carrying that signature youthful bounce. Each word was full of energy, expressive yet warm, the kind of voice that could flip between playful teasing and dramatic shock in an instant.

“Are you almost here, man?” she exclaimed, a mix of urgency and amusement laced into her tone. “It’s been twelve days since the exam started, and you still haven’t shown up! I even picked a warehouse close to the Cyrums' dispatch area—don’t tell me, Harper…”

A pause. Then a gasp—soft but dramatic, exaggerated just enough to make it clear she was about to scold someone.

“…You’ve been drinking wine again, haven’t you?”

Silence….