Lucy’s father removed his coat and draped it over his daughter. Normally quiet and well-behaved, Lucy now clenched her tiny fists. Her unseeing eyes remained void of light, but her expression was a mix of tension and excitement. He leaned in close, hearing her whisper, “Jupiter, run… ah, careful!”

On the projection above, a transparent hamster was running frantically through the desert before tripping on something and tumbling into the sand in a flurry of somersaults.

Each round of the game lasted only 20 minutes, but the queue to participate stretched nearly half an hour. At first, people doubted whether a chaotic brawl of a thousand animals could truly be enjoyable. But just ten minutes in, less than a hundred creatures still retained a recognizable animal shape. At least half of the participants had failed to properly shape their slimes into functioning animals, and once their creatures were defeated, they couldn’t be re-formed. Many lost their eligibility before even adapting to the unique perspective of the game.

Yet, as the saying goes, “Noobs love to play.” Even when their slimes devolved into malformed oddities or became entirely unplayable, not a single person wanted to leave early. Everyone stayed to watch the chaotic finale unfold.

Among the remaining contenders were a sharp-fanged, three-headed snake; a green leopard; and a flying white dog. Earlier, there had also been a deep blue griffin and a speedy red chinchilla. But now… well, Damian begrudgingly admitted to himself that the silly dog was actually quite formidable.

After being booted from the tree by the black cat, Damian’s fox had teamed up with the dog to take down the airborne griffin. Better performance and higher rewards were at stake, and staying in the air felt like an unfair advantage. After eliminating the griffin and using the terrain to defeat the agile chinchilla, Damian had planned to deal with the foolish dog—but instead, he shifted forms from a fox to a leopard.

This was all part of his strategy. The arena’s ever-changing environment would naturally weed out a large number of competitors. After “dying,” Damian had analyzed the terrain changes, noting the shift from forest to desert. Switching to a leopard gave him an advantage in such conditions. Based on his observations, the terrain changed every five minutes, and with water-based zones unlikely to repeat, his leopard could adapt to almost anything.

Still, Damian despised failure, even in a game. Whether it was the black cat or the stupid dog, he was determined to take them both down.

Yet… where had the black cat gone? In such a sparse desert, with visibility stretching to the horizon, hiding seemed impossible unless it could burrow underground or camouflage itself.

In truth, Vivi’s black cat had no special hiding abilities. It crouched flat, blending into the shadow cast by the tall diving platform in the desert—a mental blind spot for many animals and players.

The environment didn’t favor concealment, which explained why many competitors had already been eliminated in this round. A gray, triangular-headed snake darted from a dune near the black cat’s hiding spot, lunging at an almost invisible translucent hamster.

The crowd erupted in gasps, not necessarily because they knew who controlled the hamster, but at the sight of its near-defeat just as the environment was about to shift. Yet, before they could fully process what happened, the situation changed again. The black cat, unnoticed by most, stretched and sprang forward faster than the snake, biting its neck with precision.

The cat then began pawing at the snake’s tail, not immediately delivering a killing blow. Like a real cat toying with its prey, it played with the snake while the hamster squirmed in its jaws. The snake thrashed in an attempt to shake off its feline assailant, but the cat dragged it into the shadows, where the three small creatures tangled in a chaotic melee.

Meanwhile, Damian’s leopard faced off against the flying dog. The other, less cohesive animals either watched from the sidelines or engaged in smaller skirmishes. Time ticked closer to the 15-minute mark.

Suddenly, a collective gasp rose from the audience.

The desert vanished, giving way to a massive abyss. The ground plummeted into darkness, replaced by floating rocks scattered across the void. Competitors unable to immediately leap onto these platforms tumbled into the abyss, halving the number of remaining contestants in an instant.

Vivi’s predicament was unique. Her black cat had been too preoccupied with battling the snake to react to the terrain shift. As the ground vanished beneath them, the snake lashed its tail upward, hooking onto the edge of a floating rock.

Seeing this, Vivi used the snake’s tail as a makeshift rope to climb onto the rock. The hamster in the snake’s jaws squeaked in terror as Vivi’s cat reached solid ground. Without hesitation, the black cat began kicking the troublesome snake off the rock, ensuring its removal from the competition.

As the snake began to fall into the abyss, it lifted its upper body and flung the transparent hamster in its mouth upward. The little creature somersaulted twice before landing precariously on the edge of a stone platform.

—This wasn’t a life-or-death battle; it was just a game.

If it had to fall, the snake decided, it might as well toss the lucky hamster up to safety.

In a distant corner of the tent, a university student specializing in herpetology cracked their neck, then looked up to join the rest of the spectators, now a mere “audience member.”

The black cat stretched out a paw, nudging the hamster back from the platform’s edge. Meanwhile, a green leopard crouched cautiously on a smaller platform nearby, glaring upward at the flying white dog. With a low growl, the leopard’s form elongated, transforming into a majestic Arabian falcon with a wingspan exceeding three meters—a large bird of prey.

The falcon glanced icily in Vivi’s direction before diving toward her.

Vivi clicked her tongue.

So much for meddling—being “helpful” never pays off.

With the game nearing its conclusion, she wasn’t about to lose now. The black cat darted away from the falcon, leaping between floating platforms. Its dark fur melded seamlessly with the abyss below. The falcon closed in, and the cat, in what seemed like panic, made a wrong move and plummeted.

It flailed helplessly for a moment, while the falcon soared above, veering away toward the flying dog.

Meanwhile, in the shadows below, the black cat morphed again. Its body stretched and flattened, transforming into a dark flying squirrel.

Flying squirrels technically glide rather than fly, their appearance similar to a mouse but belonging to the squirrel family. Vivi had tried this transformation as an experiment, drawing on her familiarity with rodents thanks to Sheila. To her surprise, it worked.

The flying squirrel attempted to glide toward a lower platform, but every approach missed by mere inches. It’s just a game, Vivi thought, as she continued to descend into the dark abyss, her surroundings growing dimmer and quieter. Only by looking up at the faint light above, where the remaining players appeared like tiny dots, could she confirm she was still “in play”—not yet eliminated.

That was until her wheelchair shifted slightly, and her vision abruptly refocused.

Damian stood before her, scowling. “You’re out. What were you even doing?”

“Did you lose?” Vivi asked innocently.

Damian’s scowl deepened.

The final seven victors remained on the platform, but Damian refused to collect his reward. Instead, Cain, the reluctant student, was sent to retrieve it on behalf of both Damian and Vivi. The free nature of the game encouraged repeat participation, and many spectators were eager for another round. Outside, Vivi’s side accounts had already caught scalpers reselling rankings and people setting up private betting pools.

As they exited with the crowd, a father and daughter walked ahead of them, chatting.

Lucy, through a combination of luck and persistence, had been one of the last players standing. If her score was high enough, she might even qualify for the evening’s “final battle.” But Lucy didn’t understand any of this. Once the game ended, her world reverted to darkness.

She was a little disappointed. During the game, she had tried to locate herself and her father among the spectators but couldn’t find them. The platform was brightly lit, but the audience below was shrouded in shadows, invisible to her.

“If we queue earlier next time, we’ll get seats closer to the front,” her father reassured her, holding her hand. “Did you have fun, sweetheart?”

Lucy nodded enthusiastically.

Maybe next round, or the one after that, she could use the game’s unique perspective to catch a glimpse of her father’s face. That would make her completely happy.

“Hold on,” Vivi interrupted as Damian appeared ready for another attempt. “I need to use the restroom first.”

Damian huffed but didn’t object.

As the only woman in the group, Vivi had to manage on her own. Fortunately, the public restroom wasn’t too crowded, and a kind stranger helped the “disabled professor” maneuver her wheelchair into a stall.

Inside, Professor Diamond removed her monocle and handed it to the stranger, who smiled faintly and took off her goggles.

Vivi switched disguises.

Moments later, the two exited the restroom at different times, their identities swapped. A disguised female assassin entered shortly after, scanning the area for anomalies—but found nothing.

Talia wouldn’t simply leave Damian unattended, and Professor Diamond remained a target requiring surveillance. This posed a minor inconvenience for Vivi, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Using her real body, now dressed in Bella’s disguise, Vivi oversaw some work before removing the goggles and teleporting to the East District.

The circus’s rewards, capped at bronze-tier cards, were trivial. Professor Diamond could handle the ongoing event. Her secondary account had little expression, much like the sickly professor, making it adaptable for most situations. Meanwhile, Vivi had her sights set on the underground Goat Cabin and its elusive gold-tier card—a prize she couldn’t afford to miss.

At the sewer entrance, several “children” were huddled together: mini Steve, mini Natasha, mini Tony, and mini Clint.

[Tony, call from Batman.]

Mini Tony, leaning against a wall, gritted his teeth. “Friday, block Batman for three minutes.”

Hearing this, mini Steve frowned slightly—but didn’t object.

The group had just completed a small house adventure, and now… all of them hated Batman.

^[1]T/N: (ᗒ ᗨᗕ)