The air in Galehaven Comics hung thick with the scent of aged paper and brewing tea, the narrow shop a cozy haven of flickering lantern light and creaking shelves. Harlan Flint leaned against the counter, his dark hair catching the glow as he watched the Lady slump in her corner, her crimson cape pooling around her like a spilled chalice of wine. Her eyepatch and golden contact lens lay discarded on the table before her, glinting mockingly in the dimness—a reward she'd scorned after finishing Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai!. Across the room, Luke and Daryl huddled near the door, their Fatui masks tilted as they whispered, their voices a low buzz beneath the rustle of pages from the trio of Mondstadt newcomers still savoring their comics.
"What's eating her? She looks like someone stole her last Pyro Slime," Luke muttered, nudging Daryl with an elbow as he clutched his red Sakura-style skirt, its lace brushing his armored gauntlets. Daryl, testing the balance of his new Li Syaoran sword with a flick of his wrist, glanced at the Lady's slumped form and shrugged. "Probably the comic—bet it was so gripping she's kicking herself for not reading it sooner. That's the vibe I got from Cardcaptor Sakura—pure regret for missing out." Luke's eyes widened, a spark of interest flaring. "Oh, that good, huh? Guess I'm tackling it tomorrow—can't let her hog all the fun."
The Lady's head snapped up at their words, her ice-blue eyes narrowing into slits as she clenched her fists, the faint crackle of Cryo energy sparking around her knuckles. "Fooled—utterly fooled," she hissed under her breath, her voice a venomous whisper as the realization sank in like a dagger to the gut. She'd replayed Fischl's True Evil King's Eye display in her mind—blinding light, a dramatic chant, nothing more—and now saw it for what it was: a parlor trick, not power. Harlan's grandiose pitch had hooked her, his earlier show of strength cowing her into blind faith, and she'd raced to read the comic expecting a weapon to rival gods. Instead, she'd gotten costume jewelry—a bitter jest at her expense.
She shot Harlan a glare sharp enough to pierce steel, her resentment simmering as she fought the urge to freeze the shop solid—his casual lean, his faint smirk, all of it stoking her ire. But she held back; his power had flattened her pride once before, and she'd not risk that humiliation again. Harlan caught her look, rubbing his nose to mask a chuckle—his teasing had snared two chuunibyou souls today, Fischl's flair spiraling wilder and the Lady diving headfirst into delusion. "Didn't think she'd bite so hard," he mused, his amusement tinged with curiosity as the system pinged, its panel flaring to life in his mind.
[Customer 'Lady' completed Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai!—Reward: Chuunibyou Syndrome.]
[Chuunibyou Syndrome: A state of exaggerated self-importance and theatrical flair, marked by grandiose thoughts, actions, and a belief in one's misunderstood destiny—common among those craving significance beyond the mundane.]
Harlan's brows shot up, a laugh catching in his throat. "Chuunibyou? For her?" He'd expected Fischl or Amber to snag something like this—young, spirited, prone to flights of fancy—but the Lady? A Harbinger, eighth of the Fatui's elite, her authority eclipsing even Jean's in scope, now saddled with a teenager's melodrama? The irony was delicious, a twist he couldn't have scripted if he'd tried.
A radiant beam sliced through the shop's ceiling, bathing the Lady in a golden glow that drew every eye—Luke and Daryl perked up, the newcomers paused mid-page, even the kettle seemed to hush. "Here it comes—wonder if it's the Evil King's Eye again!" Luke whispered, his skirt rustling as he leaned forward, still giddy from his own prize. Daryl nodded, sword gleaming in his grip. "That light Fischl threw out was blinding—bet this'll top it." The Mondstadt trio murmured among themselves—"Sounds epic, way better than a teacup!"—their anticipation crackling like static in the air.
The light faded, and the Lady—Rosalyn, as she'd once been before the Fatui claimed her—rose, her posture shifting from defeated to regal, her cape billowing as if caught in an unseen wind. She opened her eyes, their icy depths now swirling with a strange, fervent gleam, and fixed Harlan with a stare that pierced the room's cozy haze. "O keeper of Galehaven Comics, voyager of star-seas and weaver of myriad fates, I offer my gratitude for this gift," she intoned, her voice low and resonant, carrying an edge of theatrical gravitas. "Through you, I've glimpsed the cosmos' secrets, the starry void's majesty—and from this day, I, Rosalyn, claim a new mantle: the Dark Flame Envoy!"
A collective gasp swept the shop, the newcomers' jaws dropping as Luke hissed, "Dark Flame Envoy—that's badass!" Daryl nodded, impressed despite himself. "Beats a skirt any day—must be the True Evil King's Eye, right?" The trio whispered furiously—"Way cooler than binoculars!"—their awe painting the Lady as a figure of legend. Harlan's mouth twitched, amusement warring with disbelief. "Dark Flame Envoy? Guess Fischl's got her partner after all," he thought, recalling her quest for a mythical ally—turns out, the comic had birthed one in the unlikeliest of souls.
He cleared his throat, keeping his tone neutral. "Your reward's chuunibyou syndrome—a flair for the dramatic, a lens to see the world anew. No raw power, just… style." The Lady's head tilted, her cape swaying as she scoffed, her voice rising with conviction. "No—this is no mere quirk; it's a revelation! This wretched world deserves to be consumed—let it drown in black flames!" She thrust a hand skyward, Cryo sparks flaring around her fingers as if to summon her imagined inferno, her icy beauty twisting into a caricature of chuunibyou zeal.
Harlan stared, speechless—her transformation was a marvel, a cold, calculating Harbinger reborn as a sand-sculpture dreamer spouting lines Fischl would envy. "Good grief, she's gone full tilt—her and Fischl could start a theater troupe," he thought, half-laughing, half-wincing at the chaos he'd unleashed. Luke edged closer, skirt in hand, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Boss, think she'll do the chant? That 'burst reality' bit?" Harlan shrugged, eyes glinting. "If she does, brace yourself—she's got the lungs for it."
The Lady spun on her heel, cape flaring dramatically as she faced her subordinates. "Luke, Daryl—bear witness to my ascension! The Dark Flame Envoy shall purge this land's mediocrity!" Luke blinked, clutching his skirt tighter. "Uh, sure, ma'am—looking forward to the fire show!" Daryl sighed, sheathing his sword. "Just don't burn the camp down—I like my tent uncharred." Her glare softened into a smirk, a flicker of her old self peering through the chuunibyou haze, and she strode out, the duo trailing behind like bemused squires.
Harlan watched them go, the shop's door creaking shut as silence settled, broken only by the trio's excited chatter as they awaited their own rewards. The system chimed again—teacups for one, binoculars for another, a comb for the third—mundane trinkets that sparked joy nonetheless. "Real rewards from comics—wildest thing ever!" the Digimon fan crowed, clutching his cup like a trophy as they filed out, buzzing with tales to spread across Mondstadt. Alone at last, Harlan sank into his chair, the system panel glowing before him.
[Host: Harlan Flint]
[Comics: One Piece: East Sea Saga, Cardcaptor Sakura's Magic, Digimon: First Frontier, Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai!, Yu-Gi-Oh]
[Task 1: Host 10 customers to draw a comic—11/10 completed, 1 draw available]
[Task 2: Host 30 customers for an exclusive reward—17/30 completed]
"Eleven customers in one morning—business is booming," he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned back, the kettle's steam curling around him like a lazy cat. The pace surprised him—Wendy's bardic hype, the Knights' buzz, even the Fatui's curiosity had turned his tucked-away shop into a nexus of chaos and wonder. "That exclusive reward's in sight—tomorrow, maybe," he mused, anticipation warming his chest—what could it be? A new comic? A power of his own? The possibilities danced in his mind, a tantalizing mystery.
For a moment, he considered shelving Chuunibyou—its penchant for turning stoics into drama queens was a wildfire waiting to spread. "Imagine Jean chanting about black flames—Mondstadt wouldn't survive," he chuckled, picturing the Acting Grand Master twirling her cape in a chuunibyou fit. But the thought lingered—Fischl, now the Lady, maybe more to come—a Teyvat of theatrical misfits could be a riot worth watching. "Nah, let it burn—chaos suits this place," he decided, dismissing the ban with a wave as he tapped the system. "Time to draw—let's see what's next."
***
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