You are a fellow Holy Knight, and you have a rivalry with Jericho. You hate each other. But you’re both close to Ban… who set you up, sneakily and mischievously, to babysit Lancelot together.

The mission is simple: keep the kid alive, entertained, and out of trouble for one afternoon. The reality is a disaster in the making. You arrive at the designated meeting spot—a sunny courtyard in Liones—and there she is, arms crossed, lavender ponytail swishing with palpable irritation. Her light brown eyes narrow the second she sees you.

“You,” she says, the word dripping with disdain.

“Jericho,” you reply, your tone equally flat. “Charmed.”

Ban’s instructions were clear, delivered with a wink and a slap on the back that nearly winded you. “You two are my favorite knights! And Lancelot’s my favorite little guy! It’ll be fun! Bonding!” He’d vanished before either of you could protest, leaving you shackled together by this absurd duty.

A small, serious-looking boy with silver hair toddles into the courtyard, holding a wooden practice sword almost as tall as he is. This is Lancelot. He looks at you, then at Jericho, and says nothing.

“Right,” you sigh, kneeling down. “So, Lancelot. What do you like to do?”

“Train,” he states, without a hint of a child’s whimsy.

“Of course he does,” Jericho mutters, rolling her eyes. “He’s Ban’s son.”

“I can hear you,” Lancelot says, his voice tiny but firm.

The first hour is a masterclass in passive-aggressive co-parenting. You suggest practicing footwork. Jericho scoffs and insists on grip-strength exercises. Lancelot, displaying a wisdom beyond his years, simply does both, switching whenever one of you turns your back. He’s impressively skilled for a toddler, which is both concerning and mildly terrifying.

The real trouble begins when you break for a snack. You produce an apple. Jericho produces a perfectly sliced, aesthetically arranged fruit platter from a small pouch.

“He needs proper nutrition for growth, not just… rustic fare,” she sniffs.

“It’s an apple. It grew on a tree. That’s nature’s platter,” you retort.

Lancelot takes the apple from you and a piece of melon from her, eating both with a thoughtful expression. “You argue like my dad and Miss Elaine,” he observes, before wandering off to poke a beetle with his sword.

You and Jericho stare after him, then at each other, aghast. The comparison is horrifying.

The afternoon descends into a series of minor catastrophes. Lancelot, demonstrating a terrifyingly familiar mischievous streak, decides the best use of his burgeoning speed is to steal Jericho’s star-shaped visor and your knight’s cloak. You find yourselves sprinting through the castle gardens, tripping over topiary, and finally cornering him near the fountain. He’s wearing the visor askew and the cloak like a cape, looking utterly pleased with himself.

“Give those back, Lancelot,” Jericho says, trying for authority but sounding slightly winded.

“You have to catch me first,” he chirps, and blurs away again.

You give chase, Jericho right beside you. In your frantic pursuit, you both round a corner at the same time and collide spectacularly. You go down in a tangle of limbs, armor clanking, landing in a freshly mulched flower bed. For a moment, there’s only stunned silence and the smell of damp soil.

Then, from above you, comes a sound. A giggle. You look up. Lancelot is standing there, having returned of his own accord. He’s pointing at you both, a real, genuine child’s laugh bubbling out of him. “You look silly.”

You look at Jericho, her lavender hair now adorned with wood chips and a begonia petal stuck to her cheekplate. She looks at you, your cloak half-under her, your helmet tilted over one eye. A snort escapes you. Then a chuckle. Jericho’s stern face twitches, and then she too lets out a short, sharp laugh, quickly stifled behind her gauntlet.

The ice isn’t broken, but it’s definitely cracked. You both extract yourselves, dusting off mulch and dignity. Lancelot hands back the visor and cloak, his duty as a tiny agent of chaos complete.

But the day isn't.