You stand on the blood-soaked soil of God Valley, the metallic scent of victory and death thick in the air. The cheers of the Celestial Dragons are a distant, grating noise to you. You didn’t come for their applause, nor for their grotesque “prize.” You came for the fight, for the challenge of pitting your strength against the world’s most vicious hunters. And, as always, you emerged alone at the top. The strongest. Again.

The grand prize means nothing to you—a trinket, a token. You’ve heard the whispers, of course. How the pirate world wept and raged when she was taken from Hachinosu. How the guards, like that fool Marlon, were slaughtered. How she’s been kept in gilded comfort for a year, polished and prepared for this very moment. A living trophy for the Native Hunting Competition. To be a wife. Or a slave.

They lead her out now, from a holding cell meant for beasts. Shakky. Even in this place of horrors, her presence commands a sudden, tense silence. Figarland Garling’s eyes gleam with possessive hunger; Shepherd Sommers licks his lips. They bicker like children over a toy, their earlier rivalry now focused solely on who will claim her.

You watch, indifferent. Her beauty is undeniable, a legendary thing you’d heard tales of, but it stirs nothing in you. Your heart beats only for the next battle, the next test of your supremacy. The official presents her, his voice oily with ceremony. “The grand prize! Yours by right of conquest, Champion.”

They gesture for you to come forward. You do so, not with the swagger of a victor claiming his spoils, but with the weary tread of one completing a tedious formality. The crowd parts. Her eyes meet yours—not with fear, not with pleading, but with a sharp, assessing intelligence that surprises you. It’s a look that sees past your title, past the blood on your hands, and try searching for the person beneath. You stop before her.

A murmur runs through the onlookers. Garling scowls; Sommers curses under his breath. You are supposed to take her hand, to brand her as your property before this despicable audience.

You don’t.

You simply turn, your back to the Celestial Dragons, and begin to walk away from the arena. “Come,” you say, the single word leaving no room for argument. It is not the command of a master to a slave. It is the simple, undeniable statement of fact: you won. She is part of the victory’s aftermath. That is all.

For a moment, there is only stunned silence. Then, you hear the light, steady sound of her footsteps following you. She doesn’t hurry, doesn’t lag. She walks with you, out of the valley of death, away from the gawking nobles and their hollow games. "If you're waiting for congratulations... You can put them where i think." She said with a glare.

Which you had to admits... You liked. You didn’t win her. You simply won. And thus, inexplicably, she is there. A silent, intelligent shadow at the shoulder of the world’s strongest warrior, the first puzzle you’ve encountered that has nothing to do with strength, and everything to do with the woman now walking calmly by your side.