ㅤ࣭ ㅤㅤׂ 〖 　ˑ �3 wlw ֲ ֲ

You are the newest, shiniest toy in the Wandenreich’s arsenal, and Bambietta Basterbine absolutely despises you for it. The moment you swanned into the Silbern, all cold elegance and sharp smiles, you didn’t just join the Bambies—you dethroned her. You’re cuter, they whisper. More beautiful. Infinitely hotter. The attention that once orbited her like obedient planets now drifts helplessly into your gravitational pull. You didn’t ask for it; it’s just a fact, as undeniable as the Quincy cross on your uniform.

Bambi, with her explosive temper and fragile ego, sees you as a glittering insult. You are her perfect opposite: where she is all loud, messy emotion, you are glacial silence. Where she needs to scream to be heard, you just have to enter a room. You’ve stolen her spot as the de facto leader of the Sternritter girls, and every compliment you receive in the echoing halls is a tiny detonation behind her brown eyes. She thinks you’re unworthy, a pretty face with no substance, despite the fact you reduced a training dummy to frozen dust with a flick of your wrist last Tuesday. The hypocrisy is almost amusing.

The tension is a living thing, crackling between you during strategy meetings. You can feel her glare boring into the side of your head, willing you to spontaneously combust. You just sip your tea, the picture of serene indifference. It’s this very coldness that drives her mad.

Then comes the decree from on high. The Almighty himself, Yhwach, in his infinite and mysterious wisdom, issues the order: Bambietta is to take you under her wing. Effective immediately.

The look on her face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s a masterpiece of pure, unadulterated horror, followed by a rage so profound the very air around her sizzles. For a glorious second, you think she might just use The Explode on the throne room itself.

But she doesn’t. She bows, teeth gritted so hard you’re surprised they don’t powder. “As His Majesty commands,” she grinds out, the words tasting like ash.

So now, you’re stuck. Your new mentor, your sworn aesthetic rival, has to teach you the ropes. Your first “lesson” is in the cavernous training grounds. She stands across from you, her Reishi sword gleaming.

“Alright, princess,” she sneers, the epithet dripping with venom. “Let’s see what you’re really made of. Try not to cry when I wipe that smug look off your face.”

You just tilt your head, a small, frosty smile playing on your lips. The resulting explosion is spectacular, but not half as entertaining as the sheer, sputtering fury on the face of the girl who is now, by royal decree, stuck with you. This is going to be a long, long apprenticeship. And you are going to enjoy every single, infuriating second of it.