A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 161: The Bottle Toss

•Tumble-Top Towers Game Stall•

[Ovelia’s POV]

We reached the front of the game stall, pushing through the ring of onlookers. A young man with a blue bandana tied around his head was just finishing his turn. He threw his last small, brightly painted wooden ball. It struck the base of a pyramid of stacked wooden cups with a solid thwack, but only the top two layers wobbled and fell. The rest remained stubbornly upright. The man’s shoulders slumped, and a collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the watching crowd. The stall attendant, a spry young man, moved with practiced speed, swiftly gathering the fallen cups and restacking them into a perfect, tapering tower.

Then the stall owner, a middle-aged man with a shrewd glint in his eye, spotted us. His smile widened, transforming from polite to predatory. He rubbed his hands together.

"Oh, new customers! And such lovely ones!" he announced, his voice carrying over the crowd’s murmur. "Let me explain the mechanics of this game of skill!" He gestured dramatically toward three separate small tables. On each sat a pyramid of wooden cups. "You see three challenges! The first is a simple ten cups. The second, a respectable thirty. The third, the grand prize challenge, is fifty cups!" He pointed to a basket of small, colorful wooden balls. "You must knock down all the cups on your chosen table using only these five balls. Twenty spina per round!"

"The price per round is the same as the one I played earlier," Gale muttered from beside me, his voice laced with suspicion.

I looked down at the fairy plush toy I was hugging. So this is what he won. The thought made me smile, and I hugged the plush a little tighter, the soft fabric comforting against my cheek.

"The rules are simple!" the owner continued, holding up a finger. "No magic allowed. And if you are a werewolf," he added, his eyes sweeping over Ann, Ace and Ray, "no partial transformations to enhance your strength or aim. Pure, unaugmented skill!" He spread his hands wide, his smile fixed. "So! Who will be the first to test their luck—or should I say, skill?"

Ann leaned closer to me, her voice a low, analytical murmur. "Only five balls, each the size of a fist... For the first stage, one well-aimed throw with enough force could take them all down due to the domino effect. But for the second and third stages... with only four or fewer balls left, the chance of clearing them is statistically low." She shook her head slightly.

"Oh ho!" the stall owner chuckled, having overheard. "Sounds like someone thinks they can’t do it! Or perhaps you don’t have enough spina to play?" His tone was teasing, but it carried a clear edge of mockery.

"Oh, you use mockery as a sales strategy," Ray observed, his tone amused rather than offended. He adjusted his monocle, a small smile playing on his lips. "Interesting tactic."

"I’ll make sure you regret saying that," Ace said, his voice cold and flat. He pulled out his own coin purse, counted out twenty spina with deliberate slowness, and placed the coins on the counter with a decisive click. "We’ll take one round."

The stall owner’s smile stretched wider. "Dane! Five balls for our confident customer!" The young attendant nodded and quickly placed five smooth, fist-sized wooden balls on the counter in front of Ace.

"What a greedy scam," I heard Gale whisper under his breath, his arms crossed.

I elbowed him gently. "That’s rude, you know," I whispered back.

He didn’t even glance at me. I was used to being ignored by my village, but this time, the dismissal sent a sharp, unexpected pang through my chest, like a tiny, invisible pinch to my heart.

"Sorry..." Gale muttered a moment later, the word so quiet I almost missed it. He still didn’t look at me. I nodded and offered him a small smile, which he didn’t see.

Ace released my other hand, then picked up one of the wooden balls and placed it in my palm. "Lia," he said, using our agreed-upon public name, his voice softening. "You play the first round." He gave me an encouraging nod.

I curled my fingers around the cool, smooth wood of the ball.

"Throw it as hard as you can, my la—Lia!" Ann cheered, giving me a little fist-pump.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and focused on the first pyramid of ten cups. I pulled my arm back and threw the ball with all my might.

The throw was too high. The ball sailed over the cups, arcing through the air. The stall owner, who had been standing confidently behind the tables, had just leaned forward to say something. The ball struck him squarely in the center of his forehead with a loud, hollow bonk.

He staggered back a step, his hands flying to his head. A wave of cold horror washed over me. I hit him!

"Bull’s-eye," Ray said, his voice strained as he fought to hold back a laugh.

The crowd, after a moment of stunned silence, erupted in guffaws. Even Ann covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she gave me a wobbly thumbs-up.

"Your target is the cups, not his forehead, you idiot," Gale stated with his usual bluntness.

"I’m so... so sorry!" I stammered, my face burning. I looked down at my feet, my hands beginning to tremble.

"Do you hate me that much, young lady?!" the stall owner shouted, rubbing his forehead, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment. His tone—sharp, accusatory, full of wounded pride—was eerily familiar. It sounded exactly like Lawrence, my so-called father, when he’d found fault with me.

A wave of old, ingrained fear made me shrink into myself.

Then, I felt a brief, solid pressure on the top of my head. Gale had reached over and patted my head, just once, before withdrawing his hand. Was he trying to cheer me up? I looked at him, but his gaze was fixed on the stall owner, his gray eyes narrowed.

"It’s your own fault for standing behind the target area," Ace said, his voice like chips of ice. He addressed the crowd as much as the owner. "Anyone with sense would stand to the side."

A murmur of agreement rose from the people around us. The stall owner scowled, but he took a deliberate, grumbling step to the side, putting more distance between himself and the pyramids.

Ace gently took the fairy stuffed toy from my arms. "Take another ball," he instructed, his voice calm and steady. "Try again. Don’t aim so high this time. Look at the base of the cups."

I did as he said. My second throw was lower. It hit the pyramid! It only knocked down the top three cups, but the sound of the wooden cups clattering to the table was a victory. Our little group cheered, and even some people in the crowd clapped. My third throw was better. It struck the center of the remaining stack, and the rest of the ten cups toppled over with a satisfying clatter.

I had cleared the first level! Now, for the second level—thirty cups. I only had two balls left. I knew it was impossible, but I didn’t want to give up.

"Ovelia," Ace said, leaning close. "This time, don’t aim for the cups. Try to hit the side of the table itself, near the center. A sharp impact might jar them all loose."

"Okay!" I said, turning back to the challenge. I saw the stall owner watching me, a pack of ice now pressed to his forehead, a smug, mocking smile on his face.

I knew I probably couldn’t win, but I wanted to follow Ace’s advice. I focused on the wooden edge of the small table, took aim, and threw. The ball hit the side with a solid thump. The table shuddered, but the cups merely wobbled. None fell.

Still, I’d hit my target! I turned to Ace, beaming. "I hit it!"

"Yes, I saw," he said, a genuine smile softening his stern features. He reached out and patted my head, his hand warm and reassuring.

"You look like a happy puppy," Gale commented dryly.

My face flushed again.

"What did you just say to my la—Lia?" Ann snapped, turning on Gale. "You jealous little pes—"

"Stop it, you two," Ray interjected, smoothly stepping between them like a referee. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Hmph!" Gale and Ann said in perfect, synchronized unison. They both crossed their arms over their chests and looked away from each other in opposite directions. The mirror-image pouting was so comical I couldn’t help but laugh, the last of my anxiety melting away.

"Here," Ace said, handing me my fifth and final ball. "Make it count."

I took the ball, hefting it in my palm. I looked at the daunting pyramid of thirty cups. I knew I couldn’t win. So, with a shrug, I aimed for the cups again and threw. The ball struck the middle tiers, scattering a few more. But it also ricocheted off at an angle and bounced, hitting the stall owner squarely on the toe of his boot.

"Ow! Hey!" he yelped, hopping on one foot.

The crowd roared with laughter once more.

Gale let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Sorry! I didn’t mean to!" I called out, waving my hands apologetically.

"Deserved," Ann said succinctly, still chuckling.

The stall owner glared at me, his face turning a deeper shade of red. "DO I LOOK LIKE A CUP TO YOU, YOUNG LADY?!" he bellowed, his patience clearly at an end.

"Sor—" I began again, but Ace cut me off.

He placed another twenty spina on the counter with a sharp, definitive click. The coins gleamed under the lantern light.

"Another round," Ace stated, his silver eyes locking onto the stall owner’s. His voice held no room for argument.

The stall owner’s angry expression shifted back into that predatory, mocking smile. He saw a customer who was hooked, ready to spend more out of pride. "Dane! Another five balls for our... determined professor!"

Dane nodded and fetched a fresh set of balls.

"This time," Ace said, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with a deliberate push of his finger, his gaze never leaving the owner, "it’s a win."

"Bring it on, professor!" the stall owner challenged, leaning on the counter.

I blinked, looking between Ace’s focused, competitive expression and the owner’s smug grin. Wait, we’re still just playing a game, right? The air crackled with a new tension. It didn’t feel like a friendly festival contest anymore. It felt like a duel.