Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 237: Three-Day Conference

Now that Cecilia had pieced together what kind of person Roarke originally was... and how much, Cecilia assumed, of a corruption Sienna’s manipulation had caused... she understood why Arkai just couldn’t bring himself to kill him.

It wasn’t blind loyalty from Arkai. And Roarke wasn’t a simple abuser, someone who would jump at any opportunity to harm.

Her husband was protecting someone he genuinely believed was a good man. A man who had made a lapse in judgment, who had committed a terrible, terrible mistake under circumstances that were far from simple.

In this world, nothing like that had happened yet.

Roarke was still a good person. Eighteen or nineteen years old, still working as Arkai’s right-hand man, still loyal and trustworthy and decent. Sienna hadn’t yet decided to involve him in her schemes, hadn’t yet weaponized his love against him.

More telling was Roarke, at his current age, refused to have anything to do with a girl just two years younger. His reaction to Cecilia’s question had been immediate, visceral, horrified. She’s sixteen. She’s a child. She’s my boss’s sister. That’s stupid.

His morals were intact.

Which meant Roarke’s feelings for Sienna, whatever they were, whatever they would become, had likely taken root after Sienna started pursuing Arkai. After she realized her brother would never reciprocate. After she began looking for other ways to force his attention, his acknowledgment, his love.

Sienna knew Arkai respected and loved his best friend. She knew that pitting them against each other would create chaos, would force Arkai to engage, to react, to notice her in ways he never had before.

And Roarke, caught in the middle, jealous of Arkai’s position in Sienna’s heart, hating him for never reciprocating the love she so desperately wanted... Roarke became vulnerable. Manipulable. Perfect.

In the real world’s narrative, Roarke had "taken advantage" of Sienna in a moment of her vulnerability. That was the story everyone believed.

But what if it was the opposite?

What if Sienna, the girl who was in this made up world capable of drugging her own brother, capable of locking him in a room to force a sexual encounter... was also capable of arranging her own "victimization"?

What if she had made sure Roarke would "take advantage" of her, manipulating him into thinking it was his own decision, his own desire, his own choice?

Cecilia still didn’t know what had happened on the day Rinne was conceived. The details were lost to time, buried under layers of trauma and blame and the convenient narratives of those who survived.

But she had pieces now. Enough pieces to form a picture.

Alright.

Perhaps she had gotten all the information she needed from this world. Enough to understand, enough to see. It was time to return to the real world. Time to put the pieces together there, with the real people, the real stakes, the real answers.

Cecilia entered her dorm room. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

She fell onto her bed, still in her clothes, and within moments, sleep claimed her.

Tomorrow was the third and last day of the conference.

***

Near the eastern edge of the demonstration hall, a small cluster of scholars huddled around their booth. It was a brand new day, the third day of the conference. Their presentation wasn’t for another hour, but they had arrived early. Too early, perhaps, to ensure that everything was perfect.

The booth itself was unassuming compared to the flashier demonstrations nearby. No crackling energy, or hovering objects, or illusionary displays.

Just a simple table covered in dark cloth, upon which sat a collection of seemingly ordinary objects. Several large jars sealed with enchanted wax, a series of intricate diagrams pinned to standing boards, and at the center, a shallow basin filled with what appeared to be ordinary sand.

But this sand was not ordinary.

It shimmered. Faintly, almost imperceptibly, the grains caught the light and held it, each tiny particle glowing with internal warmth. Enchanted sand, the key component of their life’s work.

"Did you check the seals again?" The question came from a young woman with wire-rimmed glasses and the perpetually worried expression of someone who had seen too many experiments go wrong. She hovered near the jars, her hands twitching with the urge to inspect them yet again.

"For the fifth time, Mimo, yes." The man beside her, an older student and unshaved, sighed. "The seals are intact. The waterproof containers are intact. The spells are intact. Everything is intact."

"But what if—"

"What if the sky falls? What if the ground opens? What if a rogue mage decides to turn us all into frogs?" He raised an eyebrow. "We can only prepare for so much, Mimo."

Mimoxa wrung her hands, her eyes still fixed on the jars. "You know how sensitive the sand is. One drop of water... just one drop, and the whole thing misfires. Or worse. Remember what happened in the lab last month? The dimensional hiccup that turned all my notes into interpretive dance?"

A third scholar, a young man with ink-stained fingers and the hollowed eyes of someone who had pulled too many all-nighters, snorted. "I still have nightmares about those dancing equations."

"We fixed that," the unshaved man said firmly. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" Mimoxa’s voice climbed an octave. "Sloan!"

"Completely! Completely fixed." He patted the air soothingly. "The point is, Mimo, we’ve taken every precaution. The sand is encased in three layers of waterproofing spells. The jars are enchanted to repel moisture. The container is certified waterproof by the Northern Alchemical Society."

"But what if someone—"

"Don’t worry." The ink-stained young man cut her off, his voice gentle but firm. "We sent all the documents to the committee weeks ago. We specified, in detail, that our package and our booth require careful handling. They know."

He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"And even beyond that, yesterday, Miss Araceli from the committee came by. You remember? The top student from the Unique Magic Department?"

Mimoxa blinked. "The one who...?"

"The same. She triple-checked all the booths around us. Reviewed our setup, our protocols, our safety measures." He shrugged, the gesture casual but his eyes warm with reassurance. "If she didn’t find anything wrong, I think we’re safe."

Mimoxa’s worried expression softened, just slightly. "She did seem... thorough."

"Thorough is an understatement. I think she inspected every grain of sand." The unshaved man chuckled. "If there was a problem, she would have found it."

For the first time that morning, Mimoxa’s shoulders relaxed. A smile crossed her face.

"I guess you’re right." She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I guess... I guess we’re ready."

"Finally!" The ink-stained young man threw his hands up in mock celebration. "Now can we please stop worrying and just wait for our turn like normal people?" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"Normal people?" Mimoxa raised an eyebrow. "Yakub, we’re presenting a portable, shape-shifting teleportation gate made of enchanted sand. I don’t think ’normal’ applies."

The three of them shared a laugh. It was nervous, excited, hopeful, and settled in to wait.

Around them, the conference hummed with activity. Demonstrations came and went. Crowds ebbed and flowed. And in their unassuming booth, three scholars watched the clock and prayed that when their moment came, the sand would do what it was supposed to do.

They didn’t know that disaster was happening in the back of the stage.