Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit

Chapter 162 - Rivalry of the Decade

Chapter 162 - Rivalry of the Decade

Some women would go to extremes just to grasp what they desire. Some act boldly to prove a point, to carve their will into the world like a scar. And then, there are those who simply want to watch everything burn.

The sun had not yet climbed to its peak, but the resort already shimmered with the promise of a blistering summer noon. The white sand beneath everyone's feet was still cool from the night breeze, yet Myrrh's temper burned hotter than the midday sun. Her piercing blue eyes, sharp as shards of ice, locked onto Ephraim, who returned her glare with nothing more than a strained, half-hearted smile.

"Pardon?" Ephraim asked, blinking twice as if her words had stung.

"I said—scram." Myrrh crossed her arms, her voice cutting like a blade as she turned away. "I'm not interested in playing your games."

"Uh-huh..." Ephraim's expression faltered, his lips twitching into a frown. "I-I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll... be on my way."

He bowed slightly, almost awkwardly, before turning to leave. But just as he lifted a foot to retreat, another voice slithered into the moment—one meant not to soothe but to ignite.

"Are you chicken, Myrrh Alicent?" Clarisse's tone dripped with mockery, her smug smile twisting like a knife.

"Excuse you?!" Myrrh's voice shot upward, sharp and towering like Mount Everest itself.

"I asked if you're a chicken, Miss Mary Sue." Clarisse placed her hands firmly on her hips, tilting her body to draw attention to the crimson bikini that clung to her curves. Her words cut deeper than the sea breeze. "I thought you were flawless, untouchable even. But no—you only fight when it's convenient for you."

"Try moving that jaw and you'll never move it again." Myrrh smiled — but it was a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Blue veins pulsed at her temples and her fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles whitening with the kind of readiness that promised a fight.

"Just admit it. You don't want to be beaten by me. Again." Clarisse's smirk was slow and satisfied, like someone enjoying the last piece of a prize.

"I'll take you on then!" Myrrh's voice cut across the sand like a bell. "You can bring your cheater boyfriend — I'll bring mine!"

She folded herself against my arm in a quick, possessive hug. The pressure of her chest against my bicep was warm and surprisingly solid; under different circumstances I might've noticed how it felt, but the sting of her words left little room for anything but irritation.

"Wait—am I a cheater boyfriend too?" I blurted, caught between indignation and the absurdity of the accusation.

"Haha! Your goon is hilarious!" Clarisse barked, laughter sharp as broken shells. "At least he has a sense of humor — unlike you."

"Let's see that grin after I beat you and your cheater boyfriend," she added, voice lowering into a dangerous purr, "in beach volleyball."

<><><>

They marched over to Hazel together, drama in tow, and asked to schedule an "exhibition" beach-volleyball match. Hazel raised an eyebrow but waved them on — the real team agreed to stand down, making room for our little spectacle. The whole beach transformed into a stadium: folding chairs lined the sand, umbrellas bobbed like brightly colored flags, and every laugh and shout from the birthday party felt like collective percussion tuned to our names. Even my classmates had shown up, faces bright with curiosity and mischief.

"Go, Zaft! You can do it!" John called, voice cracking with enthusiasm.

"Go make a slam dunk or an uppercut or something!" Jeffrey teased, grinning like he'd already seen the highlight reel.