A third figure brushed past, close enough that her sleeve grazed his arm, a lithe girl with a sharp jaw, her hair flicking back in a haughty arc.
A glowing orb hovered at her shoulder, spitting faint sparks, and she didn't even glance his way, her nose tilted like she owned the air itself.
Gon smirked, undeterred.
Rival or not, she was a looker, and he'd crack that shell eventually.
The courtyard pulsed around him, ripe with chances, fights to win, women to charm.
Milo's coin clinked behind him, a dull echo.
Let him waste his time, Gon was already moving.
****
The Grand Hall swallowed them whole as the steward ushered the group inside, its vastness stretching out like a cavern carved from light.
Marble floors gleamed underfoot, polished to a mirror sheen that threw back warped reflections of the mages' boots.
