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Cassius moved with purpose through the game hall, his eyes scanning the wall of mana crystals until he located the one for Elemental Contra. His hand was already reaching out, mental energy gathering in preparation to activate it, when Victor's hand shot out and yanked him backward by the shoulder.
"Hey, hey, hey! Hold on a second!" Victor's voice carried that particular mix of exasperation and amusement that only came from dealing with an overly focused Cassius. "What do you think you're doing?"
Cassius blinked at him, confused by the interruption. "Playing Elemental Contra? You were the one who insisted we come here."
"The priority right now isn't Contra—it's the Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors leaderboard!" Victor gestured dramatically toward the display board where the new game's rankings glowed with empty slots. "The game literally just launched two days ago, and the First Clear list is completely empty. You've had a two-day head start on everyone else in the entire city because you got the beta version early. If someone else snatches the First Clear achievement from under your nose after all that practice, wouldn't that make me—your beloved cousin who gave you early access—look absolutely terrible?"
Cassius considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. Victor had a point. He'd been playing Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors for two solid days now, learning the patterns, mastering the mechanics, understanding the quirks of each Tortoise Warrior. He had a significant advantage over every other player in Crimson Port.
If he let someone beat him to the First Clear now, he would be genuinely upset about it for a very long time.
His competitive spirit ignited like a match touching oil. Without another word, Cassius turned away from the Elemental Contra crystal and reached instead for the Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors station, his expression shifting into that focused intensity that meant he was about to take something very seriously.
Victor stared at him in disbelief. "Hey! Wait! Why are you activating your own version?"
"Because that is my copy," Cassius replied matter-of-factly, not seeing the issue.
"Play mine!" Victor insisted.
Cassius glanced at the special crystal Victor was pointing to—the developer version with enhanced lives and other modifications. "That is your special version. It is not suitable for what I am trying to accomplish. I am a man who intends to challenge the leaderboard with legitimate settings."
Victor looked at him like he'd just announced he was going to fight a dragon using only a wooden spoon. "Are you being deliberately dense right now, or is this just natural Cassius behavior?"
"I don't understand the question."
"My point," Victor said slowly, as if explaining basic arithmetic to a child, "is that you can use my special version to scout the enemy's attack patterns without consequences. My version gives you extra lives, which means you can survive longer in each stage to study the mechanics, learn the timing, memorize the spawn points. You can experiment freely. Plenty of people who bought the runestone tablet yesterday still paid to play the arcade version here for exactly that reason—practice without pressure. Didn't you think of that?"
Cassius paused mid-reach, his hand hovering over his own crystal.
That... actually made a tremendous amount of sense.
He turned to look at Victor properly, reassessing his cousin's suggestion. Victor was grinning at him with an expression of pure mischievous satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself for coming up with such a clever strategy.
Cassius kept his face completely blank. "What are you smiling about?"
Victor's grin widened into something almost predatory. "Beg me."
"What?"
"Go on, beg me! Ask nicely. Better yet, call me 'Cousin Victor' in that respectful tone you use with the elders. Let me hear you acknowledge my superior wisdom."
Cassius's expression didn't change. Without breaking eye contact, he calmly placed his hand back on the control panel of his own standard runestone crystal. "Tomorrow morning, I will arrive at Caelan's shop before dawn to secure a practice spot on one of the arcade machines."
Victor's victorious expression faltered. "Wait—"
"Goodnight, Victor." Cassius began channeling his mental energy into his own crystal.
"Okay, okay! Fine!" Victor threw his hands up in surrender. "You can use my version! No begging required, you insufferable— just use the better version so you actually win, alright?"
Cassius allowed himself the smallest, most subtle smile. "Thank you, Cousin Victor. Your generosity is appreciated."
"I hate you so much right now."
"Noted." Cassius switched to Victor's crystal, his smile already fading back into focused concentration. "Now, once I achieve First Clear, you will join me for cooperative mode. That is non-negotiable."
Victor sighed dramatically but nodded. "Deal."
Due to the existence of the leaderboard—this brilliant, addictive ranking system that tapped directly into humanity's competitive nature—Caelan found that his players' fighting spirit had reached unprecedented levels. The mental energy feedback was significantly stronger than before, flowing into him in a constant stream as people played with fierce determination.
The increase was substantial enough that Caelan could feel it even when he wasn't paying attention. He was probably smiling in his sleep at this point, subconsciously counting the copper bits rolling in.
The next morning, before the sun had fully crested the horizon, a crowd was already gathered outside Game City's doors.
Caelan arrived to find at least twenty people waiting, their breath visible in the cool morning air, all of them shifting impatiently and checking the position of the sun every few seconds. Many of them were clutching newly purchased runestone tablets—they'd bought the home version yesterday but were now determined to challenge the Fierce Tortoise leaderboard on the arcade machines where the real competition happened.
Caelan didn't waste time on pleasantries or morning small talk. He simply unlocked the doors, stepped aside, and let the flood of eager gamers pour into the hall.
The pricing structure remained consistent with his other titles: ten copper bits to start with five lives, two copper bits for each continue after that, with a maximum cap of ten continues. Most players, seized by competitive fervor, immediately slapped thirty copper bits onto Oliver's counter—the full amount to max out their attempts right from the beginning.
This works out perfectly, Caelan thought with satisfaction as he watched the pile of coins grow. It saves Oliver and me from having to run back and forth collecting payment between rounds.
Capitalizing on the intensely competitive atmosphere, Caelan had prepared something special for today. He retrieved a new mana crystal from his office—smaller than the game crystals but specifically enchanted for display purposes—and carefully configured it with a fresh leaderboard interface.
This one was different from the existing score boards. The magical light was brighter, more eye-catching, with a subtle pulse that drew attention without being obnoxious. When he hung it on the wall in a position of prominence, it was immediately impossible to miss.
The text materialized in glowing letters:
FIRST CLEAR HERO LEADERBOARD
Elemental Contra: Quinn of House Stormcall
Super Mario: Quinn of House Stormcall
Tank Battle: Karrum Ironhammer (Currently 1st on Score Leaderboard)
Salamander:None
Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors:None
The moment the board appeared, conversation in the hall died. Every head turned toward the display, eyes tracking across the names—or lack thereof.
Caelan positioned himself beneath the glowing text, raising his voice to address the assembled players. "Everyone, listen carefully. The names you see on this board will be permanently displayed. They will never change, never be updated, never be replaced. Each game will only ever have one person who achieves the honor of 'First Clear.'"
He let that sink in, watching understanding dawn on various faces.
"However," he continued, his tone becoming more serious, "there is a strict restriction. To qualify for the First Clear Hero Leaderboard, your total deaths throughout the entire playthrough cannot exceed four. If you die five or more times, you are disqualified from First Clear consideration, regardless of whether you eventually beat the game. This applies equally to both the arcade version and the home version—no exceptions."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people processed the challenge. Four deaths maximum. That was brutal. Most games took dozens of attempts to complete even once you knew what you were doing.
Caelan elaborated on the technical distinctions. "The Home Version—the runestone tablets you purchase—allows you to pause whenever needed, but offers no continues. You have your base lives, and that's it. The Arcade Version here in the shop prohibits pausing, but allows up to ten continues at two copper bits each. Both versions count toward leaderboard qualification, but remember: only total deaths matter. Four is the limit."
Even without detailed explanation, most of the assembled gamers understood the implications immediately. This wasn't just about beating a game—it was about beating it nearly perfectly. The restriction made the challenge real, meaningful, worthy of the permanent recognition.
Throughout the hall, the eyes of those most eager to make a name for themselves burned with fevered determination.
Standing near the back of the crowd, partially obscured by taller players, was a girl with short, practical hair cut just above her shoulders. Quinn of House Stormcall observed the First Clear Hero Leaderboard with quiet intensity, her expression betraying nothing of her thoughts.
Her gaze drifted from her own name listed twice at the top, to Karrum Ironhammer's entry for Tank Battle, and finally to the two empty slots: Salamander and Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors.
She'd already proven herself capable. Two First Clears meant she understood how to achieve perfection under pressure. But there was no room for complacency—empty slots didn't stay empty forever.
After a moment of careful consideration, Quinn decided to prioritize Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors. It was the newest release, the most popular game in the shop right now, and therefore the most prestigious target. Clearing it first would ensure her name remained prominently displayed, cementing her status as Crimson Port's premier gamer.
As for Salamander... she'd deal with that later. Its popularity was relatively low, and few people seemed interested in discussing it, let alone attempting a First Clear run. The empty slot was safe for now. She had time.
Quinn made her way toward an available Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors station, already mentally reviewing the patterns she'd observed other players struggling with yesterday.
Meanwhile, across the city at Crimson Academy, Vice Dean Cassandra's mood had plummeted to depths usually reserved for budget meetings and disciplinary hearings.
She sat in her private study, staring at the piece of parchment her servants had brought her—a carefully copied transcription of the new leaderboard data from that Illusionist shopkeeper's game hall.
Just yesterday, she'd finally managed to clear the Easy difficulty of Elemental Contra with only seven lives lost. It had taken her three solid evenings of practice, countless frustrating deaths, and more swearing than was probably appropriate for a woman of her position. But she'd done it. She'd been preparing to casually mention this achievement to her nephew, perhaps during lunch, with an air of effortless competence.
However, her servants had delivered news that completely destroyed her moment of triumph: the Illusionist shopkeeper hadn't just released new games; he'd established a comprehensive ranking system that highlighted exactly how far she still had to go.
"Normal difficulty..." Cassandra read the text again, her voice rising with each word. "Only two lives lost?!"
She clutched at her hair in frustration, completely abandoning the careful composure and elegant bearing expected of a Vice Dean. Her servants, long accustomed to these outbursts when gaming was involved, maintained respectful silence while carefully staying out of arm's reach.
"How did they do that?" Cassandra demanded of no one in particular. "What kind of reflexes—no, what kind of inhuman precision does a person need to clear Normal difficulty while dying only twice? Is this Quinn person even human, or are they some kind of combat prodigy?"
The servants exchanged glances, wisely choosing not to point out that the Vice Dean was supposed to be working on magical research today, not obsessing over game rankings.
One of them ventured carefully, "Young Miss, are you still planning to visit the Magical Research Department this morning?"
Cassandra's head snapped up, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Of course I am! What kind of question is that?" She stood abruptly, straightening her robes with quick, angry motions. "I can distinguish between important professional responsibilities and personal hobbies. My research duties take priority. I'll play these new games when I return this afternoon."
Absolutely doomed, the servants thought in unison, but their expressions remained professionally neutral.
"Did you purchase those new games?" Cassandra asked, her tone making it very clear this had better have been done. "The chicken-thing? And the turtle-whatever?"
"It is titled Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors, Young Miss," one servant corrected gently. "Both it and the other new releases have been purchased and placed in your bedroom as requested."
"Very good." Cassandra swept toward the door, her hair still in disarray from her earlier frustration. "At least someone around here is competent."
In the courtyard outside, a young Crimson-Scaled Dragon about the size of a large bathtub noticed Cassandra passing by. The creature's eyes lit up with excitement, and it bounded toward her with the enthusiastic clumsiness of youth, clearly wanting to play.
Cassandra, without breaking stride, gently but firmly kicked the little dragon over.
It rolled several times, coming to rest on its back with its wings splayed awkwardly. The dragon huffed and puffed indignantly as it struggled to roll back onto its feet, its stubby legs waving uselessly in the air.
Watching the creature's comical struggles improved Cassandra's mood significantly. She actually smiled as she continued toward the research building.
Behind her, the servants sighed in relief. At least Young Miss was in better spirits now. That poor dragon earned its keep today.
The influence of the First Clear Hero Leaderboard continued to spread throughout Crimson Port like wildfire through dry grass.
Many people who hadn't planned to leave their homes that day specifically made the trip to Game City just to check the rankings in person. Word of mouth spread fast—conversations in taverns, discussions at the Academy, gossip among merchant families. Everyone wanted to know who held which records, who was attempting challenges, whose names might appear next.
And while they were at the shop checking the boards, well... it seemed wasteful not to purchase the newly released games. The sales of Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors and Salamander surged as competitive spirit merged with simple curiosity.
Caelan greeted each customer with genuine warmth, happily watching his small treasury grow measurably heavier with each passing hour. Life was good. Business was booming. His games were creating exactly the kind of engaged, passionate community he'd hoped for.
Around noon, during a brief lull in customer traffic, a young man arrived at the shop asking about employment opportunities.
Caelan sized him up quickly. The applicant looked to be about his own age—perhaps sixteen or seventeen—with the kind of lean, practical build that suggested he was used to physical work. His clothes were clean but worn, clearly his best outfit brought out for the job interview.
After asking a few basic questions—work experience, availability, ability to handle customer service, comfort with money handling—Caelan found the young man decent enough. Honest eyes, straightforward answers, no red flags jumping out.
"You're hired," Caelan decided. "Go find Oliver—he's the one handling the arcade stations right now, probably wearing himself ragged. He'll show you the basics. The work is mostly delivering food and drinks to customers, activating game machines, processing continue payments, and general customer assistance. Once you learn the rhythm, it's fast work."
The young man's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "Thank you, sir! I won't let you down!"
After several days of intensive training under fire, Oliver had essentially become capable of handling the floor operations independently. The job wasn't particularly complex—it just required attention to detail, good memory for who ordered what, and the ability to stay calm when twenty people needed help simultaneously.
With two assistants now, Caelan figured he might not even need to be on the game floor himself in the near future. He could focus entirely on development and business expansion, leaving the day-to-day operations to his capable staff.
Scaling up, Caelan thought with satisfaction as he retreated to his office area. This is what real business growth looks like.
He settled into his work station—one hand resting on a mana crystal for mental energy support, the other positioned over a blank runestone tablet—and began the intensive process of engraving games. His hands moved in a practiced blur, muscle memory taking over as his consciousness dove into his Mind Palace.
Excluding the massive bulk order from that merchant, Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors had already sold over four hundred individual copies in less than two full days. The demand curve suggested this was only the beginning—the wave of customers was going to get significantly bigger before it plateaued.
Many customers were buying multiple copies at once, clearly purchasing gifts or buying on behalf of friends and family who couldn't visit the shop personally. Fortunately, Caelan had developed the foresight to maintain substantial inventory stockpiles. If he'd been as relaxed about production as he was when the shop first opened—making games only as needed—he would have completely sold out by now.
That would have been a disaster. Nothing killed momentum and customer goodwill faster than empty shelves and "Sorry, we're sold out" signs.
Later in the afternoon, two more people arrived seeking employment.
The first was a young woman—beautiful, certainly, with carefully styled hair and an outfit that somehow managed to be both expensive and slightly inappropriate for a job interview. But more concerning than her appearance was her behavior.
She leaned over Caelan's desk at odd angles that had nothing to do with conversation. She made prolonged eye contact while biting her lower lip. Her hand "accidentally" brushed against his arm multiple times. At one point, she actually winked while suggesting she was "very good with her hands" and could "help him with anything he needed."
The subtext was about as subtle as a brick through a window.
The second applicant was a man who initially seemed professional enough. Clean appearance, appropriate demeanor, reasonable answers to basic questions. But Caelan noticed his eyes kept darting around the room during their conversation—specifically toward the locked drawer where daily earnings were stored before being transferred to the bank.
The man tried to be secretive about it, probably thought he was being clever. But under the coverage of Caelan's current mental energy range—enhanced by months of magical feedback from his games—the man's intentions were laid embarrassingly bare. The telltale signs of calculation, the way his attention kept returning to the coin drawer, the slight tension in his posture that suggested he was planning something.
Both applicants were rejected immediately.
Caelan didn't even bother with polite explanations. He simply said "This isn't going to work out" and showed them the door.
After the second rejection, Caelan stood in his office doorway, watching customers play his games with genuine enthusiasm and joy. Then he glanced toward the exit where the rejected applicants had left.
He shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face.
Hmph, he thought with more amusement than annoyance. They're all just after my money.
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