Phong read Emma's strategy notes while the mood in Baratok Town tried to decide whether it wanted to become a market day or a prelude to war.
The minotaur envoys had been given a side hall, three barrels of water, several baskets of root cakes, and enough boiled grain to keep them from deciding that diplomacy was best conducted while hungry. The Windriders had left with feathers bristling and threats tucked beneath scripture, and the town's guards had not relaxed since. Lizardmen watched the sky. Kamohai patrols moved through the canals with their spearpoints angled upward. Mice had vanished into roof beams, alleys, tunnels, and drain stones, forming the kind of listening web Phong pretended not to rely on as much as he did.
Emma stood beside him, arms folded, waiting for commentary.
Her notes were good, and that was the problem.
Good plans were easier to break when the world changed, because every dependency was deliberate. Emma had built her strategies around Team Nemean's levels, known skills, likely tournament rules, likely enemy responses, the public perception after Yeak, and the chance that Josh might try to weaponize the double elimination stage as theater. Then Alex had returned with bīng, the Ballad of Blades, Charge of the Bloodless Knights, and a title that made her future growth stranger than everyone else's.
Phong reached the third page, paused at a diagram showing three different bait routes, and tapped one arrow with the back of his pen.
"This is still useful."
Emma's eyes narrowed. "Which part?"
"The assumption. People expect us where they think it's the optimal solution. We can use that." He flipped two pages back. "But everything involving Alex as single-point pressure needs revision. You wrote this like she is a spear."
"She was a spear."
"Now she is a toolbox full of spears."
Joanne, seated nearby with one boot on a bench, grinned. "That may be the most romantic thing you have ever said about your fiancée."
Alex, who had been standing near the window watching for Windrider mounts in the distance, glanced over. "I have been called worse."
Phong closed the notebook halfway.
"I will reply properly later."
Emma's eyebrows rose. "Later?"
"Yes."
"That word worries me when you say it calmly."
Phong handed her the notebook. "Please welcome the minotaurs for me. Confirm the grain allocation numbers, but do not sign anything final until I check storage at Camp Stymphalian and Baratok. Pesky wings people change my plan. Erymanthian's supplies is not to be touched until I'm sure the Windriders are no longer a threat. Offer a first shipment as goodwill, but cap it low enough that scalpers cannot use it as market proof to raise prices again."
Emma accepted the notebook with a slow look. "And you?"
"I need to deal with the pesky winged people."
Alex immediately straightened. "I'm coming."
Phong shook his head. "I need you resting before tomorrow."
"You are not going alone to deal with a race that just threatened bloodshed."
"I am not going to them."
That slowed her.
Phong looked toward a floor hatch where a Great Burrow mouse was pretending not to listen. "I'm going to talk with people who can make sure the Windriders regret turning scripture into paperwork."
Rico leaned in from behind a chair. "This sounds suspiciously like soup justice."
"It is logistics."
"It's the same thing. Mine just have better spectacle and kamen rider finishers."
Emma studied Phong for another moment before her expression shifted from resistance into comprehension.
"You are not planning retaliation now, are you?" she said. "You want to crash their supply chain, right?"
Phong nodded. "If they choose war, they will need food, mounts, arrows, medicine, replacement feathers, safe roosts, and a route through the canyon. I cannot control their pride, but I can control how expensive that pride becomes."
Dominic gave him a long look.
"That sounds more like you than blasting them."
"I am trying very hard not to be Josh with better vegetables."
Joanne's grin faded at that, just a little.
Alex crossed the room and took his hand. Her grip was gentle, but her eyes remained sharp.
"Do not let them make you carry this alone."
Phong squeezed back. "I won't. That is why I am going to ask for help."
The Lime-Oak carried him to Floor One with the strange smoothness that still felt like stepping through a memory of roots.
One moment, Baratok Town surrounded him with its water smell, lizardmen tension, and minotaur negotiations. The next, the air changed to the humid green of Camp Harpy's outskirts, where the treant forest rose beyond the cultivated fields like a court of old judges who had decided that moving quickly was vulgar.
The pixie nest had been built within that forest, near enough to Camp Harpy to benefit from food and far enough that the Greencap Bunnies did not spend every morning wondering whether their children were about to become snacks.
The change in the nest after only a few days was alarming.
When Rico had first brought the pixie queen to Phong, she had been grotesque, dangerous, and hungry in the way starving colonies became dangerous. Now, with crop mash, mushroom paste, softened grain, and carefully supervised protein scraps flowing from Camp Harpy, she had grown fat.
Queen fat. Egg-laying fat. Colony-expanding fat.
Her abdomen had swollen. Worker drones crawled over bark scaffolds, woven plant fiber, and resin-like secretion hardened into chambers. Soldiers hung from branches in rows, wings folded, heads turning in eerie unison as Phong entered. Larvae pulsed inside translucent cells, fed by drones carrying mashed roots and mushroom pulp.
The colony had tripled.
Phong stopped under an arch of twisted treant roots and stared.
A pixie worker landed on a nearby branch with a glob of crop paste in its claws.
Phong pointed at the nest. "This was not here yesterday."
The pixie queen's voice came from deeper inside, thick and resonant through the swarm.
"Yesterday, hunger still argued with trust."
A corridor opened through the drones.
Phong walked in carefully, aware that several fire chickens from Camp Harpy had been stationed nearby as living deterrents. The pixies obeyed the queen, but the fire chickens were the reason the agreement had teeth. Occasionally, a soldier pixie glanced toward the chickens, then looked away with visible ancestral dread.
The queen rested in a central chamber built around a living treant root. The treant tolerated this with the immense patience of something that measured inconvenience in seasons.
"Green," the queen said.
"Queen."
Her mandibles clicked. "You bring new command?"
"A request."
"Requests from the Green? How rare."
"I need some of your drones moved to Floor Three," Phong said. "Quietly. I want them waiting in Obsidian Canyon for my signal."
The chamber stilled, not because the queen was offended, but because every drone listening through her had become attentive at once.
"Why does the Green request my children hidden in black stone?" she asked.
Phong appreciated that she did not pretend not to understand the shape of it.
"The Windriders of Floor Four have created a conflict with us," he said. "They claim Obsidian Canyon belongs to them because of holy scripture. They demanded Fort Erymanthian."
The queen's wings shivered.
"Did they build the stone nest?"
"No."
"Did they feed the workers who carved it?"
"No."
"Did they bleed there?"
"Not for us."
"Then they come as thieves."
Phong almost smiled. "That is one way to put it."
The queen leaned forward, eyes glittering.
"You prepare war."
"I prepare for the possibility of war." Phong rested a hand against one of the treant roots, feeling the living wood beneath his palm. "I do not want one. I offered trade and joint sky control. They left with threats."
"Threats are young war."
"Yes."
The queen's antennae tilted. "Why drones?"
"Supply chains."
The words felt strange in his mouth when spoken in a treant forest to a newly fed pixie queen, but the principle was the same everywhere.
"I have known logistics mattered in war," Phong said. "Books say it. History says it. Every serious strategy discussion says it. Armies move on food, medicine, spare parts, morale, and routes. I understood that in theory."
The queen waited, and Phong's voice grew quieter.
"Then Bai Hu trapped me on Floor Two."
Memory moved beneath his skin.
Team Nemean had once been trapped while their utility plants ran dangerously low. They had not had enough Arrogant Ginger to survive the Soerai. Phong had been forced into several rash decisions and dangerous bargains, even risking the anger of three Pillars just to keep everyone safe.
"I learned what it feels like when a war cuts the road behind you," he said.
The pixie queen remained silent for a long moment.
Then she said, "You wish the Windriders to learn hunger before reaching your nest."
"I wish them to turn back before they hurt anyone," Phong said. "If they keep coming, yes. I want their food stores spoiled, their mount feed stolen, their night camps harassed, their messengers chased, and their roosts made unsafe. I want them to understand that Fort Erymanthian is not a prize sitting alone on a cliff. It is connected to a living network that bites back."
The queen's abdomen shifted against the woven floor.
"The drones will go."
"That fast?"
"You fed hunger. Hunger remembers." Her mandibles opened slightly, almost a smile. "We will move through hidden branches, cracks, and abandoned dark. We will wait in the canyon. If wing-thieves invade, every rider will learn the long lesson between pride and starvation."
Phong nodded slowly.
"Do not eat prisoners without permission."
The queen clicked with disappointment.
"Green makes boring laws."
"Green keeps alliances alive."
"Alive prisoners require guards."
"I know. We will handle it."
"Then we ambush supplies first, riders second, flesh only when permitted."
"That is disturbingly close to what I wanted."
The queen seemed pleased.
Phong left the nest with the prickling awareness that he had just added pixie asymmetrical warfare to Yuè's list of options. He was not sure whether to feel proud or deeply concerned, and both seemed reasonable.
He found the Great Burrow mice near Camp Harpy's storage pits, where they were arguing with Greencap farmers over whether a crumb counted as cargo, tax, or divine accident. The Great Burrow king himself was present, seated on a spool of thread like a throne while three scribes scratched marks onto bark slips.
The king's whiskers lifted when Phong approached.
"Farmer-king needs quiet paws?"
"Yes," Phong said. "Floor Four. Windrider territory."
Several mice stopped writing.
The Great Burrow king's eyes narrowed. "Sky riders."
"You know them?"
"Know of them. Loud above. Hard to bite from below."
"I need locations. Where they live, where they keep barracks, roosts, supply caches, mount feed, scripture halls if possible, and routes from Floor Four to the canyon."
The king studied him. "War?"
"Maybe."
"Need sabotage maps?"
"Need options." Phong paused. "If push comes to shove, I may unleash Timatoes on them and see whether Timatoes can keep up with level fifty-five-plus Windriders."
The mouse scribes froze, and one of them slowly looked up.
The Great Burrow king's whiskers twitched.
"Tiger tomatoes against sky riders."
"Yes."
"Very loud option."
"Rico keeps asking for loud options. I am trying to make sure mine are at least pointed in the right direction."
The king accepted that with the grave nod of someone who understood the burden of managing unstable heroes.
"We will search. Not too close at first. We map edges, then holes, then food."
"Carefully," Phong said. "No unnecessary risks. If they detect you, retreat."
"Farmer-king always says this."
"Because I have learnt that mice of the Great Burrow are small and brave and have terrible ideas."
The Great Burrow king placed one paw against his chest. "We are honored by accurate praise."
Phong returned to Baratok Town after sending the first mouse teams through the appropriate routes.
He expected to find Emma negotiating with the minotaurs, Alex pretending not to wait for him, and Rico sulking about the lack of artillery-based diplomacy.
Instead, he found Rico standing in a fenced training yard with six Timatoes.
The Timatoes had gathered in a semicircle, tiger faces narrowed and green stems bristling. Their red bodies bounced slightly with suppressed aggression. Rico stood before them with the baby treant on his back and the posture of a raccoon conducting very serious business.
Phong stopped at the gate and listened.
"Gentlefruits," Rico said, "let us discuss opportunity."
One Timato growled.
Rico pointed at it. "Yes, excellent passion. You have brand identity. That is good. Now, my proposal is simple. Each of you gives baby tree here one small bite. Tiny bite. Symbolic bite. Barely a nibble."
The baby treant rustled uncertainly.
Another Timato opened its mouth and hissed boiling tomato scent.
Rico continued, undeterred. "In exchange, you receive the honor of contributing to the next stage of Kamen Rider evolution. Imagine it. Timato Berserker Form. Red armor. Tiger face chest plate. Boiling juice finisher. We all win."
The Timatoes looked at one another.
A cold line of understanding slid down Phong's spine.
Rico was trying to feed the baby treant Timato flesh.
If the baby treant absorbed enough of their traits, Rico might gain a Timato-based berserker form.
A berserker form based on aggressive, tiger-faced, boiling-juice, ego-driven tomato predators.
Absolutely not.
Phong opened the gate.
Rico's ears twitched, and he turned slowly.
"Farmer."
"Raccoon."
"This is not what it looks like."
"It looks like you are trying to negotiate body samples from my sentient combat tomatoes so your baby treant can eventually give you a berserker form."
Rico stared.
The Timatoes stared.
The baby treant rustled.
Rico lowered his voice. "Okay, it is exactly what it looks like, but—hear me out…"
Phong walked over and picked Rico up by the scruff before the raccoon could activate anything dramatic.
Rico immediately began squirming.
"Unhand innovation!"
"No."
"This is another attempt to snuff out my brilliant advancement in Kamen Rider technology!"
"Yes."
"You admit it?"
"I am not letting you become a Timato berserker the day before the elimination stage."
Rico twisted in the air, paws windmilling. "Progress waits for no tournament bracket!"
"Progress can wait until I am less tired."
The Timatoes watched the dangling raccoon with clear interest. One of them made a small approving growl.
Phong pointed at them. "And you. Stop considering it."
The Timato puffed up innocently.
"No. Don't use the "I did nothing wrong" face on me."
Alex arrived at the yard with Emma and Joanne behind her. She took in the scene in one glance and smiled.
"Did he try to create a tomato berserker form?"
Rico gasped. "Why does everyone make my genius sound dangerous?"
"Because you are you," Emma said.
Joanne leaned against the fence. "I kind of want to see it."
Phong shot her a look.
"I said kind of."
Rico continued to writhe. "This is oppression of art, science, and toku heritage!"
Phong sighed and reached into his pouch.
Rico stopped squirming the instant he saw the coffee packets, his eyes widening.
"How many?"
"Several."
"Define several."
"Enough that you leave the Timatoes alone until after the elimination stage."
Rico went limp in Phong's grip, suddenly dignified.
"Deal."
"That fast?" Joanne asked.
Rico accepted the coffee packets with both paws as Phong lowered him to the ground.
"A true innovator understands timing, funding, and caffeine."
"You were screaming about oppression five seconds ago," Emma said.
"Negotiation tactic."
The baby treant rustled in what sounded suspiciously like disappointment.
Phong pointed at it. "Do not learn from him."
Rico hugged the coffee packets to his chest and backed away from the Timatoes.
"Come, baby tree. We shall innovate elsewhere, under less tyrannical regimes."
"You are going to sit where I can see you," Phong said.
"Transparent governance crushes genius."
"Good."
The Timatoes dispersed reluctantly, muttering in growls and wet tomato clicks. Phong watched them go, making a mental note to assign chicken supervisors near the training yard. Little Fireball might not understand intellectual property theft, but she understood pecking anything that got too ambitious near Phong's plants.
Emma handed him his strategy notebook.
"Your minotaur deal is stable for now. They are blunt, but they prefer reliable granaries to speculative merchants."
"Good."
"And the Windriders?"
Phong looked toward the sky beyond Baratok's walls.
"Pixies are moving. Mice are mapping Floor Four. If the Windriders choose trade, we trade. If they choose war, their supply chain becomes the battlefield before Fort Erymanthian does."
Alex studied him quietly.
"You learned from Bai Hu."
"I learned that starving in a war makes every other problem worse."
Her expression softened, but only a little. "And you are still trying to make them turn back instead of making them bleed first."
"For now."
That answer carried enough honesty that Emma did not question it.
The day before the elimination stage was not restful. Phong had failed completely at getting one quiet day, which meant the universe remained consistent. Yet as evening settled over Baratok Town, minotaur envoys ate fairly priced grain, pixie drones moved toward the canyon, mice vanished toward Floor Four, Rico drank contraband coffee under supervision, and the Timatoes sulked because nobody appreciated their potential contribution to raccoon-based transformation arts.
Phong opened Emma's notes again.
Alex sat beside him.
This time, when he circled the next flaw in the strategy, his hand felt steadier.