Answering Machine: G'day, you've reached Desert Flannel.
Answering Machine: I'm not home right now, or I don't have time for calls. Please leave a message after the "beep."
Answering Machine: Hello? We've only got 20 minutes before the game starts! Where are you?
Answering Machine: Get your ass here now, unless you're dead!
Answering Machine: Look, look, I know you're not into these games, but you can really use the money, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't have come to me!
Not a single beam of light can pass through the thick blackout curtain. Blocked out by it is a perfect sunny day.
Desert Flannel: Emm ...
Answering Machine: If you stand me up again, we're both screwed!
Desert Flannel: Urrhh ... Emm, whatever ... Just leave it to Thursday.
Answering Machine: The game on Thursday is crucial. I will get expelled if I mess it up! I'm begging you, d**n it! Just come over NOW!
Desert Flannel: Thur ... Thursday?
Between the quilt and the bed, the bipedal animal is struggling to come back to the waking world.
Desert Flannel: Wait. It's Thursday?!
The word is like a head-on shocking blow.
She has missed out on so many things.
A similar misfortune befalls someone else, too.
Vertin: We missed the right junction. The roads are different from the map Mr. Slouch Hat gave us.
Vertin: It's too outdated to provide any useful information.
Medicine Pocket: Terrific! We've gone wrong again. This is like ... yeah, the fourth time.
Medicine Pocket: Since my short life is supposed to be spent in creating huge value for all the living things in this world ...
Medicine Pocket: The Foundation should have sent me another bodyguard—a more reliable one! And the contact here should have offered us a more reliable map!
Vertin: I am the one and only reliable "bodyguard" who can keep you safe among all the others in the Foundation.
Vertin: You are of great significance to Laplace. They don't want you to take any risks.
Cities always change, and maps are supposed to follow them in step.
Vertin: We can go back to the last junction or keep going forward. There is a trail about 300 meters ahead, and it leads all the way to the Rolling Croc Bookstore.
Vertin: You want to check the map?
Medicine Pocket: When things don't work out one way, a researcher will find another.
Medicine Pocket: See, there comes another way!
The girl coming around from the corner is the perfect choice.
Medicine Pocket: Hey, wait! Ms. Spa-Spathodea, right?
Spathodea: Umm ... Hmm? Who are you?
Spathodea: Umm, do I know you?
With sweat on the tip of her nose, she keeps hopping on the spot.
A Bestie Badge with her name on it is pinned to her chest. Clearly, she is not aware of what gives her away.
Medicine Pocket: But we've been lost for way too long, so long that the human society has begun to suffer economic losses because I've been loafing around.
Medicine Pocket holds the girl on her shoulders and slightly shakes her body.
Medicine Pocket: Now, you are given an opportunity to help the whole of humanity, and it only takes a few minutes, well, maybe hours, of your meaningless life—Take us to the Rolling Croc.
Spathodea: Go straight ahead, turn right into the lane after passing by a cafe with an orange signboard, and there it is! But do keep your heads down, or you'll be hit by the signboards there.
Spathodea: I can take you there if you need ... Oh, shoot!
Beep. Beep beep.
Spathodea: Warm-up time is almost over. I have to go! My coach is waiting for me for the punching exercise. Sorry guys, hope you find the store!
Vertin: Thank you. Hmm?
Desert Flannel: Make way! Make way! Move aside!
Spathodea: It's okay. Don't mention it!
The girl is setting out again. Her crisp voice overlaps the approaching shouting.
Vertin: Wait!
Vertin: Someone's at the corner! Watch ...
Desert Flannel: Errrahh!
Spathodea: H-Help! Urgh! Ugh ….
Vertin: Ugh ...
Spathodea: ... Fire? I'm ... on fire ...
Vertin: Confusion and weak pulse ... We have to take her to Laplace.
Spathodea: I ... Mmm ... Uhh ...
Spathodea: I-I'm fine! I'm always fine.
Spathodea: *deep breath*
Tossing and turning.
Spathodea: What happened to me? Did I really break some part of myself?
Spathodea: They said I passed out, but it doesn't feel like that to me. My vest is dusted, but I don't feel any pain at all.
She tosses around in bed, crumpling the bed sheet like wadded-up tissues.
Spathodea: Maybe I need more ice water?
She gulps down some cold water.
Spathodea: Mmm. No, maybe it's hot tea that I need.
And takes a sip of boiling hot black tea.
Spathodea: Uh ... Shoot, it's not working at all!
Spathodea: I should have gone to that "Lap-lettuce" with those wacky people and had a physical examination. Let me see, their card is in ... Wait, no!
Spathodea: I've turned them down. If I go back to them, ugh, that will be super embarrassing!
Spathodea: Besides, I bumped my head on the ground, but it's my stomach that is feeling sick now. I'm sure this is just a coincidence.
Spathodea: I-I seldom have junk food, and never miss the training at school! I know my body well. It's healthy! And tough!
She says so to comfort herself, shaking her head and pulling out a photo album from under the pillow.
Spathodea: I already took the medicine for stomach pain. Now just take a break and distract myself from it.
The moment she opens the album, a breeze blows out from it.
Spathodea: *deep breath* The smell of soil, mineral, burning coal, and the golden penda.
Spathodea: That already makes me feel much better.
Everyone has their own way to chill out, so does Spathodea.
She eagerly draws in the breeze, running her finger along the edge of the photos. In one of the photos, an arcanist with rosy cheeks is flying on a broom, cheering for her victory.
Spathodea: This is the first photo in my collection. Mom gave it to me for my fifth birthday.
Spathodea: In 1884, Branch Vault was very popular among arcanists. The Uluru Games that year had more trees than that in any other years.
Spathodea: Then in 1900, St. Pavlov Foundation took over the Uluru Games.
Spathodea: Out of security concerns, they abolished one third of the events that involved dangerous actions and imposed a lot of regulations on the rest. Jones got first place in the game that year.
Spathodea: Then, the Games in 1938. It was the most successful one ever since the Foundation took over.
Spathodea: It was so successful almost everyone thought the Games would be revived and brought back to the public, until ...
A slight sigh escapes her mouth. Now, she is looking at the last page of the thin album.
Spathodea: I wish I could see the Uluru Stadium with my own eyes again, even for just a minute.
Spathodea: Like ... like how I used to host the opening ceremonies in there.
Spathodea: Back then, I stood on the highest platform, igniting a flame from the wood saturated by ointment, and then flew on a rosewood branch, following a canoe in water and gently pushing it forward.
Spathodea: But the flame had a fight with me. I trembled with anger because ... she was such an unreasonable blockhead. Then, my sight was filled with darkness.
Spathodea: My sight?
Spathodea: MY SIGHT?!
Spathodea unconsciously scratches her chest, and then her throat.
Spathodea: Did I just say something? What are these things doing in my head? Are they illusions?
Spathodea: When did I go to the desert? Since when did I ... ugh ... *coughs*
A warm touch of itch climbs up from her stomach to her chest, squeezing itself out of her windpipe.
Like a bird fluffing its damp feathers, struggling its way out from her body.
Spathodea: Mmm. Is the medicine working? My stomach is much better now, but my throat ... It's, burning and itchy.
Spathodea: *retches* ... *coughs and gasps*
Spathodea: *coughs* ... Ughhh ...
Spathodea: *vomits*
Spathodea: M-Mom ...
Spathodea: M-M-Mom never told me ... w-w-we are descendants of the Red Dragon ...
Spathodea: No ... No no no no! I need to see the doctor right now!