Hu Tao clinched Super Mario's first pass with flair, her victory as inevitable as dawn—her prize a gleaming plumber-shaped trophy, a clearance certificate, and a spot atop the Honor List, a trifecta of triumph she wore like a crown.
Her permanent free Internet perk rendered the standard month-long card moot, so Liam swapped it for an exclusive VIP seat—a throne reserved solely for her, untouchable by the cafe's clamoring throng, a perk tailored to her impish reign.
"Top-notch, just what this hall master craves," Hu Tao chirped, her grin wide as she aimed a playful pat at Liam's shoulder, only to falter, her petite frame stretching on tiptoes against his taller build.
She wobbled, nearly tumbling into his arms, a stumble Zhongli caught from the corner of his eye—his mind drifting to a whimsical future where Liam might claim kin, perhaps netting him free Internet for life.
If Hu Tao glimpsed that thought, she'd have buried him on the spot—Meow, I bankroll you daily, and you'd sell me for a lifetime pass?—her shovel itching for action at the betrayal's whiff.
The games settled, Hu Tao, Keqing, and Tartaglia turned to The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, its reels a fresh lure after their digital conquests, each viewing it through their own lens.
Hu Tao watched it as spectacle—life and death her trade, she shrugged at Gandalf's fall and Boromir's end, her heart stirred but unshaken, a veteran of farewells unfazed by cinematic woe.
Tartaglia, battle-hungry Harbinger, sized up Middle-earth's foes—Sauron's might outstripped his, the Balrog a fiery gulf too wide, yet lesser foes seemed prey he'd relish, his ego picturing a warrior's romp through that realm.
Keqing, though, fixated on the human kingdoms—Middle-earth thrived sans divine hands, its cities and crowns forged by mortal will alone, a mirror to her dream of Liyue unshackled from godly reins.
No film frame toured those realms, a gap she rued—if she could peek into their halls, their laws, she might glean secrets to fuel her vision, a rule of man she'd long championed against Teyvat's divine sway.
Her gaze slid to Liam, dozing behind the counter—a wanderer of worlds, his mind a trove she'd tap, his insights a bridge to the governance she craved, a spark igniting as the day wound down.
Night fell, the cafe's doors locked at nine, and the melon-eaters dispersed—some sated by their hours, others grumbling for more, their footsteps fading as Liam planned a Wanmin Restaurant supper.
Keqing lingered, her silhouette poised by the entrance, and as Liam stepped out, she met him with a gleam—"Mr. Liam, I've booked a spread at Xinyue Kiosk; I'd like your counsel—join me?"—her invite a velvet hook he couldn't dodge.
They settled into Xinyue Kiosk's plush private room, dishes unfurling before them—silken flavors outshining Wanmin's hearty fare, a testament to top-tier chefs versus Master Mao's apprentices, though Mao's own hand rivaled any here.
Liam savored the meal, recalling Xinyue's failed bid to snag Mao—his loyalty to Wanmin a wall they couldn't breach—while Keqing, plate sampled, leaned in, her questions ready to spill like wine.
She began, voice steady, "I've heard your tales, Mr. Liam, and your time in many worlds—you've seen Liyue's Yuheng push for human rule, a dream I've shouted from every ledge I've climbed."
Keqing fidgeted, fingers twirling beneath the table, her cheeks faintly flushed—"I believe Liyue's folk can stand tall, emperor or no, and carve a radiant path with their own hands," she pressed, her faith in her people a blazing torch.
An emperor fangirl at heart—her home stuffed with Rex Lapis trinkets—she still burned for humanity's dawn, trusting millennia under his aegis had primed Liyue to stride solo, a future she'd stake her title on.
Liam smiled, his tone gentle but edged—"Bold words, Keqing, and I've caught wind of your fire—but tell me, do those Ringwraiths from The Lord of the Rings linger in your mind?"—his question a pebble in her certainty's stream.
She bristled, defiant—"Liyue's spirit won't buckle like that, and Teyvat lacks such cursed rings," her confidence a shield, dismissing Middle-earth's fall as a fable too foreign to touch her land's soul.
Liam shook his head, eyes sharp—"You're too sure—humans, of all races I've known, crave most and bend easiest; the Ring's just a spark—power, wealth, sway, they're the true tempters," his words a cold splash on her zeal.
"No magic trinket needed—desire alone topples kings; can you swear this generation's Seven Stars stay pure, or the next won't rot under power's weight?" he pressed, his gaze a scalpel peeling back her dream's gloss.
Keqing fired back, unbowed—"For millennia, every Seven Stars has held true, and they'll keep doing so—Liyue's honor isn't so frail," her voice a blade, cutting through his doubt with ancestral pride.
Liam's laugh was soft, bitter—"That's because Rex Lapis handpicked each one, every generation vetted by a god's eye—strip that away, and what holds your line?"—his truth a thunderclap, freezing her mid-breath.
She stared, stunned—the Seven Stars' flawless run, their duty's unbroken chain, all traced back to the Emperor's choice, a divine filter she'd never weighed against her vision's root.
Her dream of man's rule—bright, fierce—wavered under that lens; without a god's steady hand, could Liyue's mortals steer clear of the pitfalls that snared Middle-earth's kings, or would they too fall?
Silence draped the room, Xinyue's finery dimming as Keqing grappled—Liam's words didn't douse her fire but lit a shadow, a doubt she'd wrestle long after the plates were cleared.
***
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