Pulonia extended its mechanical finger and gently poked Sandrone’s arm.
“What?”
The icy touch caused Sandrone to shudder violently, jerking out of her daze in front of the monitors.
When she looked back at the security feed, Daigan was no longer in the frame.
“Where is he?!
Where did he go?!”
Sandrone rapidly scanned all the monitors, desperate to catch a glimpse of his figure on one of the screens.
“Where could he have gone?
Wait!
I still have a backup plan!”
Her fingers flew across the control panel, preparing to initiate the factory’s deep defense protocol.
However, Pulonia’s massive metal palm suddenly blocked her path, its mechanical head turning toward the entrance of the tea room.
Sandrone followed its gaze.
The tea room’s intricately carved wooden door had somehow been opened, and Daigan’s figure stood quietly there.
The blade in his hand was unsheathed, its sharp edge reflecting a chill glare under the indoor lights.
His eyes, completely devoid of emotion, rested on the two figures beside the tea table.
“Ugh—”
Stared down by those dead, stagnant eyes, Sandrone felt an unexplainable surge of guilt, as if *she* were the trespasser who had done something wrong.
But the next second, reality snapped back—this was *her* factory!
She was the ruler here!
*This is my house!!!*
“What are you staring at?!
You illegal trespasser!” Sandrone burst to her feet, her chair scraping harshly against the floor.
“What do you take my workshop for?
An open-air market?!”
Daigan didn’t answer, nor did he turn and leave or look for a place to sit as he usually would.
He simply walked toward the tea table, step by step, spinning his blade deftly between his fingertips into one dangerous arc after another with every stride.
“P…
Pulonia!” Sandrone instinctively took a step back, ducking behind the automaton.
Pulonia’s massive mechanical body instantly shielded Sandrone.
Its hydraulic joints emitted a low roar, and its outer armor plates began to shift, revealing the faintly glowing blue energy core beneath.
It had sparred with Daigan before; in its standard form, it held no strength advantage over him.
Recalling the security footage of Daigan slicing through alloy with a single strike, Sandrone’s eyes narrowed, and she issued a ruthless command:
“Go all out!
Show him this isn’t a place where he can run wild!”
“Acknowledged.”
Pulonia’s emotionless mechanical voice resonated.
*Clank, clank, clank—*
Its arms began to transform.
The heavy armor pulled back, and a cannon barrel of terrifying caliber slowly extended from its shoulder joints.
A blinding crimson light began to condense at the muzzle.
That was the “Deathfire Cannon,” an attack that compressed energy to its extreme—enough to vaporize a small mountain in an instant.
Its only drawback was that it was difficult to land a hit.
Yet in such a tight indoor space, accuracy was the least of its concerns.
“Deathfire Cannon—”
A blood-red murderous intent glinted in Pulonia’s single optic lens.
However, just a second before the energy overloaded and fired—
The sword in Daigan’s hand suddenly vanished.
Immediately following that, two exquisitely wrapped cheesecakes—still radiating faint wisps of sweet, piping hot steam—abruptly appeared in his hands.
He didn’t attack, nor did he run away.
Carrying the two cakes, he walked straight up to Pulonia’s destruction-laden cannon muzzle and stopped without a shred of defense, as though standing before not a lethal weapon, but an ordinary girl.
“For you.”
Standard, plain words spilled from Daigan’s mouth.
No threat, no explanation, merely a statement.
This sudden act of “goodwill” stunned Sandrone more than any attack could have.
For a moment, the bizarre contrast short-circuited her brain, leaving her utterly speechless.
“Oh.
Thank you.”
Fortunately, Pulonia possessed an independent combat logic.
It forcefully aborted the charging sequence of the fully prepped “Deathfire Cannon,” retracting the barrel back into its gauntlet.
After giving thanks, it extended a massive mechanical finger and, with a gentle movement completely incongruous with its size, carefully took the slender gift bags.
Only when Pulonia held the cakes securely in its palm…
…did Sandrone feel as if the spell immobilizing her had been broken.
Snapping back to her senses, she raised an eyebrow and glared at Daigan.
“…Huh?”
***
Soon, the time arrived for the tea party to officially begin.
…
*Knock, knock, knock.*
A gentle tapping sound came from the window, as if a small animal were scratching at the glass.
Frowning, Sandrone walked over and pushed open the window, only to see Columbina squatting on the sill barefoot like a nimble dove, an innocent smile on her face.
“Sandrone, I came to eat warm bread—no, drink warm red tea,” Columbina said as she jumped smoothly into the room, landing almost silently.
“And hot bread.”
“Must you enter through the window every single time?!” Sandrone grumbled crossly, reaching out to tidy Columbina’s wind-tousled hair.
“Would it kill you to use the front door?”
“It’s fine.
Sandrone’s windows are very big, so it’s easy to slip inside.” Columbina giggled, stepping into the tea room and glancing around.
“Looks like I’m the first to arrive at Sandrone’s tea party again today.”
Sandrone closed the window, shook her head, and corrected her: “First of all, today’s event is a ‘farewell tea party,’ not a normal tea party.
Second, who said you were the first to arrive?”
Columbina tilted her head in confusion.
Her blindfolded eyes seemed to “look” around in bewilderment.
“Hmm?
Is there someone else here besides me?”
“Hey!
Don’t make it sound like nobody ever comes to my tea parties!” Flabbergasted by Damselette’s strange logic, Sandrone pointed exasperatedly toward the tea table.
Following her finger, Columbina saw a figure sitting beside the delicate tea table—a figure whose demeanor felt completely out of place in this warm, cozy setting.
“Over there…
an uninvited guest already arrived before you,” Sandrone said through gritted teeth.