CHAPTER 77: CHAPTER 77: THIS CHAOS THE BEST?!

Axelius crouched behind an overturned table, grinning like a gremlin as he peeked over the edge, frosting still smeared on his sleeve. Cream-filled pastries and crumpled napkins rained through the air like battlefield debris, and the garden was now an all-out warzone of sugar and screams. His heart was racing, but not from fear—from the sheer thrill of it all. He hadn’t laughed like this in ages.

Then came a soft voice, almost drowned out by the chaos, "Brother?"

He turned and saw Ellory making her way through the madness, ducking as a flying tart zoomed past her head. Her eyes were wide, her arms held close to her chest in panic. "What’s happening?! Are we under attack?!" she whispered loudly, sliding behind the table with him.

"No," Axelius said, chuckling, "This is war. And guess what? We’re winning."

Ellory blinked, still unsure.

Axelius leaned closer, eyes twinkling. "Wanna help?"

"M-Me?" she pointed to herself.

"Yes, you!" he reached beside him and handed her a small, soft sponge cake. "Hold it like this. Now, aim carefully... see that idiot in the purple coat?"

"You mean, Cyruz?"

"Exactly! That’s Cyruz. He deserves this. For everything." Axelius winked. "Now, throw!"

With hesitation, Ellory stood a little and lobbed the cake with all her strength. It wobbled midair and—SPLAT!—hit Cyruz straight in the face, right between the eyes.

A perfect shot.

Axelius gasped dramatically, stood up on the table and pointed both fingers at Cyruz, laughing so hard he nearly tipped over. "HAHAHA! Did you see that?! Ellory, you legend! You just knocked the smug off his royal-acting face! You’re better than half these so-called nobles!"

Ellory blushed, slightly shocked by her own success, then smiled proudly.

But just as Axelius turned to celebrate again—

SMACK!

A cream pie struck him square in the face.

He froze. Then slowly wiped frosting from his eye and blinked. In front of him, not far away, stood Elena. her golden curls bouncing slightly as she gave a proud, victorious smirk, arms crossed. Beside her stood her older brother, also smugly crossing his arms like he had just delivered divine justice.

Axelius gasped. "You!"

Elena tilted her head slightly, voice as sweet as sugar but sharp underneath. "Didn’t expect me, Lord Axelius? You caused quite the scandal. I merely returned the favor."

Ellory looked between them, confused, but Axelius narrowed his eyes. "So it’s war, huh?"

"Oh, it’s already war," Elena replied with a raised eyebrow. "And I play to win."

"You just declared dessert death match with the wrong person, Witch."

With that, Axelius wiped his face with both hands, grabbed two croissants like daggers, and stood ready.

Ellory ducked lower, whispering, "Brother, are we really going to continue?"

Axelius grinned. "She started it. I’m just finishing it."

The battle continued, with the sugar storm growing wilder by the second. Pudding splattered, kids shouted, nobles ran for cover, and somewhere in the madness.

The peaceful return of the Duke to the garden was met not with music or polite applause, but with the loud splat of a flying tart slamming directly into his face.

Time seemed to freeze.

The tart—thick with custard and berries—stuck for a moment before sliding down his cheek in slow motion, leaving behind an unmistakable trail of cream and crushed fruit. Gasps echoed around the battlefield. Those who had been mid-throw froze, desserts clutched in trembling hands.

A few nobles who had followed the Duke into the garden stood wide-eyed, their jaws slack. Maids and butlers stared in horror, until one maid, pale as paper, rushed forward with a trembling cloth and began to dab the Duke’s cheek frantically.

The Duke slowly raised his hand and took the cloth himself, wiping the remainder of the tart from his face with deadly calm. Then, his voice rang through the garden like thunder.

"ENOUGH!"

The chaos halted instantly. A cake fell from midair and hit the grass without a sound. Children froze in awkward poses, some halfway ducked behind overturned chairs or tables, others still holding pies that now felt heavier than bricks. Even the birds in the trees stopped chirping.

"What is the meaning of this disgrace?" the Duke roared, eyes scanning the battlefield.

"A celebration turned into a mockery! You children—fighting like peasants in a kitchen brawl! Do you have no sense of dignity? Of place? Of honor?"

No one dared to answer. Even the boldest troublemakers lowered their heads. Axelius, still gripping a half-squashed croissant, slowly slid it behind his back. "Oh-oh"

"You call this a celebration? This debauchery?" the Duke thundered, glaring down his nose at the children before him. "Have you no shame? No self-respect? You dishonor your names, your households, and mine!"

Then, from behind one of the toppled tables, a small figure stood up. Ellory, her cheeks pink and dress dusted with powdered sugar, stepped forward with courage in her wide eyes.

"Father"

Ellory stood with great care, her hands brushing crumbs off her dress, though streaks of cream still clung to her sleeves. She did not run to him. Instead, she walked with dignity despite her age, careful not to step in any splattered jelly or cream.

When she stood before the Duke, she curtsied deeply, lowering her head with both grace and respect.

"Please, Father," she said, her voice soft but unwavering, "I ask that you withhold punishment. Today may not have proceeded according to traditional expectations, but I assure you, it has brought me the greatest joy I have yet known."

The nobles blinked in disbelief. The Duke stared down at his daughter.

"This was the best birthday ever," she said sincerely, pressing her face into his robe. "Really. I’ll never forget it. I never laughed this much before, and everyone joined—even Axelius and Cyruz!"

There was silence.

"It is a memory I shall cherish—not in spite of the chaos, but because of it." She hesitated, glancing back at the children hiding behind tables and chairs.

"Please," she added gently, "do not scold them for what has already become my most treasured birthday. They did not ruin it. They made it real."

The Duke’s stern expression softened slightly, just for a moment. His hand moved to rest on Ellory’s head, smoothing down her slightly messy hair.

"...You call this chaos the best?" he muttered under his breath.

Ellory nodded firmly. "Yes. I’m not a baby anymore. I wanted something different, and... this was perfect."

A long silence passed.

Then the Duke let out a heavy sigh, turning to the nearby nobles who were still watching with uneasy expressions.

"...Return to the manor. I’ll handle this."

They gave short bows and began to disperse, some muttering under their breath taking their childrens, some scolding them. The Duke looked once more across the battlefield of cream, crumbs, and cake-splattered tables.

"You," he said, pointing at a nearby butler. "Clean everything."

"Yes, Your Grace!" the man squeaked.

Then the Duke turned, still holding his composure, and walked back toward the manor, leaving the garden strangely quiet behind him.

As he disappeared through the archway, Axelius let out the longest breath he’d ever held. He leaned on the table and whispered to Owen, "I thought we were going to be executed for throwing tarts."

Owen bounced weakly beside him, a cherry still stuck to his head. "We still might. But at least it was epic."