Can the sadness that magic cannot take away be offset by love?

"Ding--"

"The first round of this year's Global Young Mage Exchange Competition - 'Witch's Garden' - has officially concluded."

"The winner of the bonus round has been secured."

"Score calculation in progress for all players—"

"Points have been tallied. All players, please check your game email."

A cold announcement rang out at a volume that all the contestants on the field could hear clearly. The witch's figure turned into specks of light and drifted away in the wind. Iris Adela's hand paused in mid-air for less than three seconds before slowly retracting, tightly gripping the bloodstained dagger.

The hushed whispers were almost completely drowned out by the announcement; only the two people connected by sound could hear them.

"My wish is that you may be free forever and be with the things you love forever."

The light spots vanished with the wind until they disappeared without a trace.

Friends are your support.

She would remember a child here who called herself Miss Witch, who generously opened the gates of her heart's castle to friends who had traveled from afar.

As the announcements came to an end, Iris remained expressionless, under the gaze of millions of eyes both inside and outside the arena, in the audience, and in the live broadcast studio, until the special focus shot reserved for the final winner by the committee ended—

Stand still and wipe your hands with a handkerchief.

There was no declaration of victory, no statement to the forces behind him, and no interaction with anyone. He simply lowered his eyelashes quietly and cleaned the stains on his hands with careful and efficient movements.

Only those blue eyes, as indifferent as a lake in deep winter, revealed without any concealment the sharp edge that was originally hidden beneath the silent exterior.

*

The screen went black, and the live stream ended.

Gracia Ramirez recalled the girl who had just looked into her eyes across the screen—

The look in that ice mage's eyes.

It's definitely not something that crude copy could have.

Gracia let out a muffled snort-like laugh from the bottom of his heart.

“Gracia Ramirez, you need to take primary responsibility for the failure of this operation.”

The outstanding successor she had nurtured all this time had recently blamed her for the failure of the cloning project. Little did she know that Iris, who had supposedly fled to Lawrence, was now wearing a clone's shell and had won the championship in the first round of the exchange competition.

She has never liked to question Ernest's loyalty, but how low is the chance that Iris Adela could keep both her and Ernest in the dark?

Even though she went to Lawrence immediately after the mission failed, she had little opportunity to contact him or verify his identity—because of her trust in Ernest, she never questioned the authenticity of the "clone" who appeared before her after the mission—

But Ernest had spent a considerable amount of time with the "clone," so how could he have been completely unaware of the "clone's" unusual behavior?

She was unaware that at some point, her heir had begun to have ideas that were outside her control.

He had better not break his promise.

Gracia forcibly suppressed the surging emotions in her burning eyes. After sorting out her thoughts, she immediately began her next task—such as contacting her absolutely trustworthy confidants.

Iris's victory on the field made Ernest and Gracia realize that a near-breakdown had occurred between the mother and son.

Ernest would know that the patriarch would definitely hold him accountable, and Gracia would know that Ernest would certainly prepare for her repercussions.

As for whether the preparation will be the gentle kind—such as showing her a sincere and logically sound plan to explain his behavior or clarify any misunderstandings—or the ruthless kind—such as setting up a trap for her at the main house or meticulously crafting a snare based on all his knowledge of her, who knows?

Ernest knew her as well as she knew her heir. His treatment of her was not based on feelings or relationship between them, but solely on her place in his game.

However, one thing is clear—regardless of whether his intentions are good or bad, she must take the initiative into her own hands.

Leaving Carcas and coming to Lawrence was by no means what she expected, but the fact that the Ramirez family, such a behemoth, has survived the storms of history and continues to this day is not due to the personal will or high position of one or two patriarchs. This ancient and ever-growing family is like a giant machine with a precise and flawless set of operating logic. In this system, the position of every part and every screw must not be deviated in the slightest.

The principle that "anyone who makes a mistake must bear the consequences, regardless of their status" is an inviolable part of this logic.

Each will that makes up the system will consciously abide by the system's order and supervise or even directly correct errors when deviations occur.

But if the real error did not stem from her mistake—

Therefore, finding the real criminal is her inescapable duty.

Like a gear on a clock, once fixed in its position, it has an inherent, irreplaceable, and inescapable responsibility.

*

Exit of the stadium.

Bathed in the golden light of dusk, the athletes who had just left the field watched as a small figure ran towards them with outstretched arms:

"Sister Eceria! You're finally back!"

Winners, prizes, and champions are all meaningless to a young child; only the safe return of a friend deserves a warm celebration and a hearty hug.

Iris caught the girl who was flying towards her like a bullet. In her eyes, the frozen lake finally cracked a few lines, revealing the bubbling water beneath the ice.

Behind the girl was a group of contestants who had survived to the bonus round, led by Ernest, who had his arms crossed and was mentally calculating.

Behind Iris, the blue-haired Miss Wilmington stretched, her loose braids gleaming softly in the afterglow; Leander Joe, just one step away from the championship, grimaced as he counted on his fingers, his snow-white wings still folded behind him; only Audrey Anthony, with her dignified posture and composed yet radiant expression, perfectly embodied the spirit of an ancient noble family—if one ignored the provocative glances she kept casting at her brother Dennis across from her.

"The position of heir will definitely be mine—"

In the eyes of Dennis Anthony—the first in line to inherit the Anthony family—Audrey's eyes, which appeared to outsiders to be full of poise and composure, were actually filled with this unspoken message.

In fact, he didn't misunderstand Audrey at all.