Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 170: Three Days Before

Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched, elbows resting on his knees. He kept his eyes down for a moment, as if the words were costing him something.

"In three days, they’ll come for you and Élisa... to assign you to your new teams."

Silence exploded all at once.

"What?!"

Maggie had straightened up, eyes wide — almost shocked. No, betrayed. Her legs slid off the bed before she even realized. Her whole body protested, tense with a momentum she hadn’t yet decided how to direct.

"You mean we’re being split up?!"

Dylan raised his head. He didn’t look surprised by her reaction. He’d anticipated it. But that didn’t make it any easier to take.

"That’s Gael’s decision. Or, as he calls it... a strategic redistribution. He wants to make the most of everyone’s unique skills. Split the profiles, create asymmetrical teams."

He paused, then added with tired irony:

"A classy way of saying he doesn’t want us getting too attached, I guess."

Maggie shook her head, one hand clenched at her temple.

"But... we went through all this together. We survived. And now we’re being reshuffled like pawns on a map we’ve never seen?!"

Dylan didn’t answer right away. He looked at her clenched fists, her shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. He knew Maggie wasn’t afraid of action — she feared absence. The kind of unknown where no one’s left to watch your back.

"I’ll be infiltrating a military base with a girl who walks barefoot and talks like a thundercrack. You... we don’t know yet. Maybe deterrence. Maybe provocation. Maybe something else."

He looked her straight in the eyes.

"What I’m saying is... get ready. Because he’s not going to ask our opinion. And we can’t afford to say no anymore."

A silence fell. The kind that hurts. The kind you don’t fill with words.

Then Maggie exhaled, almost to herself, her voice rough:

"Shit... he’s breaking our legs right before the race."

And Dylan, despite everything, gave a tired smile.

"Or maybe... he’s hoping we’ll learn to run differently."

A quiet creak split the silence. The handle turned slowly, and the door opened halfway, letting in a warm breeze — carrying the scent of the street, dried sweat, spiced meat, and gunpowder.

Élisa entered.

She was carrying a large canvas bag almost as big as she was, swinging against her hip with each step. Her face was flushed from the heat, bangs stuck to her forehead, but her eyes sparkled — with excitement, tension, maybe both.

"So... I splurged a little with your money, Dylan. If we’re going to die, might as well smell good."

She dropped the bag onto the bed with a soft thump, paying no mind to the tension still weighing down the room.

Dylan turned his head slightly, just enough to watch her. Maggie didn’t move. Still standing, arms crossed, her mind far from shopping bags.

Élisa didn’t seem to notice. She dug into the bag and pulled out — in no particular order — two small bottles of scented soap, a half-eaten box of red berry biscuits, a roughly sewn silk scarf, and... a new notebook, bound in worn leather with a strap around it.

"I had just enough left for this," she said, handing it to Dylan. "You rely too much on that sharp memory. Learn to write a bit — it might come in handy."

He took it without a word, then set it beside him. The leather felt warm, supple. A simple object, but loaded with a kind of care that said something more. A way of saying: I know you doubt yourself, so take this — in case you get lost on the way.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Élisa smiled, then really looked at Maggie for the first time. Her smile faded.

"What happened?"

Maggie didn’t answer. She simply turned toward the window, back stiff, arms still crossed. Dylan looked up at Élisa.

"We’re getting separated," he said, plain and flat.

Élisa blinked. One second. Two.

Then she shook her head, like she hadn’t heard right.

"What?"

"Gael’s splitting us up. Sending each of us to different teams. Different missions. Different goals. Three days, and we’re gone."

Élisa froze. She didn’t speak this time. Her gaze bounced between Maggie and Dylan, as if searching for the punchline to a terrible joke.

But their faces were too heavy. Too real.

She ended up sitting on the floor, without even noticing. Just there, between them, her back against the bedframe, legs stretched out in front of her.

"...Where are we going?"

"We don’t know yet for you," Dylan replied. "For me, it’s Infiltration. A military base in Tiphaea. Led by someone named Alka."

"You think you can handle it?" Élisa asked, half-serious.

Dylan nodded.

"Yeah. I’ve got a decent number of infiltration missions under my belt, and they’ve all ended well."

Élisa didn’t laugh. Her gaze was distant now, hands resting on her knees.

"And me? Where do I go if I’m not with you?"

No one had the answer. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Maggie finally spoke, her voice lower, raw with emotion:

"We find each other. No matter what. Even scattered. Even in pieces. We find each other."

Élisa slowly looked up. Their eyes met.

And Dylan, at that moment, didn’t say anything. But he nodded.

It was a promise.

Not the kind you swear.

The kind you carve into pain.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things left unsaid. The fear under their ribs, the memories too tender to voice, and that stubborn spark of hope — small, clumsy, but unkillable.

Dylan leaned forward again, elbows on knees, hands clasped. He stared at the floor between his feet like it already held signs of the future.

"If you ask me..." he said softly, almost a whisper. "You’ll end up in a tactical support role. They’ll want someone who thinks fast, someone who doesn’t panic."

Élisa looked up at him, worry tightening the corner of her mouth.

"I think fast because I’m scared."

He smiled — not mocking.

"Perfect. Fear’s what keeps you alive. Pride’s what gets you killed."

Maggie came back to sit on the bed, not far from Dylan, but still wound tight like a spring. She watched Élisa, not looking for strengths — but for cracks.

"No matter where they send you," she said. "Don’t forget what we’ve been through. Keep it with you. It’s not just memories. It’s your weapon. Your compass."

Élisa nodded slowly.

Then, almost like a child, she pulled the canvas bag toward her and took out a small glass vial, filled with a clear liquid that shimmered pearlescent in the dim light.

"I also bought this. Supposed to calm the mind. Some kind of infusion... or scam, I don’t know. Using my power still leaves me mentally drained so... I grabbed three. One for each of us."

She offered the vials, a bit awkwardly.

"If we get split up... at least we’ll have this. A shared taste."

Maggie took hers without a word and slipped it into her jacket’s inner pocket. Dylan looked at the vial for a second, then stuffed it into his belt pouch.

"Not bad. A little cheesy, but not bad."

Élisa shrugged.

"We need something. Even if it’s just sugar and delusion."

A gentle silence settled. This time, it was almost soft. Like a blanket laid over a wound that hadn’t closed, but that no one wanted to scratch anymore.

The crystal lamp flickered faintly, its glow swaying across the walls.

Dylan stretched out, then dropped backward onto the bed, arms folded under his head. He stared at the ceiling.

"You think we’ll come back? Here. The three of us. One day."

Maggie looked away. Élisa, without hesitation, replied:

"I think we won’t need to come back here. But we’ll find each other somewhere else. Somewhere none of us are the same anymore."

Dylan exhaled through his nose, amused. A typical Élisa answer. Lucid. Unsettling. Accidentally poetic.

Then, without sitting up, he murmured:

"We’ve got three days to prepare... but really, there’s not much to prepare. So what do we do?"

Maggie leaned toward him, speaking in a calm, even tone:

"I’ve accepted a dinner with Jonas, since I’m starving in this inn. Figured it’s a good chance to get a free meal."

Élisa smiled sadly.

"Poor Jonas. His whole shop’s budget is going to disappear..."

"Shouldn’t have invited a girl like me," Maggie replied with humor, a half-smile on her lips but something heavier still in her eyes.

Dylan let out a small laugh, almost unconsciously, still lying back on the bed.

"Honestly... he’d have better odds inviting a bear. Might actually survive the evening."

Maggie shrugged with faux nonchalance.

"A bear wouldn’t have asked stupid questions between bites. And he’d probably pay the bill without negotiating a second date."

Élisa giggled softly.

"You going in with your blade at your hip or that predatory smile of yours?"

"Both," Maggie shot back. "Gotta make sure he feels danger and the urge to die in the same minute."

She stood, stretched slowly, then grabbed her jacket from the bedpost. Her movements were slow but deliberate — like a predator that never really sleeps.

"He’s waiting at the fountain quarter. I’ll pretend to be a normal girl. Change of pace."

Dylan raised a hand like he was blessing the mission.

"Happy hunting. Bring us something edible. Or at least some intel."

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