Yo-Yo Tournament

Ben tried to calm his nerves with deep breaths, but his heart kept pounding, and the hand holding his yo-yo would not stop trembling.

Hundreds of contestants like him waited in the square. They differed in age, race, and background, all anxiously awaiting the judges.

When he signed up, he had thought it was just a casual competition. Yo-yos were only toys—how big could the event possibly be?

But once he arrived, he discovered that there were already thousands of contestants in the preliminaries, including people who had traveled in from other places. Every major newspaper in the city was present, covering the event from start to finish.

He had heard that the main tournament would be held at Twin Cities Arena, which could hold a full fifty thousand spectators!

For this competition, Drogo’s Toy Store had released commemorative tournament yo-yos. The proceeds from those yo-yos would be split equally among every contestant who made it into the main tournament.

Those who placed could receive rewards based on their rankings, ranging from collaboration accessories and exclusive illusions to collaboration yo-yos. They would also receive a share of the revenue, and first place could even earn a long-term contract with Drogo’s Toy Store.

In other words, playing with toys could become a job—and a very profitable one at that.

The audience was not merely there to watch the competition either. There were prize draws between every contestant's performance.

They could also use the magical devices at their seats to vote on whether they liked the current contestant's performance. Those votes would count toward the total score, making up ten percent of it.

Just how had the owner of Drogo’s Toy Store come up with all these strange measures?

No one had ever thought of running a competition this way before!

"Begin."

A judge holding a scoring board came before him.

Ben knew him. He was a fairly well-known yo-yo expert in the Riverside District, invited to compete in the main tournament and serve as a judge during the preliminaries.

The preliminary rules were simple. Contestants had one minute to freely choose their tricks, and the judges would score them. A score above eighty meant direct advancement to the main tournament, below sixty meant elimination, and everything in between fell into the pending bracket. After the preliminaries ended, rankings would determine whether those contestants advanced.

If there was a tie, the weighted sub-scores would be compared.

Ben had secretly glimpsed that sub-score sheet before. Difficulty, success rate, variety, originality, range of movement, even smoothness and artistic choreography—it was detailed beyond imagination.

Every contestant's performance would even be recorded by cameras, making it easier to review appeals if there were disputes over scores.

The rules were more rigorous than those of many competitions that had been running for years.

That camera was a little frightening, though. It was tall and skinny, its entire body wrapped in leather, with only its head exposed—but its head was a camera!

Ben patted his cheeks, forcing himself to clear his head.

Ever since his yo-yo had been confiscated, he had only been able to practice in secret. He did not dare let it interfere with his studies, so every day he tried every possible way to squeeze out some time.

In truth, he had not expected to place very highly. Having seen those masters play, he knew he did not even have half their skill.

He had entered the one-handed string trick category, the most common style. There was also the two-handed looping category.

The comics had already introduced a style where the string was not looped around the hand, called off-string, but too few people knew it now to form a competition category.

There were many contestants in one-handed string tricks, and the competition was fierce.

Making it into the main tournament would be enough.

He wanted to prove to his father that he was not wasting his life on toys. His studies would not suffer, and yo-yos could make money too.

He threw the yo-yo, formed the string, and one trick after another flowed out. Once his attention was completely focused, the nervousness naturally faded away.

The yo-yo and string seemed like extensions of his fingers. His movements grew increasingly smooth. He did not have any high-difficulty tricks, so he had to ensure a high success rate.

"Four, three, two, one. Time's up." The judge stopped his stopwatch.

Ben reeled in the yo-yo at lightning speed, like sheathing a blade. His timing was perfect.

The judge wrote on the scoring board.

The scratch of pen against paper made Ben nervous again. He swallowed, almost afraid to face the result.

"Eighty point two. Congratulations, you've advanced."

"Ha ha!" Ben leaped into the air and ran toward the edge of the square. "Uncle, I did it! I advanced!"

"I knew you could do it. You're so smart." Kalaman cheered along with his nephew.

Of course, Ben had not come alone. Even in the most developed city on the continent, public safety could not be trusted.

"Here." Kalaman pulled out two strings of bright red things from behind his back—strawberries coated in hardened sugar. "I found this new snack at a stall over there. I think it's called candied hawthorn."

"Thanks, Uncle." Ben accepted the candied hawthorn. His mother usually would not let him eat sweets.

He took a gentle bite. The sugar shell cracked, carrying a hint of caramel fragrance without any burnt bitterness. Then the strawberry juice flowed out, sweet and refreshing.

"Where are we going for lunch, Uncle?"

There was no response.

"Uncle Kalaman?" Ben noticed his uncle staring fixedly in one direction, as though searching for something.

Suddenly, Kalaman handed the other candied hawthorn to his nephew. "You can have this one too."

"Too many sweets will give you cavities."

"Go wait for me in that restaurant for a while. I've reserved a table. Uncle has something urgent to do."

With that, he grabbed his small bag and ran off.

Kalaman had not come to the yo-yo tournament merely to accompany his nephew. He also had an important task: to meet Aisha.

He had gone to Drogo’s Toy Store several times before to look for her, but she had never been there. All he could do was wait at the tournament venue, since she was a judge for the main tournament.

After waiting half the day, he had finally found her.

"Miss Stone! Miss Stone!"

Aisha looked toward the voice and saw someone running toward her with a small bag in hand.

The beastman beside her immediately drew his battleaxe.

"It's fine, I know him." Aisha quickly stopped the beastman. She recognized him as the younger brother from the Aclight family. Business competition was one thing; there was no need for someone to take an axe to the face.

"Miss Stone," Kalaman said, reaching her and bending over as he panted heavily, "I have a toy design, and I want to cooperate with Drogo’s Toy Store."

"Oh?"

A few minutes later, Aisha brought Kalaman to a private room, where Drogo was chewing on a candied hawthorn.

"Go ahead. Introduce your toy design."

Kalaman took a spinning top from his bag. "This is a spinning top I designed after drawing inspiration from yo-yos. It can create illusions while spinning."

He placed the top on the floor and lashed it with a whip. As it spun, the illusion of an owlbear appeared.

"As the spinning top slows down, the illusion can take on different forms. I designed several shapes for the tops to make collisions between them more intense, so they can battle each other..."

Kalaman went on and on.

"So what do you need?"

"I want to cooperate with Drogo’s Toy Store. Arclight Toy Store can't mass-produce these spinning tops."

"Oh? Your brother agreed to cooperate with us?"

"He didn't, but this is my design. I like toys. I've liked them ever since I was little. I want more people to be able to play with my designs. As for who makes them, it doesn't matter."

Kalaman's expression was utterly sincere.

Every industry had people with that kind of pure passion, but it was precisely because they were too pure that they were always hurt by others.

"In that case, let's discuss the details. Have you considered the danger of whips? They're not very suitable for children."

"Have you tried making a notch at the top of the spinning top and using gears to create a dedicated launcher? A chain drives the gears to spin until the notch springs open and releases the top."

"What happens if spinning tops in a battle don't collide? Wouldn't you need a dedicated arena, such as a concave bowl, so they are bound to gather toward the center?"

"Have you considered making the spinning tops modular? Divide them into multiple layers that can be freely assembled. As for what shape is best for collisions, you can leave that choice to the players."

Aisha relayed Drogo's long list of suggestions.

Kalaman was drenched in sweat as he listened, and he timidly asked, "Had this kind of spinning top already been designed?"

"No, no, no. You are the designer of this kind of spinning top, Kalaman Aclight, without question. I merely offered a few suggestions as a gesture of goodwill. Here's to a pleasant partnership."

When Kalaman opened the door to leave the private room, his head was spinning.

"You had actually designed it long ago, hadn't you?" Aisha asked Drogo.

"That isn't important. Cultural prosperity isn't the victory of one person and one dragon. Besides, it isn't as if we won't make money from this partnership, right?"

That was Drogo's answer. He needed more and more talented people to emerge.

If he had to make every toy himself, never mind how troublesome it would be, dragging things out for more than a dozen chapters every time would be downright immoral.

"Look." He gazed toward the arena. "The trailer is about to begin. How does it feel to personally create an entirely new art form?"