Silas seemed to anticipate exactly what Lucien was about to do. He remained quietly beside Emma, composed and observant. He didn't utter a single word. "Lucien, what's happening?" Emma hurried forward, trying to help him to his feet. But Lucien stayed kneeling, refusing to rise. His eyes met hers, his usually striking features now shadowed with a loneliness and shame she had never seen before. "Emma," he murmured, bitterness lacing his voice, "I lost." "That's okay. Losing isn't the end of the world." Emma didn't care about rankings or victories—his well-being mattered more than any title. She reached out again. "You're only level eleven. Losing to Calum at level twelve isn't something to be ashamed of." Yet Lucien remained stubbornly on his knees.He lifted his gaze to meet hers, each word seeming to carry immense weight. "No, Emma. I... I've been defeated by Calum. I... I no longer deserve the position of first mate." Then he turned toward Calum, drew in a steady breath, and declared, "By the Empire's rules, Calum has bested me. From this moment on, he should assume the role of first mate." Emma's hand froze midair. She stared at him, utterly shocked. Her voice faltered. "Lucien! What are you talking about?" "I never intended to replace anyone as first mate," she snapped. "Get up." Calum observed Lucien kneeling there with all the tragic resolve of someone making a noble sacrifice, and he nearly laughed out of sheer irritation. Unbelievable. What a performance. It finally dawned on him. All that talk about challenges and earning approval—it had been a setup. Lucien had orchestrated this from the beginning. He had deliberately lost. It wasn't a test; it was an excuse to discard the burdensome title of first mate. Calum had always assumed Silas—the quiet, harmless-looking one—was the sharpest mind around, always planning several moves ahead. But clearly, he'd been mistaken. Lucien matched that cunning, plotting in silence, precise and meticulous, every move calculated like a mental abacus running a mile a minute. Withdraw to advance. Shed appearances, slip free. Is he trying to pass the problem on to me? I'm not letting that happen. Suppressing the irritation burning in his back, Calum stepped forward and dropped to one knee with a solid thud in front of Emma. "Calum? Why are you kneeling?" She hadn't even calmed one kneeling maniac, and now there was a second. Emma pressed her fingers to her temples, a headache throbbing behind her eyes. Calum looked at her, his voice deeper and rougher than Lucien's, heavy with remorse and self-reproach. "Ms. Tibarn, Lucien is mistaken. I'm not worthy of being your first mate either. "Because... I lost too." He said it, his gaze flicking to Marcus. "I lost to Marcus." Emma went speechless, stunned into silence. Lucien blinked, confused and caught off guard. While Marcus froze, baffled by what he just heard. Marcus had been frowning, watching the scene unfold. But hearing his name hit him like a bolt of lightning. "What are you two even talking about?" He stared at Lucien and Calum, dumbfounded. Then realization struck. D*mn it! These two are unbelievable! Lucien must have planned this long ago—using the duel as a convenient excuse to toss the first-mate position away.And Calum hadn't thrown the match to win pity from Emma at all. That wasn't his goal from the start. He had seen straight through Lucien's plan. He knew Lucien would use his "defeat" to shake off the title of first mate. Calum wanted nothing to do with that mess, so he simply put on a performance of his own—clean, quick, and decisive—dumping the entire burden right back onto Marcus. Perfect. They have everything planned out. Lucien dumps the burden on Calum, and Calum immediately shoves it onto me. One pulled off his act with precision, the other with brazen shamelessness—but ultimately, Marcus was the biggest fool caught in their game. Marcus ground his teeth at Calum. "Calum, have you no shame? I didn't beat you—you threw the match. That doesn't count." For the Empire's Marshal to stoop to something this brazen was almost absurd. "A loss is a loss," Calum replied calmly.He would never be first mate. He knew he wasn't suited for it. Looking Marcus straight in the eye, he said, "Marcus, cut it out. I can accept my own defeat. My level twelve isn't exactly top-tier anyway. Losing to you is nothing unusual." Marcus was utterly at a loss for words. Not exactly top-tier? Is he kidding? His level twelve came from surviving every brutal step of battle. If Calum called that flimsy, then no high-level therian in the galaxy was even remotely strong. Faced with Calum's audacity, Marcus didn't even feel like yelling anymore. He turned to Emma, desperate to vent. "Ms. Tibarn, don't fall for Calum's nonsense! He threw the fight on purpose." He jabbed a finger at the slowly healing wound on Calum's back. "Be fair, Ms. Tibarn. Calum is the Empire's strongest level twelve Marshal. My counterattack couldn't even touch him. How could I possibly hurt him? If he wanted to dodge it, I wouldn't have touched even a strand of his hair."