The largest, most prestigious venue in Styleful Happy!! To the Live took on the appearance of an albino hedgehog from all the arrows and javelins embedded in the dome, but none pierced it after the residents closed it all the way. Warpers put on a light show the rest of the town could appreciate but not the girls hunkering inside, who benefited only from the rhetorical effect of thumps punctuating their conversations every time psychically manipulated elemental energies struck the roof.

Heartful Azalea maintained surveillance from a hot air balloon her Hot Air boss crafted on location. Odo's plan to circumvallate the stadium received partial funding, and the army blocked off the ground-level entrances with stuman-high palisades made out of wood provided by the town park's public-spirited trees. “Half-measures,” he groused, but most members of the host had concluded the local girls intended to wait them out instead of sallying. An assault was indicated.

Ivar smiled, his beard bristled, and so did his ax's beard, impossible as those less prone to bloodlust might have believed that to be. He said nothing but merely pointed at the two widest sets of doors with his ax and himself and Mentor Tendradius Pux with a finger. The rest agreed to it. “I don't agree to that,” Quircy Rau said, but the tumult swallowed her words, not that the officers and crusaders needed an excuse to ignore someone. Groups divided themselves as they wished and followed one or the other captain, silent, determined, thoughtful. Will I spawn here or back home if I lose all my HP? Will I still be roped? Those sorts of thoughts. The stoutest soul quailed to contemplate respawning in Commandment of Hero and waiting on the calendar while the survivors piled up glory and wealth without pause. Doubt troubled the crusaders even more, doubt whether their own login calendar would transport them to the option menu. It probably would. Probably.

The cure for a mind fevered by probables came in tablets of definites, such as the certain fact that those doors had been built to keep out the wind and opportunistic thieves, not marauders, Marauder, and a couple howling Santas. They buckled under the first Boxer Andit punch and broke under Burmin's halberd. Styleful Happy!! To the Live's first line of defense had failed.

The two attacking wings flew past unguarded ticket counters but ignored the concession stands and shops. First, subdue the natives. Second, force them to sell you T-shirts and CDs. All understood that without being told. The inner doors to the seating areas and field resisted them for no more time than the outer, despite being guarded by lone girls who screamed and skedaddled when they saw the invaders with their terrible weapons. A whisk? A microphone? Come on. Though the microphone fit the theme well enough.

Darkness ruled under the dome, but did so as a benevolent ruler that stayed out of the way when people wanted something different. Rows and rows of indistinct figures waved glowsticks and cheered at full combos while professional lights directed attention to the glorious stage where Azusa Shinomori, Hino Okada, and Mori Akagawa (candy striper version) performed. Or did the players perform? The girls performed and the players were tested.

On the field, before the stage, illuminated only by patches of colored lights themselves dancing in a frenzy, a cordon of defenders waited. Mori Akagawa (Motorcycle Police), Hino Okada (Samba), Noriko Egawa (Astronomer), Mori again, Yururu (Bigfoot Hunter), three Azusas, another Hino, base Noriko. They crouched and gripped the closest facsimiles of weapons their costumes offered, shivering and hoping to hold back their tears. They failed.

“Hey! That's Azusa Shinomori! The boring main character! She's not actually boring though. I like her.”

A local with curly black hair stood in front of the rest, her arms folded and her lip trembling. “Whoever you are! You won't . . . you can't . . . Let me start over! Stay back!”

“I guess the slightly taller one really is relatively cool, huh?” Quircy Rau sashayed forward to meet her. She crossed her legs near the ankles, cupped her right elbow in her left hand as her right fingers held her lens up while she checked her reflection, and implied by the lack of any stammer which between the two spokeswomen believed the army behind her held the advantage. “Here are the terms. If we win, we take all the glowsticks we want, and you have to give us prompt and courteous service at the gift shops. If you win . . . mais non! There's no reason to prolong this by discussing 0% possibilities. Any questions?”

“Why . . . why are you doing this?”

“The officers of Commandment of Hero and the crusaders of Holy Legend Army were made for battle! So indulge us, would you?”

Azusa nodded.

“ENZET LASH!” Quircy focused on her lens and blasted Azusa straight back through her other selves. “I like her too,” she told Wedding Singer Vritia.

Sometimes impossible fights drag on and trick players into using consumables, but the invaders preferred the kind in which the boss wipes the party instantly. The Reapers regretted their actions when they realized they would never fill their Novas, but everybody else viewed the defeated natives sprawled around the field with pride as they sheathed their weapons and tapped their feet in time to the music.

“We win! Get on your feet and ring us up, girls.”

The performers pulled their knees under themselves, pushed off the ground, and stood. “We . . . haven't . . . lost . . . yet!” Azusa gasped.

“Yes you have. Wait, you don't have Phoenix, do you? No, you lost,” Quircy assured her.

“The players are playing! You can't interrupt!”

“Obviously we can't interrupt. The player's aren't going to see anything, all right? We didn't come here to get your game in trouble. We're just, you know, performing. With weapons.”

“That makes sense! Like how I just gotta be me!”

“Hey! That's Yururu, the quirky one! I think Azusa might be quirkier than she is,” Vritia said.

“It's interesting how often that happens. I'm always going back to the time General Anstralia lost out to Darlotte Glofal and Neur in that poll about which officer you most wanted to step on you. I guess the way she carries that riding crop around is too on the nose.”

“Create space for the imagination to roam, Skaya. That's what successful character designs do.”

“You're so right, Master Eten.”

More discussion on that subject went on among the looters who ran up and down the stands seizing glowsticks and some kind of twirly thing that looked fun to spin. Meanwhile, Quircy Rau and Wedding Singer Vritia supported Azusa and walked her to the concession area while they inquired what kind of materials Styleful Happy!! To the Live accepted in barter. Centaur glue for use in binding programs, liner notes, and photo albums? Mended Cloth to make ragged costumes for musicals? Gold?

“You have gold? And magic? Are you princesses?”

“She is.” Vritia pointed out Vinnette Melban. “And that one's a queen.” Gaelvry Bride waved. “I think Quircy's just rich.”

“Just? Isn't that enough?”

A laugh bubbled out of Azusa. “And what do you do?”

“I sing at weddings. Usually I play bass in a band, but our alt concepts keep implying we broke up.”

“That's sad.”

“I know!” By the time Quircy got her propped up behind a register, Azusa was speaking to Vritia as though that officer had starred in an earlier season and made a cameo in the current one as a mentor figure. If anyone required proof that Styleful Happy!!'s performers possessed professionalism, the invaders received the prompt and attentive service they demanded as they purchased glasses, coasters, posters, and bracelets. She did giggle when Serdon Miloz and Yutak Zvolo came over, a lapse which professionals prefer to avoid.

Serdon said, “Everybody's happy to see people with conviction like us, but have you been telling stories about us? You there. Miss Umox.”

“What's to tell?”

Away from the counter, Gaelvry shopped. “This one is cute. Really cute. 'My dear sister, cute is for Doveskans. Beruvians prize beauty.' There's no way she wouldn't say that.”

“This may not be the shop for her,” Dr. Stezlinstein agreed. “You and I have a little less mule about us, don't we?” Those two walked out of the stadium with matching bracelets and vinyl albums put out by different acts, for such are the oddities of taste.

Styleful Happy!! To the Live's performers suffered less in their subjection than they had from their fear of the outsiders, though the transition perhaps inspired a nightmare or two later. A distressing incident occurred when Ivar suggested burning down the stadium and salting the earth where it stood, but a blue-haired Rare with a sharp-edged ruler proposed they build their own stadium at the outpost designed to be “much more packed with explosives,” and the superiority of that plan convinced the conquerors to leave without further rambunctiousness.

Victory imbued the crusaders and officers with such nobility and magnanimity that they commanded their own lower rarities to restore the fortified club to its unfortified state. “I don't see any Rares around here anyway. Do you have them locked up somewhere?” Marileanna asked.

“Super Rare is the lowest here,” Hino told her. “For performers, I mean. Only Costume Cards can be Rare.” That cleared up the last lingering mystery of Styleful Happy!! To the Live.

After they filled their novelty vehicles with glowsticks and other merchandise they removed armfuls at a time, the victors departed. They gave the vanquished one final warning, which was that they would return to test in battle any who rebelled against them, or if they felt like it, which they probably would pretty soon, because as said before, they were made for the fight. The performers managed not to cry about that, except for the eight Norikos who showed up.