Merina's eyes stretched wide open as far as they could go, pupils dilated, breath caught in her throat.
"A-aah… Aaahhh…"
That slime… that green, shimmering slime... was her power.
The one inherited through generations of her bloodline, a sacred gift that only a few could wield.
And that dragon — that swirling, playful, miniature dragon — was the exact same technique she herself had invented, the one she forged out of frustration and desperation, trying to turn what others mocked as a "soft" ability into a deadly weapon.
"You... are you one of my missing uncles, Professor?"
Her voice was a confused whisper, breathy and full of wonder. Her gaze locked on the floating slime creature above Robin's hand, as if looking into a forgotten dream.
"If your missing uncles all used this amazing slime like you," Robin replied dryly, voice laced with sarcasm, "then they're probably not missing... they're just dead."
Then he tilted his head, pointing subtly toward Vanier.
