Six years later...

Tars, capital of Coulson.

In the garden full of fallen leaves, gentle noblemen gathered. Many were nicely dressed, all full in their warm woolly clothes hinting at the clear autumn weather, a stark contrast to their tense faces. They were holding a long wooden stick that did not match their elegant attire.

A white ball sat atop the slumbering maple leaves. Meanwhile, a woman's voice was heard, and the gentlemen stared, breathless.

"And... start!"

The ball rose and leaped into the air as soon as the woman's battle cry fell.

The sight of the gentlemen moving quickly and running after the ball was somewhat amusing. One gentleman...