Genshin Impact, Ayato. This is my fic for the Ayato Zine. Please do not redistribute. Word Count: 2366

Ayato starts his mornings with a black coffee and the Teyvat Tribune crossword puzzle, which he insists on solving with a black ink pen.

He is a thinker, a tinkerer, the sort of man who likes mental math and working out headache-inducing problems. His gaze is calculating. Every day is approached as though it is a puzzle, lingering about in his mind, needling away at his brain.

Ayato does not watch television. He reads dictionaries for fun. Crosswords, word searches, even the ancient art of sudoku—nothing is too much for his sharp intellect and keen mind.

"This is addressed to you," says Ayaka one day, shuffling about their mail and tossing him an envelope.

It is a quick matter of slicing at it with a letter opener. His eyes scan the paper and he thumbs his chin. "I suppose it's about that time of year," he murmurs.

"Want me to pen the usual response?"

Ayato rifles through the letter, nothing but a formality—and then another slips down, fluttering into his lap. A personal note from an old friend. "Oh, how interesting." He drags his fingers over the smooth paper.

Ayaka blinks back at him. "What is?"

"Sister, do me a favor. Tell them that I will not only attend this year, but I will compete." Ayato laughs as he drops the notice on his desk. "It seems as though Zhongli will also be in attendance, and that, my dear, is just too much of an opportunity to pass up."

It seems as though the Teyvat Scrabble Championship will certainly be an interesting affair this year.

#

Ayato regards the half-dressed man before him with a critical eye and raised brow. "I suppose that they let just anyone compete these days if they can pay the entrance fee," he says, teasing. His eyes slip to the bare chest of his opponent. "Surely there is a dress code."

"Ahahah! Well, I'll have you know that I didn't pay a fee! No one can keep Arataki Itto from getting his foot in the door—" His voice drops to a stage whisper. "My lackeys paid the fee, though, so I'd appreciate it if you kept that on the down low, you catch my drift?"

Ayato watches back with his mouth parted. "Right," he says. "I'll be sure to keep that to myself."

"You gonna go, or is it my turn?"

"You just went."

"Yeah, but like, if you take too long don't I go again?"

Ayato is already exhausted by this man and they've barely begun. "These matches are not timed—"

"Look! I'm playing the letter 'M' on this double-letter spot, and then an additional 'C' and 'A' for 'Maccaw'—"

"That isn't a word—"

"It's a bird!"

Ayato closes his eyes, counts to three, and takes a breath. "Macaw is a bird. You've added an extra—"

"Thirty-six points, right? Booyah!"

"Itto, was it? That isn't even the correct score—"

"Do you wish to challenge his play, Mr. Ayato?" asks Katheryne who is off on the sidelines as a referee.

Ayato pinches the bridge of his nose. It'll be over sooner if they just move on and Ayato is more than confident that he will not lose. "No, no, it's fine. I'll just make my play."

It is clear that Itto barely knows the rules. He spends his time scoring with bad math and making up words—some of which Ayato challenges with a roll of his eyes. His face twitches every time that Itto flexes a muscle but as time wears on and their match continues… Ayato finds himself rather amused.

Arataki Itto is likely the world's biggest idiot, but he's endearing at least, and he's certainly there to have fun.

When Ayato sweeps the game from under Itto's feet and Katheryne announces him the winner, Itto jumps to his feet in an uproar. "Oh, you got me this time, man!" He throws an arm out, pointing at Ayato with an exaggerated motion. "Hear it now, Mr. Ayato—this isn't the last you'll see me. You're now my rival and I will get my vengeance."

Ayato laughs. "Oh, are you now?"

"As if I'd let you get away with wiping the floor with me." Itto straightens, tugging at his vest. "So like, do we exchange numbers or…?"

Normally, he would not, but Ayato finds himself signing a slip of paper, his autograph alongside his phone number. "My signature's worth a lot. I'd hang on to that."

"Eh? Is it? Are you a big dog around here?"

Ayato laughs again, this time loud and raucous. Katheryne blinks at him, stunned by the break in his usually more polite nature. "Something like that," he says with a grin. He holds out a hand and Itto gives it a firm shake.

Then, Itto leans closer, his voice falling into a whisper again. "Say, do you know where the exit is?"

#

The second round of the tournament brings the chaotic force that is known as Tartaglia.

"What a name," says Ayato when he drops into his seat.

"Everyone can use a good game name. But, if you'd prefer, you can just call me Childe." Childe drops into the chair opposite him and holds out a hand first. "Can't believe that I get to play one of the big greats. I'm always looking for a challenge, but damn, I never expected this."

Childe is a fresh face to the competition, though Ayato has heard the gossip. Chatter runs rampant in the competitive tabletop gaming world. "Rumor has it that you train here in Liyue. Is that true?"

"Got tired of swindling old men out of their money in cash games back north in Snezhnaya."

"Grabbed the eye of a Master?"

"More like the Master. Aside from you, of course."

Ayato's eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. "Zhongli doesn't take on students."

"Then I guess there's a first time for everything, yeah?" Childe tosses him a rapscallion smile, curved with mischief, showing that he's more wily than he seems on the surface.

And what a match it is. Childe plays with madness. His plays are sweeping and dramatic, keeping Ayato on his toes. Just when Ayato thinks that he has the upper hand, Childe slaps down a tile that throws a wrench into his carefully thought-out plans. The boy knows his words, knows his tiles, and knows how to watch his opponent with a keen eye.

"Swindling old men out of their money? That's what you said, right?" asks Ayato later, tossing down his next word. "'Quake'. Eighteen points."

Childe lets out a whistle. "Not bad, not bad—but you forget that I routinely play against the old man." There is something amusing about Zhongli being called old—but Ayato's genial demeanor sours slightly with Childe's next turn. "'W'," he says, tacking it onto Ayato's last play. "'A', 'T', 'E' and an 'R'. Ah, and an 'S'. On the triple-word, no less. A normal score of twenty-seven points, but with the added bonus—"

"Eighty-one points," cuts in Katheryne from the sidelines. "A respectable play."

It is more than respectable. It has been a long time since someone has truly challenged Ayato's wit, and dramatics aside, Childe is a worthy opponent. "Perhaps I should stop playing around, then."

"Now don't tell me you've been going easy on me." Childe grins, though, as if he loves the idea of an uptick in difficulty.

And, in admirable fashion, Childe clings to his tiles until the bitter end. He puts up more than a fight. It's an honest battle of intellect. When Ayato wins, it feels like a match that he truly had to work for.

"It has been a long time since I was that close to losing," he says, reaching out for a post-game handshake.

"You were going to win anyhow—but that wasn't going to stop me from getting my chance in." Childe's grip is firm and his gaze glows with the promise of a rematch. "Promise me though—you won't go hiding away again. Once in a while, you come out here and take a stab at us kids."

Ayato gives him a smile, a true and honest one. "That is a promise that I am willing to make."

When they part ways, Ayato feels pride rising in his chest, the high of a well-played game still blazing in his breast.

#

As with all tournaments, there comes an end where only two are left.

Ayato isn't surprised as he slips into his chair, his carefully honed game face melting away. "Zhongli," he says with genuine affection. "My old friend."

"Ah, I was pleased that you received my note. I wasn't sure that Ningguang would be able to slip it into the envelope."

"You weren't? Zhongli, she's the director of the board. She can do anything, just about."

"Regardless, I'm glad that you're here."

"I'm glad that you're here. I know that it is a formality to invite me, but I still compete actively—at least, on occasion. You, however, are retired."

Zhongli laughs, his eyes wrinkling around the corners. "As it turns out, retirement is boring. I found myself itching to build some words, and so, here I am. And here you are."

Ayato smiles back. "And the cameras, too. Match of the century, they say, as though we haven't done this song and dance before."

Ayato and Zhongli have played more matches against each other than can be counted. A true rival, the sort that rises adrenaline in your gut with the excitement of a challenge. They go way back and would even call each other friends, but that news is right—this is their first public match in years. Ayato looks forward to really stretching his brain muscles.

Zhongli holds the tile bag up and pulls one. Ayato returns the favor. "'B'," he says, shooting Zhongli a smirk. "Against your 'M'. Looks as though I'm going first, then."

"You'll need every advantage that you can get, of course."

Oh, there it is, Zhongli's quiet and underhanded teasing. He isn't the sort to play mind games, but with Ayato he's prone to snark about. Despite the charged air, though, it is casual. They approach their match with familiarity.

There is a pattern: Ayato slaps his tiles down with gusto, playing high-scoring and impressive words. He tosses around the tile bag with flair, though he keeps everything within sight as expected.

Zhongli is quieter, less expressive. He pulls his tiles from the bag and lays them out in a neat line on his holder. He thumbs his chin as he observes the board and mouths potential plays. Eventually, he'll play a tile or two, tagging onto Ayato's words, or piling up just enough points to keep them neck in neck.

"You're playing around," says Ayato finally. "'Hazy'. Nineteen points."

"Hm, am I?" Zhongli drops a 'P', an 'A', and two blank tiles, attaching them to the 'Z' of hazy. "'Pzazz'," he says smugly.

Ayato shoots him a glare. "Pizazz, I think you mean."

"It is an alternate spelling. Don't you still read the dictionary for fun?"

"I forgot that you are one, apparently—"

"Do you wish to challenge the play?" asks Katheryne.

"There isn't a point. This man has never played an incorrect word in his life. He doesn't even get points for that, just bragging rights." Zhongli hides a grin behind his hand and Ayato sighs, thinking of his next move. On a different section of the board he plays 'T', 'R', 'N', and 'Q', attached to an 'A'.

"'Tranq," reads Zhongli. "A meager fourteen points." He picks through his tiles and plays—

"Really, Zhongli?" Ayato might like him, but he can be entirely insufferable as an opponent at times. "You had both 'W's? Qawwali?"

Zhongli sniffs, tugging at his coat primly. "If you would read books past those about words, you might find that there is knowledge elsewhere useful in this game—"

"Oh, just shut up and pull your tiles."

"Gladly."

Zhongli turns away from using hard-hitting words, instead focusing on just dragging the game out. On and on goes the game, a playful show of constantly one-upping each other. The tiles dwindle until there are barely any left. Ayato plays low-scoring options, and Zhongli responds in kind.

"It is Mr. Zhongli's turn," says Katheryne, handing him the felt bag.

He sticks his hand in and pauses. "Oh," he breathes, tugging a tile out. "The last one."

Ayato's blood runs cold. He should've been counting, he should've realized they were nearing the bottom of the bag. Distracted by the joy of playing Zhongli, his focus slipped.

"Then, the end game," says Katheryne, stepping forward to take the bag. "As we all know, once the last tile is pulled, we subtract what is left in your hand from your total score."

Ayato looks at his tiles and grimaces. Zhongli watches him with a knowing gaze. "You meant for this—"

"I meant to drag the game on until you made a fool of yourself? Of course, not." Zhongli smirks though.

"Truly the long con," says Ayato, his gaze turning cool.

Katheryne counts up their remaining titles and subtracts the appropriate amounts. Zhongli wins by a scant few points but seems wholly unsurprised.

"I suppose the fool is me, then." Ayato laughs at the humor of it all. "The crown is yours, Zhongli. You are now the Teyvat Champion Scrabble Master."

"For this year, at least. I distinctly remember that you stole this title from me years ago, so aren't I just taking it back?" Likely so, considering that Zhongli was the longest-reigning Master for decades.

"So I shall only steal it back again? Is that a challenge that I hear?"

Zhongli stands from his chair and tugs at his jacket. Then he reaches out his hand for a shake. Ayato grips it a little too tightly, just enough to squeeze the bones. "I am still retired," says Zhongli, shaking his hand slightly once they break the grip. "But, perhaps I can be persuaded."

Ayato knows that persuasion isn't needed. Zhongli enjoyed his time far too much, even playing half-heartedly.

"Well then, may the best Master win, when the time comes."

Zhongli gives him a bow and says, "As if I'd expect anything less from you."