“Citric acid neutralizes the potassium alkaloid,” she said. “Basic food science.”

His crown was a cluster of black-spotted plantains, his scepter a single, glowing, peel-ready Cavendish. He was not laughing anymore.

Silence.

A lemon.

The air in the royal training yard was thick with the scent of ozone and overripe fruit. Nai-s knelt on the scorched marble, her training gi torn at the shoulder. Before her, slick with pulp and radiating a terrible, potassium-rich aura, stood the Banana King.

The Banana King’s compound eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

She squeezed.

Not a normal lemon. The Lemon of Absolute Sourness , harvested from the tree grown in the ashes of a citrus god. She had saved it for the final boss.

Nai-s spat out a mouthful of banana-bread dust. “My master taught me one thing,” she coughed. “Never go against a fruitarian when the peel is on the other foot.”

She took a single, perfect, unbruised banana from the ruin, peeled it, and took a bite.