Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Strands of hair sticking out from under the mask looked brown at first glance.

“The lighting’s too dim to be sure.”

Judging by his sturdy build, he could be a knight...

If my assumptions are correct, the only key character who meets both conditions is—

“Excuse me, my lady, do you have a moment?”

“Oh, yes!”

A smooth, elegant voice interrupted my thoughts.

Before me stood a woman in a bird-shaped mask, holding a tray. Her sophisticated black feathered gown, which covered her entire body, made it clear she wasn’t just any staff member.

“Are you Madame Abigail? The one who sent me the letter?”

“It’s an honor to be recognized. And here’s Lady Witch, who will also greet you.”

Lady Witch turned out to be a massive dog with shaggy gray fur. The kind of dog that looked like it could wrestle a bull. Resting her paws on the back of a chair, she leaned in to sniff my face before stepping back.

“She remembers all our guests. She’s my brilliant assistant.”

A dog in the salon? This place is amazing.

The tray she set down held not only the promised apple tea but also a veil attached to a tiara, likely meant to shield my face while drinking. Thoughtful.

The apple tea was delicious, so much so that it washed away the foul mood left by earlier events.

“Oh, this is amazing!”

And to sweeten the moment further, she added,

“I’ve already had those unruly guests removed from the salon’s list. We’ll do everything we can to ensure you don’t encounter them outside this venue, so you can rest easy.”

“Ensuring we won’t meet outside? Is that even possible?”

“We simply use the information exchanged here. For example, we might spread rumors that lower their social standing, ensuring they’re no longer invited to any parties.”

Got it.

It’s like an exam tip: Study math, English, and science thoroughly. Simple but effective.

“Now, shall we return to the main topic? Do you have any questions about the salon?”

Your identity!

…But I held back the urge to blurt that out.

Trying to unmask her seemed like a surefire way to ruin my life.

“Even from just a few words, I can tell she’s not someone to take lightly.”

For a brief moment, I’d wondered if Madame Abigail could actually be Natalie.

After all, the timing of Natalie gifting me the dresses and accessories with the party mask coincided suspiciously with the letter’s arrival.

But the theory was disproven the moment I met Madame Abigail.@@novelbin@@

She was shorter than Natalie, her voice entirely different, and she seemed to be at least in her forties. Though it was hard to guess much more, given how thoroughly her dress concealed her.

“You seem curious about my identity.”

“Cough! …I’m sorry. Yes, I am.”

“Everyone is. It’s human nature.”

Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended. If anything, her tone carried a hint of amusement.

“But trying to figure me out is a waste of time. I suggest you choose your next question more wisely, my lady.”

“Ahem, in that case…”

I asked the thing I was most curious about.

“I heard you grant a wish to whoever wins the most wagers. How does that work?”

“Every time you win a bet, you earn chips. At the end of the social season, the guest with the most chips gets their wish granted. Of course, the wish is limited to matters of social connections, and requests to reveal someone’s identity are not allowed.”

“That’s easy to understand.”

“The number of chips you earn depends on the odds of the wager, so there are plenty of opportunities. Feel free to try anytime.”

Simple enough. Not sure if I’ll come back, though.

Since I had no further questions, Madame Abigail stood to leave.

“Once again, welcome to the salon. I hope to see you again.”

“I hope so too.”

“Oh, my dear, I’m not just being polite.”

Her words, as if piercing straight through me, carried a knowing tone as she continued,

“As I mentioned earlier, I use the information shared here to grant wishes. While I can’t sway human emotions, I can change quite a lot.”

“…”

“That means, for someone as perceptive as you—able to predict the movements of this season’s most sought-after individuals—there’s an opportunity to gather and use information as well.”

“I’m not interested in that!”

“So shy, aren’t you?”

I could hear the muffled chuckle from behind her mask.

“You’ve already stepped out of your comfort zone by wearing such a bold dress, thanks to the mask.”

“…”

“Enjoy this land of opportunity, my lady. If you meet another rogue, don’t hesitate to abandon your ladylike demeanor and slap them across the face. It’s surprisingly satisfying.”

With that parting remark, her black dress disappeared into the crowd like a waterfall in the night.

As I watched her retreating figure, my heart pounded in my chest.

It wasn’t just the thrill of speaking with such an enigmatic person…

“You’ve already stepped out of your comfort zone by wearing such a bold dress, thanks to the mask.”

She’s right. Doris Redfield, the ever-dutiful lady, and Kim Doremi, who never even set foot in a club, would never have worn a dress that exposed their shoulders.

Nor would they have slapped a rogue.

Even when dealing with troublemakers at the library, all I could say was, “If you keep this up, I’ll have to call the police.” I always envied the librarians who could handle such situations with ease.

The land of opportunity. A chance to reinvent myself.

Those words echoed in my mind.

Not as Doris Redfield, whose worth lies only in being Tristan’s fiancée, but as…

Before I realized it, my gaze had drifted toward the bar, where the skull-masked man stood. He was laughing and chatting with other guests, but when he noticed me looking, he waved.

What do I do? Even with that mask, he looks handsome—

No, no, no! What am I doing paying attention to someone else when I already have a fiancé?!

This is how I’ll end up on Tristan’s level!

Just the thought gave me chills. Being compared to that jerk?

To shake off the thought, I joined the nearest table.

“What’s the bet here? Or is it just information?”

“This is a social bet table. Care to place a wager? The topic is this:”

Who will be the first dance partner for the season’s biggest catches at the May royal ball?

At the top of the list of “biggest catches” were familiar names: Arthur Albion and Maria Meyer.

The guests were furiously drawing lines on their papers, arranging their predictions like horse race bets.

“I bet the marquess’s daughter steals the first dance with Arthur.”

“Isn’t the viscount too shy? Wouldn’t he pair better with Maria?”

“They haven’t even been introduced yet. My money’s on Tristan going after Maria again.”

Someone shook their head.

“It’s the royal ball. Surely he wouldn’t dare flirt with someone other than his fiancée in front of the queen…”

“Good point.”

One by one, the guests scribbled their predictions and placed them on the table. Mine ended up on top.

My guess?

“Maria and Tristan.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Or do you not trust him at all?”

“In a way, I’m being consistent.”

“Hahaha! Fair enough. No backing out now.”

The staff collected the betting slips. I was the only one who’d bet on Maria and Tristan, so if they were right, I’d earn two chips.

Not bad.

…If I keep this up, I might even win the wish.

Though I don’t have anything I desperately want right now.

But it’s always good to be prepared.

For example, if Tristan still hates me by the end of the season.

Madame Abigail did say she can’t influence emotions, so… in that case, I’ll just ask her to introduce me to another man.

Of course, it would be ideal if Tristan got his act together.

Not because I like him or anything. I just don’t want to deal with the hassle.

I want a stable future.

Memories of bouncing between my divorced parents’ houses flashed through my mind. Eventually, I lost contact with both of them. After that, I moved into my own apartment and began hopping from one short-term job to another…

I don’t want that instability ever again.

Tristan.

Do whatever you want for now.

I’m not expecting anything extraordinary from you. Just stick to the original story.

***

9 PM, Royal Palace.

Tristan carefully read through the documents he had collected, not only through couriers but also via maids and servants.

From society newsletters and political-economic journals to cheap tabloids that could be bought for a single coin, these publications spanned all social classes. They all had one thing in common:

They were all abuzz with news about the man who had appeared like a comet in the capital—Arthur Albion.

Introducing the Favorite Party Foods of Frost Hill’s Young Viscount!

With his dazzling good looks, the viscount, approaching the ideal age for marriage, has become the subject of romantic dreams for many ladies. Of course, the Frost Hill heir’s choice of a partner will likely hinge on political advantages, and this magazine provides an analysis of prominent families for our readers…

Shocking! Secrets of the Handsome Young Man from the North!

Our sources reveal that while he seems perfect, this young man has surprisingly not yet experienced “this,” unlike his father…

“What on earth does that mean, ‘surprisingly not yet experienced’?”

Tristan flipped the cheap newspaper page impatiently.

The Viscount… is still unmarried!

“I’d like to shut this paper down.”

Calm down. Shutting down a paper is the act of a tyrant.

Suppressing his irritation, Tristan crumpled the cheap tabloid in his hand.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, followed by a soft voice.

“Your Highness, I’ve brought the reports you requested. May I come in?”

“Wait!”

Tristan hastily swept the articles on Arthur off his desk with his sleeve. The papers fell to the floor and were kicked under the desk.

The subordinate entered and laid out the reports on the desk.

“Here are the annual budget, management, and defense reports for the Blue Atrium estate you requested. They only arrived this evening.”

“They’re late. That old man must be scheming from beyond the grave to keep lording over the land.”

The northeastern estate of Blue Atrium was currently without an heir due to the old lord’s passing. The land’s return to the royal family was a natural outcome.

It was widely expected, even by Tristan himself, that the royal family would grant the estate to the third prince, who held no significant position otherwise.

A piece of land practically handed to him on a silver platter.

“It doesn’t hurt to prepare in advance.”

As Tristan picked up the reports, the subordinate noticed the pile of papers on the floor.

“Your Highness, what’s this document on the floor…”

“That’s—”

Before Tristan could stop him, the subordinate picked up the papers and began reading the headline. Thankfully, it wasn’t one of the trashy tabloids.

“Your Highness, you’ve even gone through society newsletters about Arthur Albion? You must be quite interested.”

“Ahem! That’s…”

Tristan quickly racked his brain for an excuse.

He couldn’t exactly say, “I’m annoyed because my holier-than-thou fiancée suddenly told me to live freely, only to then light up every time she sees this comet of the social scene.”

Even Tristan himself often asked himself ten times a day, “Am I really bothered by my dull fiancée and some northern bumpkin?”

But his subordinate seemed to have already drawn his own conclusions.

“Impressive. Your Highness has already caught wind of the rumors and is looking far ahead.”