~Tpmma 09~

Chapter 9

“A letter?”

The maid handed it over like a secret agent. There was no seal, no stamp, not even a sender’s name.

“Apparently, a courier with a masked face gave it to the kitchen maid and ran off.”

“…Understood. Thank you.”

“Thank me? I really didn’t see anything! Call me anytime you need me!”

The maid smiled as if imagining something sweet and delightful, then left the room.

I shook my head. While imagination is free, considering Dory’s personality, it’s unlikely she had a hidden lover or suitor.

No point overthinking it. I tore the envelope open immediately.

Inside was a sleek, high-quality card.

To the esteemed Dory Redfield,

You must be surprised by this sudden letter. However, I, Madam Abigail, am confident that this letter will serve as a delightful surprise for you.

I heard that in April, at the opening event of Baron Breeze’s greenhouse, Miss Redfield demonstrated remarkable insight. At that time, your demeanor seemed to prove that your judgment was neither luck nor pretension.

Let me get to the point.

Have you ever heard of the “Sacred Salon”?

Was this the source of those glances I felt at the greenhouse?

I know about the Sacred Salon. It’s a salon held every Saturday in a closed temple, where members of society—masked—gather to gamble on scandals and social relationships.

This salon exists to freely discuss the social scene. You don’t have to suppress your opinions based on someone’s status, and you can frankly discuss the future of royalty. Side bets for amusement also provide thrilling enjoyment. I assure you, secrecy is guaranteed. The only person who knows the identity of our guests is the salon’s owner, Madam Abigail.

If you wish to join, come disguised this Saturday to the following address. If you refuse, please burn this paper.

Quite politely put.

In the original story, the Sacred Salon is depicted negatively. It’s full of people shouting, “Who will get the social season’s biggest catch, Arthur! Of course, beautiful Natalie!”—losing money while gossiping.

In other words, a gathering of minor characters whose only role is to boost the protagonist.

…Still, I didn’t burn the paper.

“Madam Abigail.”

The owner of the Sacred Salon. She sees through every scandal, remembers every guest, and manages them all.

“She grants the wish of the guest who wins the most bets in a year.”

The wish is limited to introductions and networking, but if requested, she could even arrange a meeting with a royal family member. Rumors even said she might be the queen herself.

Of course, the salon’s setup was just a device to highlight minor characters’ greed and foolishness, and Madam Abigail’s true identity wasn’t revealed until the end of the novel.

It’s common in long novels to use an all-powerful minor character as a MacGuffin.

But now, in my world, this is reality, not a novel.

“Dory Redfield, whose appearance was barely described in the original, now has a face because of my involvement.”

Perhaps now, Madam Abigail and the wish-granting power are no longer just a MacGuffin—they are a real force.

…And knowing the original plot, I would likely be the person with the highest winning rate in the gambling circle.

“If I get the wish-granting right, it could be a really powerful tool.”

I might as well do what I can.

Sneaking out on Saturday evening without my family noticing wouldn’t be difficult—they’d assume I was reading in my room.

The problem was the disguise…

I glanced sideways and saw a party mask glimmering in the dress and accessories box my sister had given me—so unlike me.

Saturday evening.

I rubbed my shoulder in slight regret while wearing the dress my sister had given me. Even with a shawl, the spring night was still chilly.

“Where do I even go? Did I come to the wrong place?”

…So quiet in front of the temple it was almost eerie.

The cold air typical of a long-closed building lingered around. The large wooden doors were nailed with planks in an X, impossible to open.

Isn’t this the opening of a horror movie?

I turned to look elsewhere.

A woman wearing a bird-beak mask blocked my path.

Just before I could scream, she gently covered my mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

Perhaps to muffle footsteps—her shoes had fur attached to the soles.

“You must be a new guest of the Sacred Salon. This way, please.”

“Okay…”

I followed her along a back path behind a fence, over small bushes… circling around the closed temple. Finally, we opened a small wooden door and stepped into a completely different world.

The smell of food and alcohol hit me immediately, along with the fast beat of music and excited voices all around.

“Here we are! Will the second prince’s marriage go smoothly? Let’s discuss!”

“Who will win the election for the Southern Guild Alliance? Anyone with interesting info?”

People clustered around tables, speaking passionately. All wore masks, giving the sense of falling into a strange, fantastical world, like Alice in Wonderland.

A staff member said:

“Madam Abigail will join you shortly. In the meantime, feel free to converse with other guests. Don’t worry about being recognized—voices sound different over the music.”

Interesting. So that strangely piercing string music served this purpose.

Leaning against the wall, I took in the scene.

I had imagined a dim, spooky, abandoned-temple vibe, but the interior was surprisingly comfortable.

Marble, wood, massive tree trunks with visible rings—the mix of table materials alone showed the salon owner’s taste.

On one side, tables were cleared for dancing. Watching the enthusiastic dancers made me, an introvert, want to go home immediately.

But when would Madam Abigail arrive?

“Hello, Lady?”

Huh?

Instead of Madam Abigail, several men stood before me. Under their eye masks, I could see their smirking mouths.

“Looks like it’s your first time, wandering around?”

“Come to our table. We’ll give you a quick explanation.”

The table they pointed to had only bottles of alcohol. Doesn’t look like productive conversation would happen there. Plus, the way he openly scanned my shoulders felt unpleasant!

Fortunately, I saw the staff approaching, noticing the problem.

And unfortunately, before they could intervene, the drunks tried to sit me with them, grabbing my wrist—

“Ah!”

…Not my scream.

Someone suddenly stepped between us, gripping the drunk’s wrist tightly. The man shouted in a ripping voice.

“Who… who are you?!”

I could only see him as a man from his broad back. He muttered low:

“Before trying to talk to a lady, maybe consider the stench coming from your black gut.”

“Ah! Let go of my hand!”

“Not your place to grab a lady without permission.”

The drunk struggled, but freedom only returned when the staff arrived.

The woman with the bird-beak mask bowed.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir. We’ll take over now.”

“Why only us? He started it first…”

“Come, let’s have a ‘conversation’ with us.”

The staff quickly surrounded the drunks. They were dragged away without resistance, like bread scattered on the floor instantly covered by pigeons.

While I was stunned by their swift control, the man who had protected me turned to speak.

“Are you all right?”

Unlike before, his voice was instantly gentle.

Behind a skull mask, unknown green eyes met mine at eye level.

“I-I’m fine! Thank you so much!”

“Fine? Your voice was clearly startled. Here, may I offer you some warm apple tea?”

The skull-masked man casually ordered a drink from the staff. They nodded and left.

How can someone be so kind?

He rescued someone in trouble, asked if they were okay, and even provided apple tea! We don’t even know each other, yet his manners toward staff were impeccable too.

Am I being deceived into a false sense of security?

…No, calm down.

After months of dealing with dysfunctional family members, an overly selfish fiancé, and gossip-hungry nobles, my faith in humanity was at rock bottom. I must remind myself—good people exist!

While I was busy being self-centered, the skull-masked man looked around, found an empty table, and gestured me toward it.

“Rest over there. Your apple tea will arrive shortly.”

He didn’t stop at explaining—he gently took the tip of my fan and led me to the empty table. Only then did I regain composure and bow my thanks.

“Thank you so much! How can I ever repay you…”

“You’re welcome. If the lady can end her day pleasantly, that is enough for me.”

The skull-masked man quietly withdrew without making a fuss.

I stared after him, dazed.

Who is he? Is he a character I know?

At times like this, I guess I should start by checking hair color.