~Tpmma 10~
Chapter 10
The strands of hair peeking out from under the mask looked brown at first glance.
“The lighting’s too dim to be sure…”
Judging by the solid build, maybe a knight…
If all my guesses were correct, the main person who satisfied both conditions would be—
“Excuse me, do you have a moment?”
“Oh, yes!”
Suddenly, an elegant voice cut through my thoughts.
In front of me stood a woman wearing a bird-beak mask, holding a tray. Her full-body elegant black feather dress immediately marked her as no ordinary staff.
“Are you Madame Abigail? The one who sent me a letter?”
“It’s an honor that you recognize me. And here’s Lady Witch to greet you as well.”
Lady Witch was a large dog with shaggy gray fur. She planted her paws on the back of a chair, sniffed my face, and immediately withdrew, as if ready to fight a bull.
“She remembers all our guests. She’s my excellent assistant.”
A dog? This salon is a good salon.
On the tray she placed were not only apple tea but also veiled tiaras—probably to hide the face while drinking. How delicate.
The apple tea was delicious. It completely washed away the foul mood from earlier.
“Oh, it’s really tasty!”
And sweeter words followed.
“The guests from earlier have been removed from the salon’s list. We’ll make every effort to prevent you from meeting them outside, so you can relax even in case of unforeseen incidents.”
“Prevent us from meeting them outside? Is that even possible?”
“We use the information that flows through here. We spread rumors that lower their reputation so they won’t be invited to any party.”
Hmm, got it.
How to ace the exam: study the core subjects diligently.
…So, roughly like that.
“Let’s get to the point. Do you have any questions about the salon?”
Your identity!
…I stopped myself from shouting.
If I tried to remove her mask, my life would probably be ruined.
“She seems formidable, even after just a few words.”
For a moment, I had suspected that Madame Abigail might actually be Natalie.
The timing of receiving my sister’s gift of a party mask, accessories, and dress perfectly coincided with the invitation… it was suspicious.
But that theory vanished the moment Madame Abigail greeted me.
She was shorter than my sister, her voice different. This person must be at least in her forties? With the dress tightly wrapped around her, it was impossible to guess anything else…
“You seem curious about my identity.”
Cough! “…I’m sorry. Yes, I am.”
“Everyone is. It’s human instinct.”
Luckily, she didn’t seem angry. A trace of a smile lingered in her voice.
“But observing me is a waste of time. Lady, I hope you’ll choose your next question wisely.”
“Um, in that case—”
I asked the question I was most curious about.
“I heard that if you win a lot in the wagers, Madame will grant your wish. How does that work?”
“Each time you win a wager, chips are accumulated. On the last day of the social season, the person with the most chips has their wish granted. Of course, this is limited to social relationships; wishes to learn my identity are excluded.”
“Simple enough.”
“You can earn multiple chips depending on the wager multiplier. There are plenty of opportunities, so feel free to challenge yourself anytime.”
Straightforward. I’m not sure if I’ll come back, though.
When no further questions followed, Madame Abigail rose from her seat.
“Once again, welcome to the salon. I hope to see you again.”
“I hope so too.”
“Oh, I’m not just being polite.”
Her tone was almost as if she could see through me. She continued:
“As I said earlier, through the information that passes here, I grant guests’ wishes. I cannot move human emotions, but I can change quite a lot.”
“….”
“In other words, you, who have keenly predicted the trends of this season’s major players, also have the opportunity to gather and utilize information.”
“I have no intention of doing that!”
“You’re quite shy, aren’t you?”
I heard a chuckle behind the mask.
“You’ve even been able to wear dresses you wouldn’t normally wear, thanks to the mask.”
“….”
“Experience a new self in the land of opportunity. And if you meet a shameless person again, putting aside your lady-like demeanor to slap their cheek could be fun too.”
With that, the black-dressed figure moved away.
Watching her back, like a waterfall of the night, my heart pounded.
It wasn’t just the thrill of conversing with a mysterious person…
“You’ve even been able to wear dresses you wouldn’t normally wear, thanks to the mask.”
Right. Dori, who had always been a modest lady, and even Kim Doremi, who never went to a club, could never wear a dress exposing so much shoulder. And they couldn’t slap perverts’ faces either.
Even against the nuisances in the library, all I could do was say, “If you keep this up, I’ll call the police.” How I envied the other time-librarians who could stand up to troublemakers.
Land of opportunity. A new self.
Those words echoed in my mind.
Not Lady Dori Redfield, valuable only as Tristan’s fiancée…
My gaze shifted to the man wearing a skull mask at the bar. He had been laughing and chatting with nearby guests, but noticing my gaze, he waved.
What do I do? Even with the mask, he looks… handsome—
“No! I have a fiancé. Why am I paying attention to someone else?”
If this continues, I’ll end up on the same level as Tristan!
The thought alone sent shivers down my spine. To be on equal footing with him…?
I forced myself to forget those thoughts and slipped to a nearby table.
“What kind of wager is this? Or is it information?”
“It’s a social season wager table. Would you like to place a bet since you’re here? Here’s the wager:
At the May Royal Palace Ball, who will be the first dance partner of the major players?
At the top of the major players list were familiar names: Arthur Albion, and Maria Meyer.
People drew lines on their papers like betting on horse races.
“I bet the Marchioness will steal the first dance with Arthur.”
“The Viscount is shy. Won’t he suit Maria better?”
“They haven’t even been formally introduced. Tristan will probably go after Maria again.”
The person next to me shook their head.
“It’s the Royal Palace Ball. He wouldn’t make a move on a woman who isn’t his fiancée in front of the Queen, would he?”
“That’s true.”
One by one, people wrote their predictions on the table. My memo ended up on top.
I had written—
“…Maria and Tristan?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? Or do you not trust His Highness that much?”
“In a sense, it’s consistent trust.”
“Ha ha! Right. Anyway, there’s no losing here.”
The staff collected the betting slips. Since I was the only one betting on the Maria+Tristan pairing, if it came true, I could earn two chips.
Not bad.
…If this trend continues, I might even earn a wish.
There’s nothing I want to wish for immediately.
“But I have to prepare for contingencies.”
For example, if Tristan ends up disliking me by the end of the season.
“Madame Abigail said she cannot influence emotions… In that case, I’d ask her to introduce another man.”
Of course, it would be best if Tristan came to his senses.
Not because I particularly like him, but because I don’t want to overthink.
I want a safe life.
I remember the time after my parents’ divorce, moving between their homes. Eventually, I lost contact with both. When I got my own place, I started a tiring cycle of work…
I don’t want to go through this unstable life again.
Tristan.
For now, do whatever you want.
I don’t have high expectations. Just follow the original story.
9 PM, Royal Palace.
Tristan meticulously read through documents acquired not only through servants but also runners and attendants.
From society newsletters and political-economic magazines to cheap tabloids purchasable for a coin, these publications had one thing in common:
They all covered the man who had appeared in the capital like a comet, Arthur Albion.
“Introducing the banquet foods loved by the Viscount of Frost Hill. The young Viscount makes ladies dream of romance with his striking appearance. Of course, the Viscount’s choice of partner is politically motivated, and this magazine analyzes noble families for readers…”
“Shocking! The young gentleman from the North has a secret! Despite his perfect appearance, unlike his father, he has yet to experience ‘this’…”
“Yet to experience ‘this’?!”
Tristan flipped through the pages of the cheap newspaper.
The Viscount… hasn’t married yet!
“…I want to shut this down.”
Calm down. Only tyrants shut down papers. Tristan crumpled the low-quality newspaper.
At that moment, a knock at the door and a small voice called:
“Your Highness, I’ve brought the report you requested. May I come in now?”
“Wait!”
Tristan hurriedly brushed the desk with his sleeve. Articles about Arthur fell to the floor and were pushed under the desk.
The subordinate entered and spread the documents on the desk.
“Here is the one-year budget, management, and defense report of the Blue Atrium estate. It only arrived tonight.”
“Late. That old man—he must be sulking even in the afterlife.”
The elderly lord of the northeastern estate, Blue Atrium, had no heir. Naturally, the land would revert to the crown. Everyone, including Tristan, expected that the crown would give it to the third son, who had no real standing.
Well, it’s easy pickings anyway.
“Better to check in advance than regret it.”
When Tristan took the documents, the subordinate noticed the papers on the floor.
“Your Highness, what are these…”
“Oh, that—”
Before he could stop him, the subordinate read the newspaper headlines. Fortunately, it wasn’t a third-rate paper.
“You even looked into society newsletters for Arthur Albion?”
“Yes! That is…”
Tristan mentally crafted an excuse.
Though his fiancée had told him, “Live freely,” he couldn’t help obsessing over the man who appeared like a comet in society… He couldn’t say that aloud.
Even Tristan questioned himself ten times a day: “Am I paying attention to them? A stuffy fiancée and a northern bumpkin?”
However, the subordinate seemed to have already drawn his own conclusion.
“Impressive. Your Highness, you’ve already grasped the rumors and are looking further ahead.”
