Chapter 35

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 35

Chapter Title: Clique Tactics

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“Let’s go, Anne.”

Olivia strode forward purposefully.

She had planned to stay out of sight on the first day, as the staff had advised, and quietly head home. But not anymore. It was already the fourth day. This was too much.

She had been willing to silently endure the members’ displeasure since it wasn’t a unanimous decision to allow her entry. But no more. The deadline she had set for herself ended right here.

“Miss? The carriage is this way.”

Anne spoke up, thinking Olivia might have lost her way.

“We’re not leaving, Anne.”

“Pardon?”

Anne, who had been inwardly relieved at the thought of heading home, asked in surprise. She had been furious the whole time about why her lady had to endure such treatment here.

“I’m looking for a place to practice.”

There was no way a vast property like this had only one court.

Olivia hurried to Court 11. Then 10, 9…… Her brisk steps came to a halt in front of the final court. Her sea-blue eyes narrowed faintly as she gazed at the grass court.

Not a single empty court.

Was it the Brittish passion for tennis, or a blatant warning aimed at Olivia? She suspected the latter. You don’t belong here.

Olivia turned on her heel with Anne. Her steps thudded heavily as she left the courts and walked along the path. The broad shadows of the deciduous trees danced restlessly over her pristine white shoes.

Lost in thought, Olivia walked straight down the path.

Following the chirping of birds and the sound of flowing water somewhere nearby, she reached a crossroads where a splendid fountain stood in the center.

The sight of the water shooting up coolly brought that man to mind unbidden. Edgar Langcaster Lancelot.

The grand fountain at Lancelot Hotel. The tennis courts. And that day when she had competed against him.

Should she ask for his help?

Olivia cautiously considered it, then shook her head firmly.

No. Absolutely not.

She was already tangled up with him and Princess Annblin. Creating more complications here was out of the question.

Dating that man, of all things.

The idea was absurd, yet her nape burned hot. Absentmindedly rubbing it, Olivia spotted a small building behind some dense landscaping trees.

Its wall looked about the same width as a tennis court’s length.

Her azure eyes, gleaming like sunlit water, began to sparkle.

Up close, a padlock secured the door, and a gold panel in the center read “Equipment Storage.”

Standing on tiptoe and peering through the window, she was relieved to see no signs of anyone living there.

Olivia pulled her racket from her white leather bag and stepped back to a suitable distance.

“Ah, Miss?”

“That’s right. I’m practicing here, Anne.”

Olivia flashed a bright smile and did some light stretches.

Bouncing a ball from the case lightly on the ground, Olivia exhaled long and sharp, inhaled quickly, and tossed the ball into the air.

“Miss!”

Pang! The sound of the racket strings striking the ball rang out sharply through the air.

Anne, who had buried her face in her hands fearing the window might shatter, peeked up cautiously.

Anne’s worries were unfounded. Olivia’s ball struck precisely as if measured with a ruler.

Olivia relentlessly returned the ball as it ricocheted sharply off the wall. Her breathing grew gradually heavier.

Avoiding the window while receiving shots proved more difficult than expected, and her calves soon began to tighten.

Her pale cheeks flushed with the pink of spring blossoms, and transparent beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

The once-quiet club echoed with the sound of ball slamming against wall.

What on earth……

Passersby stopped one by one, their raised eyebrows twitching.

The woman they thought had slunk home quietly was locked in fierce battle with a wall—a most peculiar sight.

“That window’s gonna shatter for sure.”

The men snorted.

“Wanna bet on how many it breaks?”

They snickered mockingly. At this point, anyone’s focus would waver. Yet the woman struck the ball without faltering.

The onlookers, who had been watching arms crossed with smirks, soon found themselves engrossed in her textbook-perfect form.

Her precisely placed shots drew gasps of admiration. Each time a refined shot skirted the window, stifled exclamations leaked out here and there.

When a ball flew as if to shatter the glass, breaths caught—only to burst into relieved sighs when it narrowly clipped the frame.

“She’s insane. Completely insane.”

The crowd clicked their tongues in awe.

Olivia wiped sweat from her brow indifferently with her forearm and checked the time. Twelve fifteen. Time to wrap up practice.

Catching her breath briefly, she tossed up her final serve.

The ball soared skyward, her body leaping powerfully after it. One of Olivia’s favorite moments.

As her gaze followed the lime-green ball upward, she caught sight of a window on the third floor of the main building behind the storage shed. A man leaning on the sill, looking down—her eyes met his.

“!”

Too far to see clearly, but it was him. An instinct sharper than sight told her so.

Edgar.

In her daze, the ball plummeted before her eyes. Startled, Olivia swung late—and moments later, a tremendous crash! echoed across the quiet club grounds.

Oh no!

As Olivia jumped in shock, she could swear she heard a man’s laughter drifting on the wind above her. A remarkably cheerful sound.

Under the noonday sun, Olivia’s face flushed crimson.

Afterward, the club members’ clique tactics remained unchanged. Olivia stood dutifully before Court 12. The time ticked precisely to eight fifty-eight. It was already the fourth day.

She waited there today as well, posture impeccable, for the match to end.

“Why not just give up here, Chairman?”

Charles, the club manager, pleaded while glancing nervously at Russell.

“Rumors are starting among the members.”

The Dumblin Club members had split into conservatives betting on whether she’d break a window today and sympathizers wondering if it was worth being so petty over one court.

She had Lancelot Hotel backing her. Even the club owner sided with her. If they pushed it, she could easily secure a court using their influence—like taking candy from a baby.

But the woman was simply doing her utmost.

That earnestness was enough to stir the hearts of stubborn men.

“At this rate, Dumblin Club will be known as a bunch of petty sore losers.”

Whatever. Russell ignored him and carried on with his work.

“If it hits the papers, what’ll our image be?”

Russell didn’t so much as snort at Charles’s concerns.

Daring to beat his son and humiliate him—she had to pay. Russell had rallied the members to occupy the courts.

Thanks to the men banding together in crisis, Olivia Blanchett still hadn’t set foot on a court. Russell’s mustache twitched.

“You’re being awfully petty, sir.”

“What?”

His face snapped up from the papers.

“Am I wrong?”

“Charles!”

“Yes, Chairman!”

Charles bellowed back. Russell’s ears rang.

Charles’s anger boiled over. If you were going to do this, don’t allow entry in the first place.

This wasn’t a game. Standing awkwardly in front of a storage shed without even a bench—it looked utterly undignified.

“Just tell them to stop.”

“No can do.”

“Chairman!”

Their glares locked, sparks nearly flying, when a staffer burst into the chairman’s office without knocking.

“What’s the meaning of barging in without knocking!”

Russell barked.

His frustration lashed out misplaced. The staffer, sensing the mood too late, faltered.

“W-Well……”

“Well what!”

Russell snapped irritably.

“Miss Blanchett has started practicing.”

“What?”

Russell and Charles’s glares whipped toward the staffer.

“Wh-Where.”

They demanded in unison.

“Court 12.”

Nine o’clock arrived. Olivia turned calmly to head to the storage shed when a voice called from behind.

“Right on time today.”

Olivia whirled around in surprise.

Her blue eyes widened at the man emerging from the court, her expression disbelieving—like encountering a summer snowflake.

The man brushed past her, wiping sweat with a towel handed by a staffer.

“Give it your best.”

He gave a light nod. Requesting a drink be brought to the lounge, he turned to leave. Olivia, staring blankly, called out urgently.

“……Why? Why the change of heart?”

Her voice trembled. The man turned slowly.

“Dumblin’s traditions are a point of pride for the people here.”

“……”

“Those traditions are broken now.”

He met her gaze.

“If the woman who shattered the first taboo wins the second sanctuary too, maybe their wounded pride heals a bit. That’s all.”

Flashing a grin, he paused on his way out and looked back at Olivia.

“Total nonsense.”

“Pardon?”

“Three hours of this nonsense wore me out.”

“……”

“It’s exhausting as hell.”

With a chuckle, he walked away. Olivia couldn’t tear her eyes from him until he vanished among the lush green foliage. Then she burst out laughing.

It’s exhausting as hell.

That playful remark dissolved her pent-up frustration into thin air.

I won.

Olivia drew a deep breath and slowly stepped onto the court.

Just one week. The grass beneath her feet felt exceptionally soft.

Olivia closed her eyes, savoring the turf’s gentle embrace. Stray locks tickled her nape in the breeze. Her chest swelled, eyes growing hot—then snapped open.

Staring at the empty opposite court, she muttered.

But……

Who am I supposed to play with?

Mountain after mountain, indeed.