Chapter 37

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 37

Chapter Title: Krantzbal Special Express Train

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Russell Junior's voice brimmed with confidence.

"Oh dear, oh dear. I haven't even offered you a seat yet, miss. How rude of me."

"No, no. It doesn't seem like I'm interrupting anything. I just came to say thank you today."

"Of course. Well then, feel free to come find me anytime you need help."

This was nothing more than a perfunctory pleasantry. One of those utterly commonplace phrases tossed out in social interactions, like "let's grab a meal sometime."

Apparently, it didn't land that way with the woman.

"Really? You really mean that, Mr. Dixon?"

"……."

Her large eyes, framed by thick lashes that fluttered innocently, shone like the sun at its midday peak.

Facing such pure, exalted eyes, he couldn't bring himself to admit that his words had been utter nonsense.

"Ah, well. I'm not one to go back on my word……."

Russell Junior felt an inexplicable unease creeping in.

In the meantime, the waiter brought out their orders. A bottle of whiskey and a slender glass were placed before Russell Junior.

He filled his glass as if avoiding the woman's gaze.

"Would it be all right to ask you for a favor……?"

The woman trailed off.

This didn't bode well.

What kind of massive request is she building up to with all this hesitation?

Even as he lifted the glass with slightly tense fingers, he feigned nonchalance and said,

"Don't be shy—out with it, Miss Blanchett."

He flashed her a generous smile and downed the glass in one go. As he did, he slyly rolled his eyes up to look at her.

"Be my coach."

The whiskey, burning hot down his throat, caught in his windpipe at that instant.

"Kkh……."

Co... coach?

At the bolt-from-the-blue shock, Russell Junior ended up spitting out his whiskey.

The view outside Great Hill's windows had shifted from tender spring green to deep summer foliage.

Temperatures were gradually rising, hinting at early summer, but Johann Leopold, standing before the mirror, felt a chill deeper than before.

He had always exuded such an aura, but today it was especially frigid.

Johann was dressing for the official welcome of Tanesia Irene Krantz, the princess visiting Leiden.

"And."

Morris's hand paused as he flipped a page in his notepad at the low voice.

"The actual owner of the townhouse where she currently resides……."

When Morris hesitated to continue, Johann smoothly tucked the end of his necktie through its loop and finished for him.

"Edgar."

A flat tone slipped from between his sensual lips, tinged faintly red.

"Yes."

A man receiving a report on his ex-wife right before going to greet his fiancée. Offering silent condolences to the future Duchess of Leopold, Morris moved on to the day's schedule.

"The Krantzbal Special Express—"

"Olivia played tennis, did she."

Johann turned toward the butler, eyes closed as if murmuring to himself.

The butler, holding the formal attire, approached promptly and carefully helped Johann into the black silk jacket with its red lining.

"Have you seen her do it."

Johann stared at the full-length mirror with narrowed eyes.

The summer that had arrived unannounced felt like an unwelcome intruder. It was because his divorced wife, who had left in early spring, was still toying with his nerves.

"Who knows."

Morris tilted his head. There was no tennis court at Great Hill, so of course he hadn't.

"It is rather odd, though."

Morris's gaze slid to the newspaper spread on the table.

"Britannia's Ironclad Sanctuary Breached: Divorcee Olivia Blanchett Awakens"

It was shocking enough that the duchess, who had holed up in her rooms, was a tennis prodigy—but the prominently featured photo was an even bigger issue.

Of all things, their wedding photo.

Morris fretted that the archduchess might see it. She was due to arrive at Leiden Central Station at 3 p.m.

If Johann had willed it, they could have recalled every newspaper distributed in the city before the princess arrived. But he paid it no mind.

"You."

"Nothing."

As the butler affixed the final medal to Johann's chest, he reported crisply.

Stepping back, the butler inspected and straightened Johann's appearance.

With a nod that all was ready, he handed over the formal gloves. Johann glanced indifferently at the mirror, fastened the glove buttons, and commanded.

"Find out."

Johann crossed the dressing room in broad strides.

Olivia and tennis.

It was hard to imagine a more mismatched pairing.

The tennis with that woman Elaine at the Lancelot Hotel must have been her first time. That was how Johann knew Olivia Blanchett—or so it should have been.

To enter the Dumblin Tennis Championship on skill honed in just a couple of months.

Vile bastard.

Johann muttered a quiet curse.

Edgar might be the same sort of scoundrel, but at least he wasn't this despicable.

He wasn't the type to exploit a woman left broken and without support like this.

Otherwise, there'd be no reason to parade a woman who had never properly held a racket in front of everyone to stir up scandalous buzz.

As he descended the grand central staircase, Johann halted and slowly turned back. His gray eyes deepened as they fixed on the empty white wall.

The spot where his and Olivia's portrait had hung.

Whether Edgar used someone to recoup the massive investments poured into securing the Dumblin arena contract was none of his concern.

Just like when he'd dragged Princess Annblin Grace Brita into it—it wasn't his problem.

But.

If that someone was Olivia.

A subtle ripple stirred in his inscrutable, serene gaze.

International flags adorning the station fluttered in the gentle breeze.

The platform and station square teemed with crowds welcoming the Krantz princess on her official visit to the Kingdom of Rondos.

Morris was genuinely surprised by the larger turnout than when the Agen princess had visited to become engaged to Crown Prince Christian.

It was probably fallout from the stir Olivia Blanchett had caused.

"There, it's coming."

The special express train, with its turquoise body and gold fittings, gradually slowed as it pulled into Leiden Central Station.

The gazes of the spectators gathered to catch a glimpse of the princess converged on it, buzzing with excitement.

"Aw, that's too bad. Getting remarried at such a flower-like age."

Someone clucked their tongue sympathetically.

"Too bad? What are you talking about? Our duke was the one who got tangled up with that vixen. Now he's finally found his match. Instead of congratulating him, that's what you say? Anyone hearing you might think she's marrying some sixty-year-old geezer."

"Quiet down. They'll all hear you."

The woman, who had glanced at Johann standing on the red carpet, lowered her voice.

"There's an old saying: no need to worry about the highborn. They marry and divorce because it doesn't cost them anything. Worry about your own."

I hear it all. I hear everything.

Morris stole a glance at Johann.

There was no way to plug his ears, so the words seeped in relentlessly.

Strangely, amid the clamor of the massive crowd, the insults stuck out sharply.

Morris looked at Johann with eyes full of admiration. How many could remain so composed hearing their own slander?

He stood straight-backed, hands clasped behind him, expression unchanged.

His haughty eyes, edged with sharpness, and tranquil face stared straight ahead.

Johann flicked his wrist lightly, rolling up his cuff with his fingertips. His silver wristwatch read 4:10.

Bored, Johann closed his eyes briefly.

"...You said you're marrying me?"

"Why? Disappointed it's not the crown prince?"

Insane bastard.

As memories of the day he first met Olivia surfaced, Johann opened his eyes and cursed inwardly.

At that exact moment, the door to the special compartment emblazoned with the Krantz archducal crest slid open.

Beyond the carriage window, as it rounded the central fountain in the square, sparkling foam scattered in a rainbow of colors.

Johann gazed languidly at the cityscape from the swaying carriage.

The princess, who had worn an elegant smile on the Leiden Central platform, fell silent once the crowds and reporters were out of sight.

Neither treated the other as a fiancée would.

For Johann, who wished to avoid needless friction, the quiet suited him fine.

The woman in her glossy pearl-gray silk gown exuded the dignity befitting a princess of a nation.

The purple sash medal crossing her chest gleamed gold in the sunlight streaming through the window.

A shared sense of royalty brought satisfaction. They understood each other's duties and would each uphold their roles.

In that regard, her status was impeccable, her demeanor seasoned—perfect for the role of wife.

Johann, elbow on the window sill and long fingers pressing his temple, lowered his wrist slightly.

Glancing at the watch on his thick-boned wrist, he turned his gaze back out the window.

The carriage had left the luxury shopping district and hotel cluster, now crossing the famed Goddess Bridge with its intricate sculptures.

As sunset approached, the Daphne River below took on rosy hues, drawing throngs of strollers to the walkways on either side.

At the bridge's railing stood the towering golden statue of the goddess, surrounded by a commotion of couples waiting their turn to kiss.

Devotees of Arke, granter of eternal love.

"I want to do something."

"Tell me."

The image rose of nineteen-year-old Olivia, shyly fiddling with their clasped hands. Johann gave up resisting and slowly closed his eyes.

"...A kiss. I want to."

"……."

In a carriage passing over this very bridge, his wife had bowed her flushed face and extended slender fingers.

"Right there."

The moment he had sighed at her innocent gaze came back to him—shortly after their wedding, on the way home to Great Hill.

"It's all nonsense, Olivia. Say something else."

Tiresome.

Johann opened his eyes, shoving away the sticky recollection.

As he rubbed his eyes lightly with gloved fingertips, weary from the pathetic display, his gaze suddenly sharpened.