Chapter 38

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 38

Chapter Title: The Quiet Woman

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Sunset was painting the end of the Goddess Bridge in vivid hues when it caught Johann's eye.

A woman hurrying along ahead of them drew his gaze. Glossy chestnut hair, just long enough to brush her nape, fluttered in the river breeze with her every step.

"Olivia."

The name slipped from his lips unconsciously, shattering the silence.

A faint crease flickered between the princess's brows, her expression otherwise unchanging, but Johann didn't notice.

He stared out the window until the carriage passed her, then let out a wry chuckle.

She couldn't possibly be here. The spy's photo of the woman must have burned itself into his mind.

'Love me.'

His ex-wife's voice echoed in his ears like an auditory hallucination once more.

One day, before entering the dining room, Morris had whispered that it was Madam's birthday tomorrow. Taking his seat, Johann had asked perfunctorily,

"A gift. Tell me if there's anything you want."

His wife had smiled, her expression tinged with a sadness that tugged at the heart,

"Love me."

He couldn't comprehend it.

What value could a fleeting emotion hold—one destined to fade, bound to end someday?

Johann tore his eyes from the busy woman on the street. His gaze met the princess's; she sat motionless like a porcelain doll, staring straight ahead.

The space flooded with peak sunset glow was a suffocating crimson.

"If that displeased you, I apologize."

Johann offered a polite apology.

The Princess of Krantz said nothing.

Even in the blazing red light, her icy eyes held only a trace of displeasure.

It vanished quickly, turning indifferent, and she soon turned to the opposite window.

Johann looked away as well. Habitually checking his wristwatch, he let his meaningless gaze drift to the distant Rondo Palace.

A quiet woman wasn't so bad.

This princess, at least, wouldn't prattle on about love.

For Johann, that alone made it a worthwhile deal.

Now was the time to focus on negotiations with the crown prince.

What he would gain in exchange for once again becoming the crown prince's knight on the chessboard.

The currency issuance rights and bond issuance rights of International Bank, now entering acquisition by the Leopold family. And its elevation to a central bank.

Only then would the scales balance. With his engagement forced just three months after the divorce, turning everything to trash.

Of course, only if the Leopold family acquired it fully.

As always, it was destined to fall into Johann Leopold's hands with one hundred percent certainty.

Johann decided to think only of the financial empire he would build.

The carriage glided through the palace's golden main gate. Soon, it pulled up before the annex for honored guests.

"You utter fool!"

Russell Dixon's furious roar echoed thunderously, his face twisted in rage. His secretary shook her head, as if to say it was inevitable.

"Summon him here! Right now!!!"

Was it for the likes of him that he'd pulled all-nighters turning black nights white?

Russell's thick black mustache quivered with fury.

The secretary bolted from the chairman's office, tense as thin ice, racing toward where Russell Junior was.

Crash! An object hurled in rage shattered against the wall, the sound brutal.

The secretary fully understood Russell's feelings.

Family disgrace had its limits. If it were her son, she'd have crippled his hands for life, no racket ever again.

Panting with exertion and clicking her tongue at the pathetic sight, she arrived at Court 12 to find an unexpectedly cheerful atmosphere.

A pleasant baritone laugh carried on the breeze.

"Hahaha. Excellent. Very good, Miss Blanchett."

The man grinning idiotically, flashing even white teeth, was none other than Russell Junior.

"Now, let's try driving it deeper this time. Focus on your backhand."

His broad shoulders tensed, he puffed out his chest like a rooster strutting before a hen.

"Yes, Coach."

The woman smiled brightly, like morning sunlight.

How could anyone resist such a smile? The secretary shook her head and approached from behind Russell Junior. Sensing her, he smashed a serve—thwack!—and said irritably,

"Tell him I'm busy."

"Doubt that'll work. He's furious."

"Then I definitely can't go."

"But—"

"Nice swing. Keep that arm angle."

Russell Junior busily returned Olivia's shots, dispensing what seemed like useless advice.

Who exactly was teaching whom here?

That pathetic...

She couldn't help but curse inwardly.

He should be begging forgiveness on his knees. There were limits to stupidity and posturing—and it belonged in front of those who bought it.

His attitude made the secretary's well-intentioned rush pointless; she turned away, whatever.

Shadows were shortening. The grand fountain announced eleven o'clock with a refreshing spray. White foam shattered like grains of sand, rainbow-hued in the sunlight.

"Let's call it here for today."

Olivia, breathless, stopped in the center of the court, catching her breath before looking up.

"Thank you again, Coach."

She smiled at Russell Junior as he handed her a towel.

"I'll do some solo practice."

"M-more? You're doing more?"

Startled, Russell Junior's jaw dropped, his big eyes blinking rapidly.

"Thanks to you, Coach, my stamina's improved. Still time left."

Olivia dabbed her cheek with the towel and smiled. Flattered, Russell Junior swept back the hair falling over his forehead.

He knew he was being used, yet it satisfied him.

Thanks to Olivia's consideration, he'd shed his bad reputation. Now ladies praised Russell Junior's chivalry.

'How could a lady say such things? She's so kind.'

'Beating a lady by force? Hahaha.'

For him, it was a symbiotic relationship with no downside.

"Anne."

At Olivia's call, the maid scurried from the adjacent court. She unpacked items from her shoulder bag, lining them neatly on the grass.

Russell Junior, seated under the parasol, paused his iced lemonade mid-sip, tilting his head.

No way.

The maid set up the final wooden post and returned to her spot. Olivia tapped her toe with the racket head and assumed position.

Russell Junior downed his lemonade in one gulp and lit a cigarette. Just as he struck the match—

The woman's blue eyes, gripping the lime-green ball firmly, deepened intensely.

Her narrowed, long eyes fixed on the target with the fierce glint of a raptor spotting prey mid-flight.

The ball soared skyward. Olivia's body arched like a bow and sprang up.

Thwack! The racket center struck the falling ball dead-on. It rocketed forward, smashing the first post without a millimeter's error and rolling away.

My God!

Russell Junior, dazed, suddenly jumped up shouting.

Ouch, hot! The loosely held cigarette dropped—plop—onto his thigh, scorching his pristine white pants black.

Anne, watching silently, pinched her palm to stifle laughter. He looked burly and rough, but the young master had surprisingly cute sides.

Practice ended only after Olivia toppled all ten posts.

"Hungry? Let's grab lunch."

Russell Junior said in his deep voice.

They always lunched together after practice. Pure goodwill on his part.

From Riverside 3rd Street to here: an hour and thirty minutes. Even eating breakfast early, by seven a.m., dawdling would make anyone hungry.

For her persistent refusals, he'd invoked athlete stamina management. And it worked.

Russell Junior checked deck seating availability; the manager led them outside, to a spot with unobstructed sea views.

"This is amazing."

Olivia admired. Russell Junior swelled with pride. Gentlemanly, he pulled out her chair; once seated, he took the opposite.

"Their seafood rivals Grand Blue. Need recommendations?"

"Please."

"Sea bass fillet."

"Sounds good."

As Russell Junior ordered, Olivia turned to the sea. The sea breeze rippled the white tablecloth.

Sleek rowing boats practiced, oars dipping to commands. Time flowed as calmly as the ocean.

While waiting for food after the waiter left, Russell Junior launched into tales of Princess Annblin Grace Brita, the record-holder with most wins.

Soon, an amber whiskey glass and tall soda glass arrived.

"Her coach won three straight titles too. We played once, but I'd sprained my wrist the day before."

"Oh dear. That player was lucky."

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Russell Junior shrugged. Buoyed, he spun exaggerated, dramatic yarns of past tournaments.

"Once, I faced Edgar in the semifinals."

"Really?"

Olivia leaned forward slightly, hands clasped, eyes widening.

Her blue eyes sparkled up close, like the sea surface inches away. Russell Junior's shoulders tensed further.

"Final set. Deuce."

"Oh! My God. It was close."

She drew nearer, ears perked as if hearing a hero's legend, her focus solely on him—his heart raced oddly.

"……."

"So? What happened, Coach?"

Olivia pictured Edgar on the green court. A man leaping high, unleashing a powerful serve skyward.