Chapter 63

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 63

Chapter Title: New Star

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Sara Pavlova glared at Olivia, her breaths coming in harsh gasps.

Annoying.

The match had dragged on for over two hours, but Olivia showed no signs of faltering. Her movements remained precise, her steps concise.

Was it her innate superhuman strength, or the unconventional outfit she wore?

Whatever the reason, she had to avoid a deuce at all costs.

Absolutely.

Olivia regulated her breathing.

Just one point!

Her heart pounded fiercely.

Her eyes locked with Princess Annblin's. The princess stared back with an inscrutable expression.

I won't lose.

Power surged into her legs planted firmly on the grass.

Never!

Olivia leaned forward. She spun the racket in her hands before gripping it tightly.

The ball was coming.

"Haat!"

With a fierce shout, she effortlessly struck the ball as it bounced in the service box.

In that instant, Sara spotted an opening and snapped her wrist with lightning speed.

She angled it slightly, driving the ball sharply into the corner near the left sideline.

"!"

Olivia, positioned near the right sideline, kicked off the ground and dashed toward it.

I won!

No person—no woman—could outrun a flying ball.

Sara Pavlova, Annblin, and the entire crowd were just about to flash triumphant smiles at her reckless pursuit when—

"Haht!"

Olivia spread her long, pale legs wide and slid across the grass like a whisper. Clutching the racket with both hands, she let out a primal yell and smacked the precariously flying ball dead center.

My God!

She actually made that shot.

Gasps erupted from the stands one after another.

Stunned by Olivia's dramatic drop shot, Sara belatedly rushed toward the net.

But the ball merely grazed the racket head and trickled futilely backward.

"Deuce!"

The umpire's call rang out under the clear sky. Sara Pavlova felt the heavens crash down.

At the same time, Annblin's lips trembled faintly purple.

Having savored the sight long enough, Edgar's gaze slowly shifted to Olivia.

My checkmate.

Under the scorching sun, Olivia panted with her small shoulders heaving—like a single, snow-white wolf.

That afternoon, extra editions were scattered across Litton.

Mrs. Marie showcased her skills after a long while.

In the cozy dining room overlooking the tranquil Vichen River under the night sky, a table fit for a court banquet had been set.

With luxurious tableware and ornate candelabras clearly sourced from Lancelot Hotel, it made for an even more convincing feast.

"To the new star, Olivia!"

Russell Junior, who had been reading the extra edition aloud, raised his bubbling champagne flute high and shouted.

Elaine and her husband, along with Madam Lauren seated around the round table, lifted their glasses.

"Thank you, everyone."

The glasses chimed clearly as they clinked, and Olivia beamed.

Elaine, true to her lively nature, kept the mood upbeat.

She got along quite well with Russell Junior.

Amid their chatter, warm candlelight flickered over the bountiful table, and laughter flowed freely.

"But didn't you invite the marquis?"

Elaine asked as she carved off a leg from the spice-stuffed, crisped-skin roast duck and portioned it onto plates.

"He seemed busy..."

Olivia trailed off with a faint smile.

It was a fitting excuse.

The Lancelot Hotel was hosting a party that evening for the players, tournament staff, and invited reporters.

That man had to be there. She didn't want to put him in a tough spot.

Besides, rejection might sting a little.

Olivia stared at the vase adorning the table, silverware in hand.

'Congratulations on your first win.'

As she headed to the locker room after the match, Edgar had been waiting in the corridor.

A modest bouquet was in his hands.

Her grandmother suddenly came to mind.

On graduation day, her grandmother had approached a girl clutching a pretty bouquet, surrounded by family for photos, and asked to borrow it for a moment.

She had seen her grandmother's hunched back bow even deeper then.

In the photo, Grandmother smiled radiantly, but the girl had buried her flushed face into the flowers.

A bouquet meant that to her—a shameful reminder of impoverished days.

Olivia stood blankly, just looking at the offered cluster of blooms.

'What? Don't like flowers?'

"...Ah, no. It's not that. ...It's just my first time."

'First time. Sounds good. I like that.'

The man smiled again.

Her chest ached with a distant warmth—was it because of Grandmother, or this man? Olivia couldn't tell. Foolish as it was.

Olivia shook her head lightly to dispel the man's face.

She picked up a slender-stemmed wine glass.

Her fingers looked red through the burgundy waves.

"Your next opponent's Seymour, right? What do you think?"

Elaine glanced at Olivia's expression before asking Russell Junior.

She sensed a shift in how Olivia felt about Edgar.

"Seymour?"

Russell Junior, already pleasantly tipsy after a sip of wine, was proud and thrilled—and her beauty didn't hurt.

And above all, Edgar Langcaster Lancelot wasn't here, so he was strutting more than usual.

"Not as aggressive as Pavlova, but her stamina is insane. If it goes to deuce like today, it might be a real struggle. She's got that kind of endurance."

Russell Junior launched into a lengthy explanation.

He knew they might get bored, but with Olivia's eyes sparkling only at him, he couldn't stop.

He wished that pure, kind gaze would linger on him longer.

That was all that filled Russell Junior's mind—until the damn doorbell rang.

"I'll get it."

Olivia stood in place of Anne, who had just been serving the fresh lobster dish.

The additionally ordered wine must have arrived, as they were running low.

As she left the dining room and walked the short hallway, Mrs. Marie bustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Enjoy your meal. I'll handle it. That roast duck was the best I've ever had."

Olivia flashed a bright smile, not forgetting to praise the woman's efforts.

A faint smile ghosted across the usually gruff Mrs. Marie's lips.

She bowed her head and hurried back to the kitchen. Just then, the doorbell rang again.

"Coming."

Olivia quickened her steps to the front door and flung it wide.

A river breeze rushed in, making the sky-blue ribbon at the waist of her white muslin dress flutter like a dance with the skirt hem.

"Knew it was you."

Olivia looked up at the man in a daze. He smiled. The wind from the river carried a rose scent.

"...How did you..."

"Passing by."

The man casually said he'd dropped in while passing, then lifted a huge bouquet with a refreshing grin.

Behind him, casting a long shadow, the Vichen River sparkled orange under streetlamp glow, a luxurious cruise ship gliding past.

Evangeline Seymour blinked rapidly, lost in the ecstatic scenery she'd never seen before.

The Seymour mansion was lavishly funded, second to none, but it lacked this kind of elegance.

Her heart thumped as she toured the Botanic Garden of the West Palace, said to be off-limits to most.

The Seymours had struck gold in her grandfather's time, amassing nuggets without envy, but without a title, they repeatedly failed to breach high society's gates.

That was why Evangeline took up tennis—to join elite circles.

Just as Dumblin Club was for gentlemen, there was a tennis social circle for young ladies like her, centered on Princess Annblin. The royalest of royals.

'Finally, my efforts are paying off.'

She smoothed her carefully dressed outfit in the darkened glass window.

Checking for flaws, she brushed out her skirt wrinkles again and again—until footsteps echoed on the slate path.

Evangeline straightened and clasped her hands neatly.

Murmured voices grew nearer, and soon Princess Annblin appeared in graceful poise.

'My God! She really looks like a porcelain doll.'

Facing her idol in person, Evangeline froze.

Yet tears welled up too.

"I-I greet Your Highness."

Evangeline's voice shook miserably.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Seymour. Please, sit."

Princess Annblin offered tea with a refined smile. Evangeline, rigid with tension, couldn't even lift her head, staring hard at the teacup.

A plain white cup where the silver moonlight from the glass ceiling rippled quietly.

"I heard you haven't joined any circles yet. What do you think of our tennis group?"

"Pardon? The R-Royal Tennis Circle?"

Evangeline's hands trembled as she lifted the cup, tea sloshing.

The daughter of a merchant family, shunned by society, was so easy to roast.

Pathetic, groveling like a dog at mere crumbs of kindness.

"I believe you have the skill to join us."

"Th-thank you, Your Highness."

Evangeline's face lit with感動, flustered.

"But the other members seem to think differently."

Annblin feigned regret.

Evangeline, poor at hiding emotions, openly pouted.

"What should I do, Your Highness?"

"Why not prove your worth this time?"

Annblin tempted her with a benevolent smile.

"I think you can do it, Miss Seymour. What do you say?"

Annblin's amber eyes gleamed like starlight, urging her to use any means necessary.