Chapter 121
Night at Litten Port
Quinteresia—no, now Nostalgia.
The passenger ship, named after the most benevolent queen of Londos and the great-grandmother of Johan Leopold, had now been given a somewhat absurd new mission under its new name, Nostalgia. It was to be repainted and sent to Nostia to bring Olivia to LeMont Port. The rushed paint job left a slight sense of incongruity. It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but in the bright daylight, the difference would be noticeable, even if just slightly. That was why the departure time was set after sunset.
Johan stood alone on the deck. He glanced at the watch on his wrist through the thin falling snow and took a drag from his cigarette.
6:00 PM. No reports had come in yet, but Olivia should have arrived by now. There had been no word from Anne Marshall, so the plan was still progressing smoothly. If she just got on the ship, the situation would be resolved.
The scratch of the match as he lit his cigarette was drowned out by the waves lapping against the ship. Even as he shielded the flame with one hand and bent his head, his abyss-like dark eyes were fixed on the dock. The pier lights, brighter than the moonlight, glowed dreamily, shrouded gently in the night mist. Slowly sweeping through the bustling crowd, he exhaled the smoke he had been holding. The cool sea breeze quickly dispersed the smoke.
Olivia had not appeared yet. Although he knew it was still a little early for her to board, his mouth felt dry from holding the cigarette smoke.
“Start over, Olivia.”
“The opportunity to do that… you’ve already let it slip away.”
The crashing of the waves against the ship carried Olivia’s voice. His ash-gray eyes deepened like the night sea, lost in regret. Countless opportunities he had carelessly let pass flashed through his mind. He could have kissed her on the bridge where love would have been realized, walked with her hand on a sunny spring day toward the amusement park she wanted to visit, or held her in his arms after a private encounter.
But… why did he now want to do all these things with her?
Johan cast his gaze into the distance, staring at the darkness where the line between sea and sky had vanished, recalling the woman who had become like a stranger.
A stranger…
As the cigarette burned down, a trace of self-mockery appeared on his face.
Damn. A curse slipped out with the smoke.
As if mocking his absurd musings, the sound of boots on the deck suddenly broke the silence. It was Maurice.
“She just arrived and entered the terminal.”
Emotion flickered briefly across Maurice’s otherwise expressionless face. Johan gave a short nod, stubbed out his cigarette in the portable ashtray, and turned from the railing. Opportunities that had slipped away could not be reclaimed. The best he could do now was turn the ship.
With one hand in his pocket, Johan crossed the deck under the cold moonlight. Even a man hiding from his divorced wife’s gaze carried himself with a certain elegance.
Under the yellow lights of the terminal ceiling stood none other than Sara Pavlova.
“If I let Olivia Blanchett win, the prize money will feel like a loss, three times over. I lost my honor.”
Even amidst the surrounding noise, her voice pierced remarkably clearly into Olivia’s ears.
Momentarily stunned, Olivia collected herself. The murmur of the crowd had grown slightly louder. Her disguise had been for nothing—thanks to Sara Pavlova, her identity had been revealed.
“Seeing you here… it’s been a while, Miss Pavlova.”
Olivia gave a polite smile. If she had been caught off guard by the sudden meeting, Sara Pavlova seemed even more flustered, her first words betraying her surprise. The sharp arch of her darkly drawn eyebrows made her expression almost irritable.
“…Are you also participating in the Nostia National Championship, Miss Blanchett?”
In a situation that could have passed with just formalities, an unexpected question struck. Upon reflection, it seemed she was heading abroad to participate in the tennis tournament.
“Is that really something to be surprised about?”
The Nostia National Championship—a tournament whose existence Olivia had not known. She asked calmly.
“Not exactly surprised… just unexpected. I didn’t think you would participate.”
Finally, Sara Pavlova hid her emotions and gave a small smile.
“Why did you think that?”
“…”
Sara Pavlova was at a loss for words. Why had she assumed so categorically? Achieving a Grand Slam was every player’s dream. Yet she couldn’t just say she expected Olivia to return to Duke Leopold in Londos.
“You said you were looking out for me.”
“…”
Once again, an unexpected remark struck her directly. Sara Pavlova’s lips pressed tightly together. Her earlobes burned red, likely from the unusually humid air, and the teasing tone stung her pride.
“Are you finally going to show your true ability this time?”
Olivia asked with a composed, chillingly calm smile. Sara Pavlova felt like a small herbivore caught in a trap. Though she had been paid handsomely to throw a match, it was not a deliberate loss—she had simply lost. After a shaky start, she had been overwhelmingly outplayed by Olivia Blanchett from the second set onward. The shock of that day still made her palms sweat.
It was a blow to her pride, but pride didn’t pay the bills, so she reluctantly accepted it.
“…You must know. Right?”
“Speak plainly, Miss Pavlova.”
“That man… wasted money for nothing. I lost to you. Fair and square.”
If she had known, she shouldn’t have feigned ignorance. Admitting her weakness aloud felt as unpleasant and humiliating as regurgitating digested food. Sara Pavlova bit her lip. She desperately needed the prize money for the Nostia National Championship. And it was all because of that man, Johan Leopold.
Johan had threatened Sara Pavlova using his deal with Edgar as leverage: “Olivia must never find out about their arrangement.” Upon receiving the message, her legs had wobbled. If a match-fixing scandal broke, her career would be over. Yet, not having reached her target earnings, she chose betrayal. She violated the contract clause with Edgar: “Olivia must never learn the truth.”
The cost of betrayal was harsh: the contract sum of £900,000, three times the prize money, plus a penalty of £1,800,000. Sara Pavlova was left penniless.
“…So, are you planning to participate in the Nostia Nationals?”
That was her only concern.
“It wasn’t in my plans, but I can’t say how my mind may change. And Miss Pavlova…”
The crowd around them had begun to gather.
“Do not mock the effort and time of other players. You have no right to do so.”
“…”
Sara Pavlova gritted her teeth.
“You were the player I had the highest expectations for.”
“…”
“Ice Flame. Now I understand why the world calls you that. Because you played a magnificent match. That’s why I wanted to become closer to you.”
“…”
“It may only be a source of income for you, but don’t disappoint those who support you.”
Olivia lowered the brim of her hat, signaling the end of the conversation. Sara Pavlova felt defeated once more.
“You… do you know how infuriating you are?”
Calling after Olivia as she walked out of the terminal with measured steps, Sara Pavlova shouted. Among the bustling crowd, Olivia stopped and turned.
“Next time we meet, the loser buys a drink. I’ll go all out.”
“If you want.”
Under the brim of her large hat, Olivia’s eyes gleamed with resolve. Sara Pavlova nodded her head in farewell. Olivia lowered her head in return and turned away. Sara wondered how it would have been if they had become rivals and good friends—it didn’t seem so bad.
“They’ve arrived at Litten Port.”
Gerald cautiously relayed the news. Edgar smiled, his gaze sweeping over the documents. The cold, formal smile felt like a perfect ornament.
“They’re fully briefed?”
“…Yes.”
Gerald hesitated before replying. He felt uneasy about Edgar’s unorthodox plan, though the man himself remained calm. Organizing his approval papers neatly, Edgar placed his fountain pen in its holder and paused briefly to look at a frame. His gaze was unnervingly calm.
Edgar rose. He strode over in long steps, grabbed the shoulder holster hanging on a stand, and slotted his arm through it, fastening it over his shirt belt. The sequence was fluid, as natural as water—like a hunter preparing for the hunt.
