During the Dumblelin Championship, the entire city buzzed with excitement centered around the stadium.
Hotels threw parties every night, department stores ramped up their souvenir sales, and restaurants busied themselves with special seasonal menus to entice tourists.
And it wasn’t just them. Equally busy—if not more so—were the reporters.
They dashed constantly between Lytton Central Station and Lytton Port to cover players arriving from all over, and had to attend press conferences for the top championship contenders.
The number of reporters covering a player directly reflected that player’s popularity.
“Bold move, scheduling them at the same time.”
Someone clicked their tongue at the sight of the packed press room.
Olivia Blanchett, who had vanished after her last public appearance at the Londos consulate, was now holding her first official press conference.
At the same time as Princess Anblin’s.
This was a clear challenge—psychological warfare.
“Excuse me, can you move over a bit?”
“You there, with the hat—either crouch or shift aside. Don’t ruin the angle.”
It seemed everyone had flocked here instead of the press room at Britt Palace. The Grand Ballroom at the Lancelot Hotel was more chaotic and noisy than ever.
Overwhelmed by the intense atmosphere, Olivia rubbed her stiff hands and tried to steady her breathing.
“No need to be nervous.”
Edgar flashed her a charming smile. Even that captivating grin was no comfort now.
Standing in front of the very people who had written scathing articles about her made her chest tighten with anxiety.
“If a question’s tough, just pass it to Russell Junior.”
Russell Junior, adjusting his outfit in front of a mirror, shrugged as he spoke.
“Just leave it to me, Miss Olivia—oh, I mean Miss Blanchett.”
Seems like their time together had brought some familiarity—he’d started calling her by name without formality.
Edgar gave a silent chuckle at Russell Junior, who fortunately had the awareness to look sheepish.
“Let us know when you’re ready.”
Olivia took a deep breath.
“I’m ready.”
Her wavering eyes finally steadied with determination.
“Good.”
Edgar placed a light hand on her shoulder.
“Shall we?”
Olivia nodded.
The staff members, gripping the golden handles of the massive red-tinged doors, opened them in unison.
The noise that had been bubbling beyond the doors rushed in—then instantly fell to a hush.
Taking Russell Junior’s arm, Olivia stepped forward.
She straightened her shoulders, fixed her expression, and the moment her foot touched the floor of the conference hall, her eyes squeezed shut.
The blinding flash of countless cameras burst all at once, washing her vision in white.
The popping sounds reminded her of fireworks, pounding in her ears and scattering her focus.
“Over here, over here please!”
“Miss Blanchett! This way—look this way!”
Russell Junior’s voice drifted through her ringing ears.
“Are you alright?”
He tilted his head slightly to ask. Olivia, still dizzy, slowly opened her eyes.
After blinking a few times, her vision began to clear.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Determined not to show her nerves, Olivia forced herself to focus. She didn’t forget to keep a graceful smile on her lips.
With poised steps and a calm demeanor, she walked to the podium.
Russell Junior pulled out her chair, and after she sat, he took the seat beside her. The room fell quiet again.
Olivia, her eyes lowered toward the deep burgundy velvet covering the table, slowly lifted her gaze.
Hostile eyes glared at her like wolves, ready to pounce.
Olivia inhaled deeply, then placed her gloved hands atop the table and laced her fingers.
Sensing she was ready, Russell Junior opened the floor.
“Thank you all for coming. I’m sure everyone’s busy. This year, I’m not here as a player but as Miss Olivia Blanchett’s coach. As most of you probably know, I’m Russell Junior Dixon. Unless you don’t? Haha. How did I come to be her coach, you ask? Well… you could say it was fate. It all started when—”
God, he talks too much.
No one was interested. Reporters frowned as their time for real questions was being eaten away by this verbose nobleman’s speech.
Then—
“Michael Dossett from The Sun.”
One reporter abruptly stood, cutting Russell Junior off mid-sentence.
Such an audacious move would’ve been unthinkable for a commoner reporter—but he was a noble, too.
Usually obnoxious, his interruption was strangely welcome today.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchett.”
“Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Dossett.”
Olivia straightened her back and offered a polite greeting.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Smiling calmly was as hard as holding back a sneeze.
“You’re debuting in a major tournament. Do you believe you’re qualified?”
The Sun—
The very paper that had labeled her a shameless seductress involved with her ex-husband’s rival.
One of the first to suggest she had earned her spot through indecent means. A leader in spreading twisted, slanderous lies.
“I’ll show you through my performance.”
Olivia’s eyes turned resolute, as still and strong as a frozen blue lake.
“Isn’t that a bit arrogant?”
Michael Dossett sneered.
“Your first opponent is Sarah Pavlova. Are you saying you can win?”
She did not avoid his condescending gaze. Instead, Olivia gave an even more composed smile.
“I mean to do my best.”
“What’s your relationship with the Marquess of Lancelot?”
A rude question.
Michael Dossett watched Olivia closely, waiting for her to squirm.
Other reporters, thankful for the itch he’d scratched, turned their gaze to Olivia.
But in her eyes, an unexpected chill stirred.
The grand ballroom, heated by the frenzy of the press, felt suffocating.
“As we’ve said before, we won’t be answering personal questions. Please ask something else or give someone else the—”
“I asked Miss Blanchett.”
Dossett cut off Russell Junior with brazen disregard. Furious at the rudeness, Russell clenched his jaw and bounced his leg beneath the table.
Try meeting me in private, he thought bitterly.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, Edgar’s gaze shifted to Olivia.
Still staring at the reporter, the woman’s serene face betrayed nothing.
What is she thinking in that little head of hers?
When I thought of using and discarding you, what did you see me as?
Edgar’s eyes darkened with shadowy doubt as he silently watched her.
But Olivia had decided not to run anymore. She had done nothing wrong.
“If I answer, will you quote me properly?”
Her voice was calm as she locked eyes with the reporter.
Olivia feared being judged.
She had always hidden because she knew how people saw her—but she wouldn’t anymore.
“Or will you twist my words again into something that suits your narrative?”
Michael Dossett was momentarily stunned.
He had expected a woman trembling with shame, but Olivia faced him with surprising composure.
She was even elegant.
Her silence was effective.
He had come armed with sleazy questions meant to tie her to Princess Anblin and the necklace incident—but suddenly, none would stick.
“I played tennis a few times during my stay at the Lancelot Hotel. The Marquess noticed my skill and made a proposal. Our relationship is strictly that of sponsor and athlete—we’ve only met a few times.”
Smiling, Olivia even turned the tables.
“Not very exciting, is it? Any more questions, Mr. Dossett?”
“…No. Thank you for your answer.”
“I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s Sun article.”
She gave a sweet smile as her eyes swept across the room.
“Isn’t anyone curious about my playing style?”
She tilted her head kindly at the dumbfounded reporters.
“If you ask about my technique, I might have a more interesting answer.”
The chandelier lights sparkled above her radiant smile.
Edgar chuckled silently.
The woman who had stood pale and frozen was now dancing circles around the press.
So capable, and yet such a drama queen.
He looked over her neatly composed face, down her folded hands, to the hem of her deep navy skirt.
Her cream satin shoes trembled faintly.
Suppressing a laugh, Edgar lowered his head and covered his mouth.
All Olivia wanted was for this moment to be over.
Olivia Blanchett…
In the back of the hall, leaning against the wall, stood Sarah Pavlova.
Her icy gaze burned quietly, justifying her nickname: The Ice Flame.
Then Olivia’s gaze met hers.
Their eyes locked midair.
Sarah smirked with a slow lift of her lips.
The first female athlete sponsored by the House of Lancelot?
Let’s see tomorrow if her skills lie in bed—or on the court.
Sarah pushed off the wall and turned.
Her high ponytail of silver hair sparkled like crystal under the chandelier lights.
And the next day, fireworks signaling the opening of the Dumblelin Championship exploded over the skies of Lytton.
