Troops from the unit where Prince Mikhail serves as an officer were ordered to deploy to suppress a colonial civil war.
At Doherty Club in Raiden city, a farewell party was held in his honor.
By the time Johan dropped in during the evening, there was barely a sober soul standing on two legs.
Under golden-domed red lanterns, thick cigarette smoke, the pungent scent of strong liquor, rapid dance tunes from an old phonograph—young adults looked like decadents chasing their last thrill in a world on the brink of collapse.
「Will the sun rise from the west tomorrow?」
All eyes turned to Johan, wondering what wind had blown him here.
“Mmmh,” slurred a slurred-tongued Mikhail, clinging onto Johan as he stumbled in.
Johan slid into a seat, casually restraining him with an outstretched arm.
“So—think I’ll see you again?”
“Maybe.”
Johan replied coolly.
“Brother!”
Mikhail shouted wildly.
Johan ordered another bourbon and lit a cigar. Although he hated noisy places, he planned to stay a while.
Until he heard the name Olivia.
Unfazed, Johan lit the cigar’s tip. The back tables erupted in chatter.
“They’ll last thirty minutes tops.”
“That’s Sara Pavlova. Even thirty minutes is generous.”
The men chuckled. They felt a pang of sympathy imagining the beautiful woman being humiliated on that grass court.
“I’m Olivia Blanchett.”
The dandies whistled and jeered.
“This isn’t a beauty contest—the opponent is world number one. Have you forgotten?”
“If Blanchett debuted earlier, Pavlova might be number two.”
Johan turned his head slightly at the sound of men speaking about Olivia as if they knew her.
She had flame-red hair and was a cousin of Queen Britt of Brest.
“Oh! You’ve seen her in person.”
That man, who had let a woman take court 12 at the Dumblin Club years ago, merely smiled and raised his glass.
They’re divorced now.
He recalled that undeniably and lit another cigar. He could stop caring—but it was impossible.
Olivia… Olivia. No matter where he went, he heard her name.
She had an uncanny talent. Even more now—since the divorce—her name filled his ears daily.
He set his crystal glass down and checked his watch with a flick of his wrist. A slight crease formed on Johan’s brow.
His usually controlled mind was nearly uncontrollable when it came to her. Damn it.
Since opening Pandora’s box named Diane Brook, this symptom had worsened further at their reunion in Brittany.
He hadn’t come to this raucous club because of Mikhail.
He needed focus. Otherwise—
“Why even come? Aren’t you curious about Lady Blanchett’s match?”
Johan exhaled a long plume of cigar smoke.
Princess Krantz stayed back with Catherine, saying she was rooting for Anblin—maybe too embarrassed.
It was absurd for Johan to attend his ex-wife’s match alone, and downright comical to sit beside her fiancé.
No need to invite rumors.
“So did you… choose this? To be here?”
“Pathetic.”
“I’m touched, Mmmh!”
Mikhail stretched his arms toward Johan again, writhing.
If a prince of a kingdom acted like this—monarchy must be ending.
Having emptied one bottle of bourbon, Johan stood from his seat.
Strong liquor and this decadent wasteland did little to occupy his mind.
In the club’s center, pairs danced tango in close embrace to a relentless sensual melody sweeping the floor.
Mikhail, gripping his partner with one arm, waved to Johan and winked:
A farewell.
Johan tilted his chin once and stepped outside. He walked down the street bathed in vibrant neon lights.
A carriage, waiting to pick up the duke, followed slowly behind.
Olivia’s arrival caused another uproar.
Audience chatter instantly turned into loud excitement.
“Good heavens, is she mad? In that get‑up….”
Society ladies clicked their tongues at Olivia stepping onto the grass court.
She wore a white polo shirt with matching knee‑length shorts and sneakers.
It was sheer rebellion.
“A lady in shorts like a boy? It really is the end times.”
“I have no idea what that attire is supposed to be called…”
“I can’t even bear to look.”
Elderly ladies gasped at the apocalypse they perceived, while younger ones tilted their heads, mystified by such unfamiliar style—even these murmurs floated to Olivia’s ears.
She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Then, she shut out everything.
Focus.
Any stray thoughts floating in her mind settled like dust in still air.
Slowly—very slowly.
She gathered the light seeping through her eyelids.
That point of light grew into a sphere like a tennis ball, and she opened her eyes just then.
Only this moment existed.
Her unwavering gaze reflected evenly in the summer sun.
Olivia walked toward the net.
Sara Pavlova, wearing a white blouse and flared skirt to her ankles, approached from the other side.
She’s the world number one.
Her gaze—stronger even than at yesterday’s press conference—locked onto Olivia.
Up close, the woman carried an icy-fire aura, fitting her nickname.
“If I had a strong serve—that’s her advantage. Having no flaws is her strength, and our weakness.”
Olivia fully understood—there was no opening in Sara Pavlova’s form.
Silver hair under the sunlight shimmered with chill.
Both women extended their hands over the net as if measuring each other.
“Let’s have a good match.”
“Likewise.”
Just then, the match officials called:
“Attention and show courtesy.”
The crowd in the blue‑fenced grandstand all rose to their feet.
Sara released her handshake and turned sideways. Olivia turned slowly to face forward.
“!”
Unexpectedly, someone appeared.
It was Anblin Grace Britt heading into the VIP area. Princess Catherine followed, then—
Another woman descending the steps elegantly.
It was…?
Olivia’s face frozen in shock.
The fiancee of Johan Leopold, Princess Krantz.
Camera flashes in the sky-like VIP box erupted with pejorative intensity.
Royalty watching tennis—this was a familiar sight in the tennis-loving nation.
But unannounced visits like this were rare.
This was Olivia Blanchett’s match—rumored to have secret meetings with the late Marquis once engaged to Princess Anblin.
And now, the Duchess’s ex-wife and the Princess fiancé were all watching.
Photographers, eager not to miss a single sensational story from this relentless Ritten social scene, snapped furiously.
The stands stirred; more than the match, the drama enthralled them.
The air suddenly smelled of gunpowder. The calm Olivia thought she controlled shattered.
He was here too. Johan.
She truly never expected him to show up here.
He knew?
About what ?
That I’m here, at your hotel?
Johan replied shortly: Yes.
Why come?
He must feel uneasy.
He shouldn’t want to see me.
But Olivia bit her lip. The windless summer day felt unbearable hot.
“Lady Blanchett.”
Her daze ended at the announcer’s call.
“…Yes.”
“Please pay your respects to Her Highness.”
By regulation, the players must bow to royalty.
Hesitant, Olivia finally moved forward.
She and Sara Pavlova approached the VIP box.
The closer she got to Princess Krantz, the more Olivia’s heart hammered like a guilty person fleeing.
She lacked the courage to face Johan’s fiancée directly.
Olivia walked with her eyes fixed on the green grass pressed by white sneakers.
Princess Anblin watched down at Olivia Blanchett bowing before her.
She quietly savored the moment: the stark contrast between her royal status and Olivia’s birth.
She elegantly nodded distance.
The surreal moment of Olivia’s first match visit by Princess Catherine and Irene was deliberate.
Irene, who claimed she wasn’t well, and resisted, was still dragged along.
Because:
This disruption.
When their eyes met—Olivia froze.
Anblin stifled a smile. She locked eyes with Edgar in the opposite VIP box.
Her winter‑sky eyes narrowed slightly.
Watch closely, Edgar.
See how your checkmate—your Olivia—crumbles.
Olivia Blanchett began to falter.
The midsummer sun seared as fiercely as:
A former royal bastard divorcée up against the world‑rank‑1 player.
Crowds followed the bouncing ball back and forth as usual at a Dumblin tournament.
But Edgar’s gaze stayed completely fixed on Olivia Blanchett.
“Fifteen–love!”
At a drop shot into the net, Olivia made a mistake.
Predictable.
Princess Anblin and world‑rank‑1 Sara Pavlova—plus everyone in the stands who came to watch Olivia’s composure—reached the same conclusion.
It comes down to the body.
