Hans opened the door of the Rothschild Club with a bewildered look on his face.
As he pushed open the heavy door, a new world unfolded before him.
A red shield, the symbol of the gentlemen’s club, hung in the lobby and glittered sharply under the chandelier’s light.
“This way, please.”
Hans followed the staff member, stepping onto the red carpet that ran elegantly up the central staircase.
“An anonymous informant said they’d be waiting at the Rothschild Club.”
“For me?”
“Yes, they meant you. Rothschild, huh? What kind of magic did you pull, Hans?”
His colleague had been clearly envious. Hans, for his part, was simply dumbfounded.
The anonymous informant had sent a messenger boy with the message.
Hans had no clue who it might be, or what it was about.
If he were a journalist for a prestigious daily paper, maybe. But for a third-rate weekly gossip reporter like himself, the luxurious interior of the club felt overwhelming.
At the farthest door on the second floor, the staff member stopped and knocked. Hans, out of breath from hauling his heavy frame up the stairs, wheezed behind him.
Without waiting for permission, the staff member opened the door and stepped aside.
“Please, go in.”
“…”
Still catching his breath, Hans peered past the open door. The inside was hidden behind a mahogany partition.
It felt suspicious. But for a scoop? If it meant he could finally escape the miserable magazine office?
After a brief hesitation, Hans stepped inside. The door quietly closed behind him.
“Thank you for your time.”
“…”
Hans was at a loss for words. The anonymous informant was a woman dressed as a man. But what was even more shocking—
“L-Lady Cecile Royce?”
The personal secretary to Princess Anblin.
“Shall we have a drink first?”
The princess’s secretary poured into the empty glass. The scent of whiskey quickly filled the club room.
Hans, wiping the sweat from his brow, accepted the drink. His throat was parched, and he drank the whiskey with ice as if it were water.
Just as he reached the peak of his confusion—about the odd disguise and why she wanted to meet him—the woman broke the silence.
“The princess asked me to tell you—she’s always deeply moved by your insightful and heartfelt articles.”
The mustache she had glued on carefully tugged awkwardly upward as she smiled.
“T-The princess reads my articles…?”
Even cheap tabloids? Hans was momentarily overwhelmed with emotion, his eyes brimming with tears.
He was a devoted admirer of Princess Anblin.
“She keeps clippings of them.”
A sharp thrill of joy spread through Hans’s chest.
Just imagining the princess’s pale fingers gently smoothing out his articles made his heart race wildly.
“The princess would like you to conduct her victory interview, which is why I requested this meeting.”
“M-Me…?”
His heart felt like it would burst.
“There are many reporters in this country, but none who understand Her Highness as thoroughly as you. The princess feels the same way.”
He couldn’t believe it.
A solo interview, granted by the most noble princess in Britte, to a no-name weekly reporter.
But if she were a virtuous and kind-hearted princess—
If she judged people not by appearance, but by their sincerity and abilities—then maybe it wasn’t so impossible, Hans thought.
That was exactly why he revered her.
“Th-Thank you. Leave it to me. I’ll write the best article you’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sure you will. But for that to happen, the princess must first win…”
Cecile trailed off.
The day before the finals, Marquess Lancelot’s security had become increasingly strict.
Except for a few permitted individuals, no one could get close to Olivia.
Even the water she drank was rigorously inspected.
But no matter how tight the fortress, there’s always a crack.
Cecile had found that crack—Hans.
“If that’s all, then don’t worry.”
A strange light flickered in Hans’s damp eyes. A solo interview with the princess—an honor unlikely to come again in his lifetime.
Nothing would be allowed to interfere.
Olivia leapt into the air, cutting through the sunlight. Pop! A crisp sound followed as her racket struck the ball.
Edgar stood still beside the fence, watching her.
Service ace. The ball hit with such power that Russell Jr. couldn’t even react.
Edgar’s lips curled upward. Olivia was in top form. It made him look forward to tomorrow’s match.
Without hesitation, Edgar started walking. One hand that had been in his pocket now undid his shirt buttons.
He draped his deep navy jacket over a bench, then tugged off his tie.
“Edgar.”
The woman’s face lit up when she finally saw him, white sunlight spilling over her features.
Edgar rolled up his shirt sleeves neatly as he approached.
“Finished your match?”
“Unfortunately lost. Though I expected it.”
He had just come from watching the men’s singles semifinals at center court, fulfilling both his duties as a sponsor and as a friend.
“I think your friend could use some comforting.”
“I left that to his girlfriend. She’s probably better at it than me. Are you going to keep practicing?”
“I’ve rented the court until noon.”
“Then let’s use the remaining time together.”
With a swift motion, Edgar snatched the racket from the reluctant Russell Jr.
Twirling it in his hand, Edgar said,
“Let’s make it interesting. One set. Want to bet on it?”
“You won’t regret it?”
Olivia tilted her head and raised her brow playfully.
You’re going to lose again, you know? Her wide eyes, filled with mischief, made her look like a mischievous young lady. Edgar couldn’t help but laugh.
It wasn’t an unreasonable certainty—he would lose. How could anyone focus on the ball when Olivia was sprinting across the grass, so dazzlingly alive?
Olivia untied her sky-blue hair ribbon.
A warm breeze blew gently, brushing through her chestnut hair and swaying the ribbon held between her lips.
Sunlight streamed along the slope of her exposed neck.
“Shall we begin?”
Her eyes sparkled with competitive fire as she looked up at him.
Her ponytail swung behind her like a banner. Edgar already felt himself weakening and let out a dry chuckle.
The green ball flew up into the blue sky. Pop! It soared toward him with a loud crack.
Fast and fierce.
A powerful serve, fitting of Olivia Blanchett, someone who put her whole heart into every match.
Pop! Edgar struck the ball back.
The ball pierced the hot air and flew toward Olivia.
Like a beast spotting its prey, she dashed to the drop point. The most elegant predator in the world kicked off the ground and leapt. It sent a shiver down his spine.
Let it be like this tomorrow, too…
The ball came flying.
Edgar, frozen in place, began to move—late.
The sky, swept clean by the storm, was now unbelievably clear.
Salt-tinged sea air billowed through the open windows, puffing up the curtains.
It was a peaceful breeze, the opposite of the fierce storm the night before.
He’d been lucky.
That was the only way to explain it.
When Morris regained consciousness, he was still inside the wrecked carriage, shaken by the impact.
Heavy rain poured in through the broken glass window.
The joy of survival was brief. Pinned down by a heavy weight, unable to move, he heard faint, labored breathing.
Morris soon realized that the object pinning him was Johann.
He felt something damp and sticky running from Johann’s head onto his cheek.
“B-Blood…?”
Panicking, Morris gently pushed Johann off him and screamed,
“Director! Please wake up! Director!!!”
Just remembering it made Morris’s heart drop again.
What on earth had happened?
He let out a shaky sigh.
He was staring helplessly down at Johann lying in bed when the door to the silent hospital room opened and the doctor entered with a nurse.
He had probably come straight from home, having treated Johann the previous night and only gone back briefly to change clothes.
“Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”
The doctor, after examining Johann’s condition, looked up at Morris.
Compared to the duke—who had suffered a fractured arm and a head wound—Morris had gotten off with only minor scrapes. Wasn’t it usually the other way around?
“Try not to worry too much. Just wait.”
The nurse took his temperature. It had gone down a lot since he was brought in, but it was still slightly elevated.
“He’s not in danger?”
The doctor assured Morris that there was nothing to fear, then left the room.
Morris collapsed into a chair.
Sunlight filtered through the thin curtain, landing softly on Johann’s still face.
Morris remembered how Johann had shielded him. His eyes began to redden.
Damn it… Why did you even bother saving me? Trying to move a man to tears—what for?
“Please wake up, okay?”
Morris’s voice trembled.
The peaceful expression on Johann’s face, like he was just taking a long nap, suddenly made Morris fear he might not wake up at all.
“Come on, wake up. You have to see the match, right? Please, Director!”
Though he bore a cold heart and grew up fast, Morris knew that Johann was a good man deep down.
That’s why, even though he often grumbled, Morris had followed him around like a duckling since they were kids.
Johann was the only person who treated the crown prince and Morris exactly the same.
That’s why he had pledged his silent loyalty.
Morris gently took Johann’s hand. It was cold, like a dead man’s hand.
He tried to warm it with his own, then began to quietly sob.
As Morris clung to Johann’s hand and buried his face by the bedside, Johann’s eyelids began to tremble.
His brow furrowed slowly. Light leaking through his lids felt too bright.
Wincing, Johann slowly opened his eyes.
“…It won’t come off.”
His voice was hoarse and metallic, barely audible.
“D-Director???”
Startled, Morris raised his head. His tear- and snot-streaked face was a mess.
“Oh thank God! Do you know how terrified I was thinking you might not make it?!”
“Too loud.”
Johann winced. Pain flared from his head and right shoulder, shooting through his entire body.
Even the gentle sunlight felt like needles pricking his brain, and every sound stabbed at his ears.
“S-Sorry. I got a little carried away. Just wait here, I’ll go get Dr. Biden.”
As Morris stood to rush out, his wrist was caught.
Johann, who had closed his eyes against the sunlight, opened them slowly and asked:
“…Olivia?”
