I was drawing Dr. Rugen, sitting across from me at the living room table, holding my sketchbook. It was a bit damp because it was raining outside, but the sound of the wet pencil gliding across the paper was pleasant.
The doctor sat still, his eyes narrowed and his expression solemn. He was seen sneaking a hand under the table to offer Boaz a cookie, so I quickly stopped him.
“Doctor, don’t give him cookies.”
"What are you talking about? That's never happened. I even gave you my portrait rights for free. Aren't you grateful?"
“Thank you. I’ll give you a commission if it sells.”
“A painter friend of mine drew a picture of my grandson as a child and won the grand prize in a contest.”
“If I go to a competition and win prize money, I’ll give you some of it.”
“Madam, here is the mail.”
It was Molly's voice that naturally joined in the casual conversation.
Molly, who also does housework and usually wears a simple blouse and a long skirt that reaches her ankles, always brings me important mail. With fewer invitations, my mind feels at ease.
Barbara Chelsea still sends me invitations constantly. She says she likes me, for some reason. After all, extroverts love to bring people like me out to have fun and then put me back in. I nodded and unfolded the invitations.
"I would be very happy if Countess Rotsilt and her husband could come to the regular golf meeting of the St. Louis Club, of which my father is the president... "
I closed it without even reading it all.
Golf, that awful thing my grandfather forced me to do in my original life, insisting on the importance of connections. I've been dragged around those green, sore-eyed fields countless times.
I'm a lazy, quiet person who stays home, reading books or drawing. I considered becoming friends with her because of the war situation, but Barbara's high-tension nature made me feel unmanageable.
“It seems like the number of invitations has decreased significantly since the anniversary celebration starts tomorrow.”
Molly was watching me closely as she spoke, perhaps worried that I might be upset, but in truth, I didn't mind at all.
I picked up the croquis book, hiding my great joy.
“You must attend the commemorative banquet tomorrow.”
At Molly's subsequent words, I turned my head and muttered a silent "No," then nodded feebly. It's already the anniversary. I don't want to go.
I arrived at Tempshire Palace, where the anniversary banquet was being held, in a car driven by Vincent and Noah. Boaz, in the backseat, stared out the window with wide eyes, sniffing constantly.
Boaz showed signs of anxiety toward Noah and me, so I had no choice but to bring him along. Molly said that if either of us were away from the mansion for too long, he'd try desperately to find us. Today, when he saw Noah in his uniform, his eyes watered, and he even whimpered. I think he was reminded of the officer he used to live with. And I'm very vulnerable to that kind of thing.
Vincent, who was holding Boaz's leash that he had brought with him, had a sad expression on his face.
Noah had a point. The dog-loving ladies and young women around him beamed at Boaz, who wore a bow tie.
“Should I take it with me?”
“I can’t take him inside the banquet hall. You’ll be the center of attention for all the ladies, right?”
"Yes."
“Please, just a moment. Have fun with your secretary. I’ll be back soon.”
Boaz pricked up his ears as if he understood what I said.
Still looking reluctant, Vincent led Boaz toward the outdoor banquet table. I could already see several women talking to him. Boaz watched us as we headed into the palace, then followed him with a sense of relief.
The early summer evening air was cool and refreshing. The palace gardens, decorated for the celebratory night, were adorned with colorful lights in their inner courtyards and courtyards. Fireworks were in full swing, and the fleeting scene, changing with the colors of the fireworks, adorning the sky, felt like a dreamy, fairytale-like landscape.
Unlike the ball, where black hair dominated the majority, the large number of foreigners attending resulted in a diverse mix of hair colors, clothing styles, and even appearances.
Perhaps a fin-de-siècle trend accompanying the war, clothing here shifted toward a more functional and practical approach. Medea's designers played a pioneering role in this shift, and it was clear that the trend was rapidly modernizing.
The bottom line is that uncomfortable clothing is becoming simpler and more comfortable. In previous eras, spending seven hours putting on a dress might have been quite stressful.
“Noah, go a little slower.”
However, this narrow skirt made walking difficult. Is it now fashionable to restrict the lower body rather than the upper? At Molly's recommendation, I wore a long wrap skirt, a frilly blouse, and a double-collared jacket, and felt a strain as I climbed the stairs leading inside.
“Should I carry you?”
Noah, who had been walking in step with me, his blue eyes fixed on the enamel shoes precariously placed beneath my skirt. I shook my head, not wanting to be carried by Noah and attract the attention of the dignitaries from all over the world. He followed me, step by step, and offered concise praise.
“You look pretty with your hair tied up.”
“Is this better?”
“Do whatever you want. Whatever you do, you look good.”
I paused for a moment to examine him closely. He was wearing a uniform with the insignia of a knighthood awarded by the Queen, and his bangs were casually swept back. His broad, sturdy shoulders and slender waist were beautifully lined. He possessed the well-proportioned physique I admire.
“That body, no, yours... isn’t it just all so cool?”
Feeling it difficult to pinpoint a specific aspect of praise, I gave him a comprehensive compliment. He gave me a faint snort and helped me up as I walked precariously. With a constrained gait, we finally arrived at the banquet hall. Since foreign dignitaries who had contributed to the country were also awarded honorary titles, I noticed quite a few foreign gentlemen in uniform.
From a distance, I saw Erita, her shoulder-length, curly hair styled in a medium bob. Among the women gathered around her was Olivia, who had tried to feed me.
“Mrs. Rotsilt!”
A rather high-pitched, booming voice called out to me. Barbara, wearing a soft, lavender silk dress that fit her body perfectly, grabbed my hand with her elbow-length gloves.
“That’s rude.”
Noah's eyebrows twitched, as he was a nobleman to the core and valued dignity, but she ignored him and continued speaking in an excited voice.
“I’m so happy to see you! I’m sorry!”
I quickly said goodbye, judging that it would still be difficult to become close to her.
“No, Miss Chelsea. Have a nice day.”
"I invited you to the St. Louis Club golf meetup earlier. Are you sure you won't come? I think it'll be fun."
"Club." It was a word I'd vehemently avoided even in my life. Soon, a middle-aged man, bearing a beard and a bold demeanor, wearing a uniform adorned with medals, barged in. Judging by his rank, he seemed to be a high-ranking member of the military. He was very tall, with a solid, imposing presence like a monolith, yet his smile was rather sad. Beside him stood a middle-aged woman, presumably his wife, with a gentle expression on her face, her arm linked with his.
"Count Rotsilt, are you really not planning on coming to our St. Louis Club shooting club? We mainly invite knights and soldiers, but even deserters are welcome. Why don't you try it without hesitation?"
“Yes, I don’t want to go, Commander.”
Noah, a deserter, flatly refused with a smile. He twitched his mustache, seemingly frustrated, and seemed to be Barbara's father, the commander of the Air Operations Command. Next to him was her mother. She had a similar air and appearance to Barbara. Barbara's personality and eye color seemed to mirror his father's. Like Barbara, he wore an optimistic smile and refused to give up despite the stiff rejection.
"If your wife saw your marksmanship, she'd definitely think it was impressive. I can't forget the sight of you blowing off the enemy's head from afar..."
"Father? Young women don't like such cruel stories. They just make men boring."
The general's imposing face became somewhat gloomy at Barbara's restraint, and his neatly trimmed black mustache twitched. I listened with interest.
"Well, okay. I'll leave it to my Cookie. You somehow manage to recruit him as a member of our club. And I'll tell him I'll give him a discount on his annual membership fee."
Cookie? Is that Barbara's nickname? He seems to love his daughter very much.
He turned around with his wife, laughing heartily.
Barbara's hand suddenly slipped into my arm. I was suddenly locked in hers, arms locked. It felt like a lock, as tight as a lock, like it would never be released.
“Please allow us ladies-only time, Count.”
By sticking with Noah, I avoid anyone picking fights and unnecessary conflicts that drain me emotionally. We can't be apart. Just as I was about to flatly reject Barbara's stubbornness, she whispered in my ear.
"The prize money for the golf tournament held in June is 20,000 pounds. Only club members can participate."
20,000 pounds? My mind's calculator is racing. The prize money is over 30 million Korean won. The capitalist within me, having briefly tasted the sorrow of being broke, is screaming, "I have to do that!"
“Madam, I just came back from a date with the Air Force officer I told you about. Aren’t you curious?”
“I’m so curious.”
“We met at Madame Charlotte’s Cafe downtown. The desserts there are really good. He ordered coffee... Oh, and do you want to check out the strawberry champagne tower?”
“Yes. I’m already drooling.”
The thought of the 20,000-pound prize brings a sweet taste to my mouth. Whenever I have money, I've been saving it for gold to protect myself against the currency's value plummeting during war. I desperately need a slush fund.
Noah, who had been looking at me with a friendly expression, nodded as if to suggest I come play. He turned toward the casino room with the gentlemen who had approached him.
Barbara chattered incessantly like a bird. It's hard to turn down someone who approaches you with such affection. Well, being the daughter of a wealthy family with a commander father wouldn't be a bad thing to have in your network.
"Oh, a mongrel has arrived. It seems like they're just a bunch of people with no common ground."
I heard a whisper and a mocking voice somewhere, but I ignored it. I hadn't even considered it myself, and I tend to keep my ears shut, not wanting to engage in wasteful conflict.
But Barbara wasn't that kind of person.
“Lady, would you like to tell me that funny story?”
She's a bold person who asks questions outright. The two noblewomen sitting with their mouths covered by fans widened their eyes.
“No, I was talking about a Baron commander who was born a commoner and created a club that would accept anyone regardless of birth or title.”
A woman in a pink dress smiled, and Barbara, with her hands on her sides, proudly lifted her nose.
"Isn't that amazing? You're a person of awareness, keeping pace with the era of opportunity, where freedom and equality have arrived. All membership fees are used as scholarships. To provide educational opportunities to everyone, regardless of background or class, without discrimination."
“Yes, such thoughts diminish the status of the nobles.”
"Thought?"
Barbara, her face beaming, leaned in close to the woman who was responding sarcastically. Her once optimistic gray eyes suddenly turned cold.
The champagne in the woman's hand, her expression visibly flustered, tilted as if on the verge of overflowing. Barbara, her face transformed into a completely different, cold expression, asked in a murderous voice.
"I meant that my father and I detest racists. So, what about the mongrel?"
The doctor sat still, his eyes narrowed and his expression solemn. He was seen sneaking a hand under the table to offer Boaz a cookie, so I quickly stopped him.
“Doctor, don’t give him cookies.”
"What are you talking about? That's never happened. I even gave you my portrait rights for free. Aren't you grateful?"
“Thank you. I’ll give you a commission if it sells.”
“A painter friend of mine drew a picture of my grandson as a child and won the grand prize in a contest.”
“If I go to a competition and win prize money, I’ll give you some of it.”
“Madam, here is the mail.”
It was Molly's voice that naturally joined in the casual conversation.
Molly, who also does housework and usually wears a simple blouse and a long skirt that reaches her ankles, always brings me important mail. With fewer invitations, my mind feels at ease.
Barbara Chelsea still sends me invitations constantly. She says she likes me, for some reason. After all, extroverts love to bring people like me out to have fun and then put me back in. I nodded and unfolded the invitations.
"I would be very happy if Countess Rotsilt and her husband could come to the regular golf meeting of the St. Louis Club, of which my father is the president... "
I closed it without even reading it all.
Golf, that awful thing my grandfather forced me to do in my original life, insisting on the importance of connections. I've been dragged around those green, sore-eyed fields countless times.
I'm a lazy, quiet person who stays home, reading books or drawing. I considered becoming friends with her because of the war situation, but Barbara's high-tension nature made me feel unmanageable.
“It seems like the number of invitations has decreased significantly since the anniversary celebration starts tomorrow.”
Molly was watching me closely as she spoke, perhaps worried that I might be upset, but in truth, I didn't mind at all.
I picked up the croquis book, hiding my great joy.
“You must attend the commemorative banquet tomorrow.”
At Molly's subsequent words, I turned my head and muttered a silent "No," then nodded feebly. It's already the anniversary. I don't want to go.
***
I arrived at Tempshire Palace, where the anniversary banquet was being held, in a car driven by Vincent and Noah. Boaz, in the backseat, stared out the window with wide eyes, sniffing constantly.
Boaz showed signs of anxiety toward Noah and me, so I had no choice but to bring him along. Molly said that if either of us were away from the mansion for too long, he'd try desperately to find us. Today, when he saw Noah in his uniform, his eyes watered, and he even whimpered. I think he was reminded of the officer he used to live with. And I'm very vulnerable to that kind of thing.
Vincent, who was holding Boaz's leash that he had brought with him, had a sad expression on his face.
Noah had a point. The dog-loving ladies and young women around him beamed at Boaz, who wore a bow tie.
“Should I take it with me?”
“I can’t take him inside the banquet hall. You’ll be the center of attention for all the ladies, right?”
"Yes."
“Please, just a moment. Have fun with your secretary. I’ll be back soon.”
Boaz pricked up his ears as if he understood what I said.
Still looking reluctant, Vincent led Boaz toward the outdoor banquet table. I could already see several women talking to him. Boaz watched us as we headed into the palace, then followed him with a sense of relief.
The early summer evening air was cool and refreshing. The palace gardens, decorated for the celebratory night, were adorned with colorful lights in their inner courtyards and courtyards. Fireworks were in full swing, and the fleeting scene, changing with the colors of the fireworks, adorning the sky, felt like a dreamy, fairytale-like landscape.
Unlike the ball, where black hair dominated the majority, the large number of foreigners attending resulted in a diverse mix of hair colors, clothing styles, and even appearances.
Perhaps a fin-de-siècle trend accompanying the war, clothing here shifted toward a more functional and practical approach. Medea's designers played a pioneering role in this shift, and it was clear that the trend was rapidly modernizing.
The bottom line is that uncomfortable clothing is becoming simpler and more comfortable. In previous eras, spending seven hours putting on a dress might have been quite stressful.
“Noah, go a little slower.”
However, this narrow skirt made walking difficult. Is it now fashionable to restrict the lower body rather than the upper? At Molly's recommendation, I wore a long wrap skirt, a frilly blouse, and a double-collared jacket, and felt a strain as I climbed the stairs leading inside.
“Should I carry you?”
Noah, who had been walking in step with me, his blue eyes fixed on the enamel shoes precariously placed beneath my skirt. I shook my head, not wanting to be carried by Noah and attract the attention of the dignitaries from all over the world. He followed me, step by step, and offered concise praise.
“You look pretty with your hair tied up.”
“Is this better?”
“Do whatever you want. Whatever you do, you look good.”
I paused for a moment to examine him closely. He was wearing a uniform with the insignia of a knighthood awarded by the Queen, and his bangs were casually swept back. His broad, sturdy shoulders and slender waist were beautifully lined. He possessed the well-proportioned physique I admire.
“That body, no, yours... isn’t it just all so cool?”
Feeling it difficult to pinpoint a specific aspect of praise, I gave him a comprehensive compliment. He gave me a faint snort and helped me up as I walked precariously. With a constrained gait, we finally arrived at the banquet hall. Since foreign dignitaries who had contributed to the country were also awarded honorary titles, I noticed quite a few foreign gentlemen in uniform.
From a distance, I saw Erita, her shoulder-length, curly hair styled in a medium bob. Among the women gathered around her was Olivia, who had tried to feed me.
“Mrs. Rotsilt!”
A rather high-pitched, booming voice called out to me. Barbara, wearing a soft, lavender silk dress that fit her body perfectly, grabbed my hand with her elbow-length gloves.
“That’s rude.”
Noah's eyebrows twitched, as he was a nobleman to the core and valued dignity, but she ignored him and continued speaking in an excited voice.
“I’m so happy to see you! I’m sorry!”
I quickly said goodbye, judging that it would still be difficult to become close to her.
“No, Miss Chelsea. Have a nice day.”
"I invited you to the St. Louis Club golf meetup earlier. Are you sure you won't come? I think it'll be fun."
"Club." It was a word I'd vehemently avoided even in my life. Soon, a middle-aged man, bearing a beard and a bold demeanor, wearing a uniform adorned with medals, barged in. Judging by his rank, he seemed to be a high-ranking member of the military. He was very tall, with a solid, imposing presence like a monolith, yet his smile was rather sad. Beside him stood a middle-aged woman, presumably his wife, with a gentle expression on her face, her arm linked with his.
"Count Rotsilt, are you really not planning on coming to our St. Louis Club shooting club? We mainly invite knights and soldiers, but even deserters are welcome. Why don't you try it without hesitation?"
“Yes, I don’t want to go, Commander.”
Noah, a deserter, flatly refused with a smile. He twitched his mustache, seemingly frustrated, and seemed to be Barbara's father, the commander of the Air Operations Command. Next to him was her mother. She had a similar air and appearance to Barbara. Barbara's personality and eye color seemed to mirror his father's. Like Barbara, he wore an optimistic smile and refused to give up despite the stiff rejection.
"If your wife saw your marksmanship, she'd definitely think it was impressive. I can't forget the sight of you blowing off the enemy's head from afar..."
"Father? Young women don't like such cruel stories. They just make men boring."
The general's imposing face became somewhat gloomy at Barbara's restraint, and his neatly trimmed black mustache twitched. I listened with interest.
"Well, okay. I'll leave it to my Cookie. You somehow manage to recruit him as a member of our club. And I'll tell him I'll give him a discount on his annual membership fee."
Cookie? Is that Barbara's nickname? He seems to love his daughter very much.
He turned around with his wife, laughing heartily.
Barbara's hand suddenly slipped into my arm. I was suddenly locked in hers, arms locked. It felt like a lock, as tight as a lock, like it would never be released.
“Please allow us ladies-only time, Count.”
By sticking with Noah, I avoid anyone picking fights and unnecessary conflicts that drain me emotionally. We can't be apart. Just as I was about to flatly reject Barbara's stubbornness, she whispered in my ear.
"The prize money for the golf tournament held in June is 20,000 pounds. Only club members can participate."
20,000 pounds? My mind's calculator is racing. The prize money is over 30 million Korean won. The capitalist within me, having briefly tasted the sorrow of being broke, is screaming, "I have to do that!"
“Madam, I just came back from a date with the Air Force officer I told you about. Aren’t you curious?”
“I’m so curious.”
“We met at Madame Charlotte’s Cafe downtown. The desserts there are really good. He ordered coffee... Oh, and do you want to check out the strawberry champagne tower?”
“Yes. I’m already drooling.”
The thought of the 20,000-pound prize brings a sweet taste to my mouth. Whenever I have money, I've been saving it for gold to protect myself against the currency's value plummeting during war. I desperately need a slush fund.
Noah, who had been looking at me with a friendly expression, nodded as if to suggest I come play. He turned toward the casino room with the gentlemen who had approached him.
Barbara chattered incessantly like a bird. It's hard to turn down someone who approaches you with such affection. Well, being the daughter of a wealthy family with a commander father wouldn't be a bad thing to have in your network.
"Oh, a mongrel has arrived. It seems like they're just a bunch of people with no common ground."
I heard a whisper and a mocking voice somewhere, but I ignored it. I hadn't even considered it myself, and I tend to keep my ears shut, not wanting to engage in wasteful conflict.
But Barbara wasn't that kind of person.
“Lady, would you like to tell me that funny story?”
She's a bold person who asks questions outright. The two noblewomen sitting with their mouths covered by fans widened their eyes.
“No, I was talking about a Baron commander who was born a commoner and created a club that would accept anyone regardless of birth or title.”
A woman in a pink dress smiled, and Barbara, with her hands on her sides, proudly lifted her nose.
"Isn't that amazing? You're a person of awareness, keeping pace with the era of opportunity, where freedom and equality have arrived. All membership fees are used as scholarships. To provide educational opportunities to everyone, regardless of background or class, without discrimination."
“Yes, such thoughts diminish the status of the nobles.”
"Thought?"
Barbara, her face beaming, leaned in close to the woman who was responding sarcastically. Her once optimistic gray eyes suddenly turned cold.
The champagne in the woman's hand, her expression visibly flustered, tilted as if on the verge of overflowing. Barbara, her face transformed into a completely different, cold expression, asked in a murderous voice.
"I meant that my father and I detest racists. So, what about the mongrel?"
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