Chapter 59 - Each Person's Night

Translator: Nox

The light was brutally bright.

Irene thought it would be better if all the light in the world went out and she was plunged into darkness.

Surely, he had gone back...

The ribbon on the white glove covering her parted lips fluttered.

He, he saw it...

The night of Catherine's birthday party, the night Yohan Leopold announced their engagement.

Irene gave herself to Christian for the last time.

That night, to be cherished as a memory, that night that burned even more intensely with longing, this man had seen it.

In an instant, her legs gave way. Irene slumped down onto the light brown carpet.

It was terrible.

Irene, flushed all over, trembled with shame. Yohan found the Princess's appearance utterly pathetic.

'Tell me how much I have to turn a blind eye to.'

He had been willing to quietly close his eyes and move on.

It was truly ridiculous.

That day, it was Queen Katrina who had summoned Yohan as he was leaving the palace.

Gratitude for making a difficult decision for Rondos, congratulations on the engagement, and then the main point.

As expected.

Financial support for the army to be dispatched to quell the civil war that had broken out in the colony.

In the end, it was a request for money, preceded by a very long introduction. Exhausted, Yohan gave a positive answer and left the room.

He was about to turn the corner of the long corridor after passing through the audience chamber where he had met with the Queen alone.

That was when he saw the woman whom the old woman had praised to the skies as a virtuous lady unseen in this day and age.

It was in the very reception room where Olivia had been photographed with the Crown Prince.

Olivia's face overlapped with the woman moaning with lewd cries.

For a moment, he felt his blood rushing backward in displeasure.

Bastard.

Yohan turned away coldly from the trembling woman and left the office.

His gray eyes sank coldly in the light spreading through the green lampshade.

A carriage was waiting amidst the dazzling lights of Golden Avenue illuminating the night streets. Yohan stopped as he was about to step onto the footstool.

The banners of the Dumbledin Championship hanging from each streetlamp fluttered in the wind, blurring his vision.

'It's not... anymore.'

'So, please return that watch.'

Yohan got into the carriage.

Without hesitation, the wheels began to roll, heading towards Litten Port.

Yohan stared out at the darkness outside the window and slowly closed his eyes. He could feel the blood vessels throbbing in his forehead.

***

Deep in the night, a figure entered St. Vincent's Cathedral.

The figure, wearing a black cloak that reached down to the ankles, walked silently on the moonlight filtering through the colorful stained glass.

Passing by the large sacred paintings, the figure stopped in front of the confessional at the innermost part of the cathedral and looked around for a moment.

Following the movement, the rose lace veil draped over the face trembled slightly.

Soon, the door opened cautiously and the figure disappeared inside.

The scene was silently watched only by the Son of God hanging on the cross in the red flickering candlelight.

"Have you arrived, Princess?"

A middle-aged man on the other side of the partition rose and bowed.

At the sound of Anne Boleyn taking a seat, the man sat down and slowly slid a piece of paper under the gap below the partition.

"Please confirm."

Anne Boleyn's gaze slowly scanned the paper. Her cold, shining eyes gradually folded and soon curved into a full smile.

It was the bracket for this year's Dumbledin World Tennis Championship.

As always, Anne Boleyn was the number one seed.

Her competitors were the number two seed.

This secret rule was upheld again this year.

In addition, Anne Boleyn's newly added requirement for this year was to assign top-ranked players to Olivia Blanchett's seed.

In other words, she wanted Olivia placed in the number two seed. The so-called group of death.

Specifically, she wanted Sara Pavlova, who had faced Anne Boleyn in last year's final, to fight in the first round of the qualifiers.

Although she didn't want to admit it, Sara Pavlova's skills overwhelmed Anne Boleyn.

Fortunately, Sara was more interested in material wealth than honor, and she would give up the championship for a bribe worth twice the prize money.

Anne Boleyn's plan was to make her suffer a crushing defeat in the first match, nipping her in the bud.

So that the lowly bastard would never stand side by side with her on the court.

And to prove that the reason she was able to participate in the tournament with such poor skills was indeed because of her beautiful body.

Her red lips curled up.

"Good. Proceed as planned."

Anne Boleyn was quite pleased with the bracket.

If you planned a life-reversal story from a tragic protagonist to a winning myth, you would never succeed, Ed.

Don't. Blame me.

In the dim confessional, her amber eyes deepened.

Because you made me this way.

Anne Boleyn raised her head and glared at the cross.

May God's grace be with me.

In the dark night, each person's night was quietly passing.

***

With lush green grass and the sound of tennis rackets hitting balls, Litten, the capital of the Kingdom of Brit, which marks the beginning of summer, was all in a festive mood ahead of the Dumbledin Championship.

As they entered the capital, the enthusiasm could easily be felt even inside the speeding train.

The tournament flags, printed with the emblem and trophy of the Dumbledin tournament, fluttered in the wind on each streetlamp that quickly passed by outside the train window.

"There it is! Look at that, Sara."

"I told you I don't like crumbs falling."

Sara Pavlova's manager, who was pointing out the window with a finger that had been holding potato chips, rubbed his hand on his thigh with an embarrassed expression.

"Ah! Sorry. Sorry."

The manager muttered to himself.

Sara Pavlova was already a somewhat irritable person, but as the tournament approached, her temper became even more sensitive, making her difficult to manage.

Sara, who had been reading a newspaper article, turned her head.

She didn't need to ask what the manager was talking about; it was obvious at a glance.

A huge green advertising balloon floated in the sky, with white clouds as a backdrop.

Judging from the fact that it was a model of the Dumbledin Championship emblem, the newly unveiled Dumbledin Stadium was probably located in that direction.

"If Lancelot Company makes it, the stadium will be different."

"The quality of the grass is important, not some balloon like that. Can't you keep the crumbs from falling?"

"Ah! Sorry, sorry."

The manager emptied the remaining potato chips into his mouth and crumpled the paper bag.

Sara crossed her arms in annoyance, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes.

"Olivia Blanchett, do you know anything about her?"

"Of course not. This Dumbledin tournament is supposed to be her debut stage. For Lancelot Company to sponsor a player whose skills haven't even been verified. She must have earned it with her body."

He said, dusting off the salt and crumbs that had fallen on his chest and knees.

Sara recalled the photo of the woman she had just seen in the newspaper.

Olivia Blanchett.

The contours created by the slender and soft lines were very beautiful even in the eyes of another woman.

It might be enough to captivate men, but she looked far too weak for strenuous exercise.

Sara slowly opened her eyes.

The train was already running through the city of Litten.

The city, decorated in green, the symbol of Dumbledin, flowed by quickly along with the deepening greenery.

"I'm curious."

"Huh?"

The manager, who was crunching on roasted almonds, asked back. This time, there was a lot of sugar powder.

"Never mind."

Annoyed, Sara closed her eyes again.

She didn't care if the opponent was an illegitimate child, a divorcee, or an adulteress.

Her only interest was in the prize money. Or something equivalent to it.

'How much do you want?'

Even while rigging the match, the Princess was haughty.

It was so ridiculous. And all she offered was to return the prize money. No way.

'Twice the prize money. The original prize money was my share, so I should receive at least that much, Princess?'

The world's number one ranked player, and the Ice flame who always struggled in the Dumbledin tournament, Sara Pavlova.

She didn't care about such dishonor.

What could she do with honor?

In this damn country where women were not given inheritance rights, tennis was the only way for Sara Pavlova to accumulate wealth in a short period of time.

Sara, who was being checked by Princess Anne Boleyn, had been competing against top-ranked players from the beginning of the tournament.

She could only laugh at the bracket, which was clearly intended to cut off her rivals at the start.

But this time, it seemed that the Princess's arrow had changed targets.

"Too bad. For that woman."

"Huh?"

Sara ignored him.

Regardless of the Princess's intentions, Olivia Blanchett was destined to be crushed by her. She had no regrets.

She just wanted to negotiate with the Princess again this year, as always.

Should she ask for three times this time? Or four times.

The corners of Sara Pavlova's lips turned up coolly.

The train had already arrived at Litten Central Station.

The door of Sara Pavlova's first-class seat opened. Camera flashes went off all at once, and the flashes stung her eyes.

Sara narrowed her eyes.

"Have you seen the bracket, Ms. Pavlova!"

"Ms. Pavlova, what do you think of Blanchett?"

As Sara Pavlova, who had her silver hair tied up high, got off the train, reporters swarmed around her like bees.

Sara Pavlova, who had stepped onto the platform, walked past them indifferently.

With each confident step, her silver hair swayed and wrapped around her neck.

Instead of Sara, who was leaving the station without saying anything, the manager shouted.

"Please ask your questions formally at the press conference."

Sara Pavlova got into the carriage. The loud noise was muffled by the door.

The flashing camera lights also disappeared as the thick curtains were drawn.

"What a joke."

Sara Pavlova, who had crossed her arms as a habit and closed her eyes, scoffed.

"They're really a joke."

The manager agreed appropriately, watching Sara's mood. He was still chewing on the almonds he had eaten on the train.

"Stop eating!"

Sara shouted. She was annoyed.

The pouring questions and flashing camera lights, things that always went to Princess Anne Boleyn, who was always the main character.

The spotlight she had sold for twice the prize money.

Sara Pavlova was not pleased with this attention being focused on her because her opponent was Olivia Blanchett.