Finally, Penelope held the hair iron in her hand and opened the tong section. She grabbed a small strand of Ahwin's hair and placed it carefully between the clamps.
Ahwin’s shoulders tensed, nervous that the hot magical device might accidentally burn his skin.
Penelope skillfully pressed the golden strands with the hair iron, twisting it gently. A smooth, natural curl appeared in the hair.
"Wow!" exclaimed Giselle in admiration.
Penelope felt her shoulders rise with pride. Even though the hair iron wasn’t the curling rod type she was used to but a flat style, she had still managed to create flawless curls. As the saying goes, a true artisan never blames their tools.
That’s right—she was an artisan.
Penelope’s journey with hair irons began in middle school in her previous life. Inspired by her mother’s routine, she had clumsily tried to imitate her at first, often ending in disaster. Over time, however, she grew more adept.
Through high school, college, and even her working years, curling her hair with a flat iron became a non-negotiable part of her morning routine.
‘In this world, no one can use this better than me,’ Penelope thought with strange pride as she worked on styling Ahwin’s hair.
"There, all done," she announced.
"..."
Ahwin, entranced by Penelope’s touch, belatedly looked at himself in the mirror. His expression froze in shock.
"What... what is this?!"
"It’s beautifully curled," Penelope replied cheerfully.
"Beautiful? What’s beautiful about it?! I’m not some noblewoman—why would my hair be curled like this? It looks ridiculous!"
Ahwin looked as though he was about to plunge his hair into cold water immediately.
Quickly, Penelope tousled his hair with her hands, undoing the curls.
"There, now it’s truly done."
"..."
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Though the tightly curled strands had been smoothed out into a more natural wave, Ahwin’s furrowed brows remained in place. To him, his hair still looked overly voluminous.
"It still looks weird," Ahwin muttered.
"It looks wonderful," Penelope countered.
"How exactly does this look wonderful?" he grumbled. His discomfort was understandable—such a puffed-up style hadn’t been fashionable in over a century.
While Ahwin frowned and complained, Giselle couldn’t hide her awe.
"I never thought hair could be styled this quickly! And the handle doesn’t get hot to the touch?"
"As long as you don’t touch the metal section where the hair goes, it’s perfectly safe."
"Really? I’d love to try it too!"
"Since you’ll be the one using it from now on, why not take it and practice with the other maids?" Penelope offered.
Giselle’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "Can I try both types?"
"Of course. Just be careful not to burn yourself."
With Penelope’s permission, Giselle eagerly gathered both hair irons—the flat tong type and the rod-shaped one.
"Give me a little time, and I’ll master how to use these. Styling your hair will be so much faster soon, my lady!"
"I’m counting on you."
"Yes, ma’am!" Giselle beamed and left the room, ready to demonstrate the irons to the other maids.
Even as Giselle departed, Ahwin remained silent, glaring at the mirror with pursed lips.
Penelope decided to console him. "Don’t worry too much. Once you wash your hair, it’ll go back to normal."
"When are you moving out?" Ahwin asked abruptly.
The question caught Penelope off guard. "As soon as I hire staff for the new residence?"
"Is this place uncomfortable?" Ahwin pressed.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you find living here unpleasant?"
Penelope rolled her eyes and glanced at him. Of course, Ahwin’s house was a perfectly pleasant place to live. It was clean, the bedroom was cozy, the staff were kind, and even the garden was lovely. But it wasn’t somewhere she could stay forever.
After all, living in someone else’s home was inherently uncomfortable.
"Well... it’s not my house, and more importantly, I’m imposing on you, aren’t I?"
"It doesn’t bother me," Ahwin replied, his tone faintly sulky. Clearly, he wasn’t thrilled about her impending departure.
‘I didn’t think he’d feel that way.’ Penelope quickly tried to smooth things over.
"Don’t worry, I’ll visit often."
"How often?"
"Um... once a week?"
Ahwin’s frown deepened instantly. That was clearly not acceptable.
With his hair still puffed up like a loaf of bread and his brow furrowed, he looked more adorable than intimidating to Penelope.
"Twice a week! No, three times," she offered.
"You’d better stick to that. If you have any sense of decency," Ahwin grumbled.
"I will," Penelope reassured him.
Though frustrated, Ahwin held his tongue, choosing to suppress his irritation. He could tell Penelope was genuinely happy about her new house.
It wasn’t as though he could complain about her receiving such a gift. Ahwin wasn’t oblivious to the mood.
‘Why did they have to give her a townhouse?’ he thought bitterly. If only the emperor or empress had gifted her gold or cash instead.
Neither the emperor nor the empress ever seemed to meet his expectations. At times, he wondered if breaking the imperial palace’s protective barrier would count as justified retaliation.
‘What if she forgets about me once she moves out?’
The old saying about physical distance leading to emotional distance came to mind. Penelope might not be any different.
Ahwin couldn’t shake his growing anxiety.
A week later, Penelope moved into her new house.
***
For a while, Penelope was swept up in a whirlwind of activity, overwhelmed with hiring new staff and moving into her new house. She barely had a moment to breathe.
Once the boxes were unpacked and everything was settled, she could finally take a deep breath and relax.
‘If I’d known the house was on Medrick Street, I wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to appease Ahwin.’
Indeed.
The house gifted by the emperor was located on Medrick Street, just a ten-minute walk from Ahwin’s home. Ten minutes on foot!
When Ahwin first learned of this, his expression was a mix of disbelief and confusion.
As for Sein, who had been reluctant to part ways with the mages, his face lit up the moment he heard about the proximity.
Ahwin, however, immediately objected.
“Do you really need to move when it’s this close?”
Ahwin’s thoroughly self-centered logic always left Penelope marveling. She ignored his grumbling entirely as she packed her belongings.
And so, the present.
Penelope couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. She had finally achieved her dream of owning her own home.
“It’s my house!” she declared loudly, throwing her arms up toward the ceiling. Laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, following her triumphant cry.
Knock knock.
Penelope’s laughter came to an abrupt halt. Did someone hear her rather embarrassing outburst?
“Who is it?” she called out hesitantly.
“It’s the butler.”
“Oh... come in.”
A moment later, the newly hired butler entered the drawing room where Penelope stood. His expression was calm, as though he hadn’t heard the boisterous laughter echoing through the house.
“Madam, you have visitors,” he announced.
“Who?”
“Lady Emily Dot and Lady Yvette Corindel.”
“Ah...”
Penelope quickly stood from her seat.
A few days ago, Emily Dot had sent a messenger requesting permission to visit her home. That must have been scheduled for today.
The butler, however, wasn’t finished.
“And His Grace, the Grand Duke of Rahinsel, is here as well.”
“...What?”
Penelope blinked in confusion before finally asking, “The Grand Duke of Rahinsel?”
“Yes. He didn’t send a messenger ahead of time to arrange a meeting. What would you like to do?”
“Let him... in.”
Penelope eventually allowed Rianel to enter. She couldn’t very well turn away a northern Grand Duke without even seeing him.
‘I’ll have to personally explain to Rianel that I already have prior engagements,’ she thought.
It would be better for her to handle it directly rather than leave the task to a butler, who might offend the duke in the process.
Shortly after, Emily Dot and Yvette Corindel entered the drawing room, followed closely by Rianel.
‘What kind of group is this?’
Regardless, as the host, Penelope greeted them with the proper hospitality.
“Welcome.”
“Thank you for allowing us to visit, Baroness,” Emily said politely. Behind her, Yvette smiled shyly and handed Penelope a bouquet of flowers.
“I heard you’ve moved into a new house, so I brought you these.”
“Oh, peonies! I absolutely love them.”
“I’m glad you like them,” Yvette replied, her smile brightening further.
Penelope turned her gaze to Rianel, who had entered last. Thankfully, his hands were empty—he hadn’t brought anything.