Five Years Ago
When the youngest prince, Tristan, approached adulthood, the royal couple began searching for a fiefdom to grant their son. This is when they discovered the tranquil but heirless land of Blue Atrium.
However, the lord of Blue Atrium wasn’t about to give up so easily. He decided to stake everything on a desperate gamble: claiming that an illegitimate child he fathered with a maid long ago was actually a legitimate heir.
Look at this scumbag. He knocked up a maid, tossed her out after she gave birth, and now, 17 years later, he wants to drag the kid back? Honestly, guys like this deserve to be tied to electric scooters and dragged through Gwanghwamun—
Deep breaths. Focus. There’s no Gwanghwamun here.
After a frantic search, the lord eventually located his 17-year-old son, who was eking out a living as a mercenary. That boy was none other than Richard Ray, now known simply as Rick.
Naturally, the boy rebelled, wondering what kind of nonsense this was. But the offer to inherit an entire fiefdom? That was too sweet to pass up.
And so began the gamble of a lifetime between the lord and his newfound son.
The first step? The boy suing his father for legal recognition as his heir.
Of course, it was all staged. The lord lined up witnesses who’d perjure themselves to confirm that “Yes, Richard is the legitimate son of the lord and lady.”
But did the royal family remain ignorant of their schemes? Hardly.
Ordered by the king himself, Earl Redfield ensured the trial never even began. He pulled strings with the mercenary guild, preventing the boy from attending the hearing. Without the plaintiff, the trial fell apart.
As the boy was dragged away by the mercenaries, he didn’t resist. He felt a deep self-loathing for the fleeting moment he’d considered betraying his mother for money.
From then on, Rick closed his heart and wandered the world. By chance, he found work in the fiefdom of Baron Meyer, where he met and fell in love with the baron’s niece, Maria.
But Rick, having witnessed his mother’s downfall, wanted neither marriage nor romance. He vowed silently to hide his feelings and devote himself solely to Maria’s happiness.
“In the original story, Rick was only ever shown pining for Maria from afar.”
It didn’t seem like he wanted revenge on the royal family for taking Blue Atrium.
But considering the original story focused heavily on Maria’s romance, it wouldn’t be surprising if Rick still harbored deep resentment for his father and the royal family.
“If it were me, I’d skip the royal family and the Earl entirely and just go for the root of the problem—the lord’s groin.”
You can never be too careful with people. Better safe than sorry.
If the skull mask at the Sacred Salon really does belong to Rick Ray...
“I’ll keep any conversation brief if we meet today. No good can come from talking too much.”
Any initial flutter of excitement I might have felt has completely evaporated.
Now the question is: What dress can I wear to avoid being recognized?
As I mentally coordinated outfits, I abruptly sprang to my feet, only to realize one glaring issue.
I’d forgotten to remove my cast.
“KYAAAAA!”
The world tilted as I tumbled, and a group of maids came rushing in.
“Miss! Are you alright?”
“Oh no! Let’s get that cast off right away!”
Inside the heavy plaster, my ankle—perfectly fine until this morning—throbbed ominously with a dull, persistent ache.
***
It didn’t seem like I’d sprained it again.
Still, you know that awful numbness when you’ve been sitting with one ankle tucked under your thigh while studying for 30 minutes? That pins-and-needles sensation? The lingering discomfort lasted well into the afternoon.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go to the salon.”
But I couldn’t risk the coin having an expiration date, so I dressed to the nines, threw on a coat, and headed to the Sacred Salon.
“Welcome, my lady. Please enter through this door today.”
Following the directions of an attendant wearing a bird-beak mask, I stepped through a ventilation shaft-like entrance. The atmosphere inside, no matter how many times I visited, was something I couldn’t get used to.
The music was lively, the air was laced with a faint scent of liquor, and warmth and laughter filled the room.
And, of course, there was the ever-fluffy gatekeeper.
“Hello, Lady Witch.”
The gray mastiff sniffed me once, swished its tail with a dignified flick, and trotted away.
The reimbursement process was straightforward.
A staff member holding a ledger approached and asked, “Do you have any winnings to redeem today, my lady?”
“Yes, I participated in the bet about the first couple to dance at the Queen’s May Ball last week.”
“Understood. We’ll verify the results and process your payout.”
Moments later, I was handed a coin-sized piece of metal. Its front was engraved with a pattern resembling layers of hardened lava.
“This coin is provided as a keepsake. Even if you lose it, we have internal records for verification, so rest assured.”
“Is there a deadline for claiming payouts?”
“If not collected within four weeks of the bet, the coin will be forfeited. Please take note.”
Four weeks? Plenty of time. Maybe I should’ve waited until next week.
Sipping the non-alcoholic mojito I’d ordered, I discreetly checked my right leg under the table. The tingling hadn’t entirely subsided.
Damn cast.
Walking wasn’t an issue, but still...
“You’re here again this week, Skull Mask.”
If that person truly was Rick Ray, showing any sign of discomfort in my right foot could expose me.
To avoid unnecessary movement, I stayed at a nearby table. It happened to be close to the reconciliation desk, so I overheard people chatting as they claimed their winnings.
Among the idle gossip, the names of people I knew stood out most clearly.
“Prince Tristan is such a shameless guy. Abandoning his fiancée in front of the Queen?”
“I heard from someone that the situation was bizarre.”
“Yeah, me too! The young duke asked Maria to dance, but she searched for the prince, who refused her and went looking for his fiancée instead.”
“Hahaha! What kind of comedy sketch is that? That can’t be true.”
The listener burst out laughing, imagining the absurdity. The storyteller, offended, raised their voice.
“It’s true! The Queen had to mediate to give priority to the debuting lady!”
As voices grew louder, others began chiming in. What happened at the ball? That family? Really? Strange.
Someone voiced suspicion.
“This situation feels too awkward. Did someone interfere with the bet?”
“Are you accusing the Queen?”
“No, but what if one of the four involved was part of the bet?”
Gulp. My heart nearly stopped.
Another person tilted their head, intrigued.
“Now that you mention it... If they rejected the dance proposal for the bet’s sake...”
As their slow deduction unfolded, my throat went dry.
The Sacred Salon bans bets that involve direct participants. I was safe from official consequences.
But what about these members piecing together my identity?
Would the staff step in if I reported this?
Meanwhile, the idle crowd narrowed their focus further.
“Last week, only one woman bet on ‘Maria-Tristan.’ If it were Maria herself, she couldn’t have collected the winnings. That leaves...”
“The prince’s fiancée. That quiet woman. Her name was... Do... Dodo?”
Seriously?
“Pfft! That’s too ridiculous. It was something plain, matching her face.”
At that point, I decided to act.
Turning sharply, I slammed my mojito glass onto their table with a resounding thud.
“What a depressing conversation to have over drinks, gentlemen.”
“Huh? Who are you?”
“I’m the one who bet on ‘Maria and Tristan’ at the May Ball.”
“Oh...”
“And if I happened to be the prince’s fiancée, what would you do about it? Try to blackmail me outside the salon?”
“N-No, of course not! I didn’t mean—”
“Save your excuses. They’re as unimpressive as your face behind that mask.”
“W-What?”
“Oopsie.”
Ignoring his rising temper, I propped my uninjured leg onto the table. The bold gesture left the group speechless.
My solution? Behave in a way no one would associate with quiet, demure Doris Redfield.
My role model was clear.
Sister Natalie, lend me your strength!
Channeling Natalie’s audacity, I stared down the masked man and launched another attack.
“Psychologists say insults reflect your insecurities. You called the fiancée’s face plain, right?”
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“Well, uh, that’s not untrue. Her sisters are beauties, but she’s...”
“Fascinating. You’ve managed to study the face of a woman who rarely attends social events. Let’s all applaud your dedication!”
I clapped, my sarcasm earning a scowl.
“W-What?”
“Didn’t get it? I’m praising you. Criticizing others’ appearances must be your life’s crowning achievement.”
The man sputtered, his face visibly red beneath his mask.
Raising three fingers, I said, “I’ll give you three seconds to come up with a rebuttal. Don’t pretend to laugh it off, then go home and cry about it later.”
“...!”
His mask quivered with suppressed anger, but he couldn’t respond. Satisfied, I stood, exaggeratedly lifting my skirts into a curtsy. My jewelry glittered like stars on my red dress.
“Do come up with something more entertaining next time. I only engage in conversations worth more than a drink!”
I laughed, waved my fan flamboyantly, and sat back down.
This should keep them from suspecting me as Doris Redfield, right?
Thank you, Doris, for being so well-behaved all these years!
Peeking over my fan, I saw the man still fuming. His peers, however, weren’t siding with him.
After all, who would want to befriend someone without wit, courage, or tact in a place like this?
Sigh.
As the adrenaline faded, my hands began trembling.
Arguments are terrifying!
I sipped a new drink, calming my nerves.
The next major bet, likely tied to that event, would revolve around the June Hunting Tournament.