Arthur finally snapped back to reality when he felt a weight like a boulder on his shoulder.
The overwhelming, thick pressure that couldn’t possibly belong to a human made him slowly turn his head, only to find himself staring up at Benedict, who seemed like he stood several heads taller, with a stern expression that made Arthur instinctively take a step back.
"Good evening, Your Highness, Third Prince. What brings you here?"
"Oh, um, I... I received a precious gift from Lady Allen, so I came to express my gratitude."
"Your eyes suggest otherwise."
"Idiot father! Don’t you remember what I told you the other day?!"
"No, Lucy! It’s not what you’re thinking!"
"Not what I’m thinking? Do you take me for a blind fool, father?"
Even as she knelt, Lucy towered over her father in spirit, relentlessly nagging him. The once intimidating figure now slumped his shoulders, mumbling excuses, looking smaller than ever. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at himself for his earlier thoughts, feeling ridiculous.
For a moment, he had thought Lucy Allen looked so stunning that he wondered if that could truly be her.
"Has idiot father turned into a gaping goldfish? How could you forget what we talked about just yesterday?"
"...I’m sorry."
"I think you’ve already apologized for this once today, haven’t you? Or is it that, as the daughter of an idiot father, I’m becoming an idiot too?"
Yes, it had to be her. Only she could speak to Benedict that way.
When Benedict’s eyes began to redden from Lucy’s scolding, she sighed, telling him to do better next time, and reached up to pat him on the head.
Benedict, laughing through his tears, hesitated before speaking cautiously.
"Thank you, Lucy. I... I just wanted to ask you one thing."
"What is it? Go on."
"Are you going up on stage in this outfit? Isn’t it a bit... eye-catching?"
"Are you really as much of an idiot as you say, father? Why else do you think I brought that perverted apostle?"
"...Perverted apostle?"
"It’s been a while, Sir Benedict."
Wiping a nosebleed from his face with a bright smile, the Apostle Frete gave a cheerful greeting. Benedict’s face turned grim once again.
Unlike with Arthur, however, this time, Lucy made no move to restrain her father.
"Apostle of the Arts."
"...Yes?"
"I believe we should have a serious conversation."
"Sir Benedict, in the Allen family, does a conversation begin with a raised fist?"
"This is how fathers with daughters converse."
"I see. Understood. Just allow me the chance to explain myself once everything’s over, please."
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"I told myself I’d never come to this loathsome place again."
"...Your Majesty, the Second Queen, there are people around."
"I know. That’s why I cast a sound barrier."
Sinere Soladin, the Second Queen, entered the party venue, responding to the greetings of nobles from her faction with a warm smile, all the while muttering with thorns in her words.
"All this trouble because of that insane woman."
The contempt Sinere felt for Queen Kavady Soladin was clear, despite her calm gaze.
How could she have warm feelings for someone who had been a constant obstacle, from her childhood to the present day?
"Please bear with it, Your Majesty. It’s only one evening."
"I know. I’m just venting because I can’t stand it otherwise."
It had been several years since she set her mind on making her son king. Her goal had driven her to engage in countless social gatherings, carefully navigating her alliances and objectives.
But her mere return to the academy filled her with annoyance. Still, it wasn’t all bad.
"At least Cecile has finally started acting like a prince."
Her son, who had never once met her expectations, had recently shown a hint of nobility after his defeat by Lucy Allen. Since then, Cecile seemed to have matured, impressing even the high-ranking nobles who once disapproved of him.
"Thanks to that, I can finally do my job instead of constantly appeasing those old men."
Sinere glanced around the hall, her eyes settling on Lady Patran, who stood among a group of noble ladies, her expression restrained but courteous.
A powerful background and the striking, noble appearance that could silence even the most confident opponent. Combined with her inborn magical talent, Lady Patran had become a central figure among noble ladies at the academy.
I’ll hold off on talking to her until the party heats up a bit. Approaching now would make my intentions too obvious.
She’s wearing such a beautiful dress. Where did she get it?
Not even the artisans I know could make something like that. I’ll have to ask her later.
With her gaze shifting, Sinere set her sights on the saint of the Main Temple.
Although the Temple hadn’t sent an official delegation, the saint was surrounded by admirers expressing endless gratitude for her past deeds: saving territories, rescuing lives, and easing the grudges of the unjustly dead.
That’s a minefield even more treacherous than the nobles around Cecile.
Oh? She’s wearing something more elaborate than usual. It looks similar to what Lady Patran is wearing. Is it a gift from a friend?
I’ll set my curiosity aside for now.
Where’s that Kent girl? Born into a renowned family of swordsmanship, she’s a monstrous talent, pressing down on her entire generation with her skills. Even now, though overshadowed by Lucy Allen, her swordsmanship remains unparalleled.
Sinere looked away from the girl devouring food in the corner. She knew all too well that approaching her would only lead to frustration.
That leaves only Arthur. Where is he? The party’s about to start, yet he’s nowhere to be seen.
While considering speaking with some nobles, the lights dimmed.
It’s starting. Finally, I’ll get to see Lucy Allen.
The apostle of the Arts supposedly praised her beauty. Let’s see for myself.
But the moment the figure, glowing alone in the darkness, appeared on stage, Sinere’s thoughts evaporated.
As the Second Queen of the kingdom, Sinere had always dismissed beauty with the simple word “beautiful,” perhaps with an added emphasis now and then, but she’d never thought to explore beyond that.
In the past, she’d admired herself for her efficiency. But not now.
How could she describe this scene before her? How could she explain the sight of Lucy Allen, so radiant in the darkness that it made her mind go blank?
To capture such beauty with words seemed impossible.
Should she elaborate, or perhaps use poetic metaphors?
Glowing? Brighter than stars? Like a warm sun descending into the hall? An angel sent by the heavens?
No, I have no words.
This figure, commanding silence with every move, making everyone focus on each gesture, each glance, was beyond description.
How could she, with only the word “beautiful” at her disposal, possibly convey what she saw?
"Aah..."
As the angelic figure stood center stage, her voice suspended the hall in time. Silence lingered, unwavering, as if it would last until she left.
And then...
"Pfft. Hello, you pathetic lot. How creepy to see you ogling me like perverts. After staring at your own reflections all day, I bet it feels like a dream to see someone this gorgeous. Oh no, what will you do? Afraid to look in the mirror again?"
"...What?"
"...What did she just say?"
"...Did I hear that right?"
The one who shattered the silence was none other than the girl herself, the very one who had created it.
At the heart of the stunned crowd, Lucy Allen chuckled, looking down upon the hall with a mischievous glint in her eyes.