Engagement Ceremony (5)
It felt good. His hands moved swiftly yet gently. The thread held by the fine forceps meticulously sutured the torn organs.
Focusing on the surgery, I called out to the head nurse.
“Chloe.”
“Yes.”
“Can you diagnose the patient and handle initial treatment?”
Chloe tensed at my question.
“Y-yes, I can.”
“Bring the patient. Prepare everyone for Operating Room 2 except the one handling circulation.”
“But what about here…”
“Just basic suturing left. I could do this with my eyes closed from here on.”
Princess Wanda's surgery was a success. She nearly suffered cardiac arrest midway, but we barely passed the critical hurdle.
“Everyone tired? Continuous surgeries will be tough, right?”
The healers answered immediately.
“We can do it.”
“We'll follow.”
“The patient's life comes first.”
The surgical team responded with solid resolve.
“I'll get things ready!”
Leaving one nurse for circulation support, Chloe led the team out to the prep room. With the remaining nurse's assistance, I finished up.
I glanced out the window. That was where Alverich had been wailing just moments ago. The double structure—prep room and OR for sterilization—meant no infection risk.
Soon, Chloe and half the team bustled from the prep room, escorting the next patient to the adjacent OR. Alverich's wife, presumably. He'd meddled in my affairs plenty, but he was just a stubborn old man, not a villain.
I'd never planned to mix personal feelings with saving lives anyway.
“Done. To recovery. You can use healing spells now, so everyone with free hands, get in there.”
“Yes!”
I stepped out after wrapping up, washing my hands and changing into fresh scrubs while watching the princess being wheeled away.
“Wanda.”
A familiar voice called. The Emperor.
He pushed open the OR door and met my eyes. No time for full formalities, so I gave a curt bow.
“Gotberg, how is Wanda?”
“Crisis averted. Now we monitor her progress.”
“…Hoo.”
The Emperor closed his eyes and exhaled in relief. Then, in a grave tone, he said,
“Gotberg, I shall grant you ample reward. What do you desire?”
I didn't answer right away, offering a faint, relaxed smile instead.
“For now, stay by her side.”
The Emperor's lips curved in kind as he moved to see the princess.
As I headed to the next OR, Hugo approached.
“Sir, did you check the time?”
“Yeah. Thirty minutes.”
“You should be preparing for the engagement ceremony by now. Any more delay, and you'll miss the main event.”
It started at six. It was already three in the afternoon. Come to think of it, I hadn't eaten—stomach was growling. I popped a candy in my mouth, crunching it with my teeth as I replied.
“Tell Asella I'll be there no matter how late.”
“Um… Understood.”
Hugo nodded.
“Gotberg-sensei!”
A voice shouted from outside the OR. Knowing he couldn't barge in, he knelt at the threshold and pleaded toward me.
“P-please. Sensei, my wife is my everything. Save her, I beg you!”
His face looked a decade older.
I patted Alverich's shoulder.
“Don't worry. Who do you think I am?”
Mimicking one of Asella's favorite lines, I donned my mask.
***
“Ras is late?”
Asella, finished with party prep, scowled at the news from the Imperial Medical Office.
“Why today of all days…!”
Ras was tied up with emergency patients. The twin princesses were her aunts by blood, but she'd never even properly greeted them.
Imperial injuries were handled first by the attending physician; only on their request did others step in. It prevented side effects from generic healing spells, as only the primary knew the full medical history.
“He probably stuck his nose in out of nosiness.”
Classic Ras. Unavoidable, but she couldn't help resenting it.
'As the attending, he should prioritize me.'
She'd stressed how important today was endlessly. Patients could go to other healers; he should keep his promise to her. Wasn't that proper etiquette?
Asella peered anxiously out the window. Guests were already gathering at Moonlight Palace—young nobles from across the nation.
Frieda Shvartsshubaiku, the western ducal heiress, entered giggling with Rauga. Surrounded by the hotshot young elites.
Today's targets for Asella's speech.
She spotted Neria and Marquis Gotberg, just arrived via teleport gate permission. As an imperial princess, she wouldn't greet them personally. With clear succession rights now, she needed the poise to match.
She'd make a dignified entrance when the event began. No rushing ahead.
Ras was a co-star today, equal to her. The engagement mattered, but so did his coming-of-age rite. Her plan: him first, to hype the crowd.
“Your Highness, time to head down.”
Her head maid guided her. Prep was long done.
“Got it.”
Asella descended the corridor to the VIP lounge. The banquet hall was visible below—clusters chatting amiably, treating socializing as fun, not duty.
She had zero urge to join. She'd learn the gossip from attendants later.
Dealing with people was exhausting. Reading thoughts from glances, tones, minutiae. Steering talks, achieving goals.
In high society—especially the court—every gesture held political weight. Every word demanded care.
Asella knew she excelled, but it wasn't enjoyable.
Magic was.
'And Ras.'
With him, pointless chit-chat or nonsense was fine. He spouted plenty of useless stuff himself. Yet wasting time on trivial talk felt effortless.
She'd slept soundly beside him thanks to trusting he'd fix her ills. That ease had seeped into daily life—she realized it now.
Too hard to read anyway, so she'd quit analyzing.
'Ras again.'
Asella shook her head to refocus.
“Asella! There you are!”
Lost in thought, Rauga burst into the VIP lounge, greeting her like they'd been apart for years.
“Party hasn't started, Rauga. Go enjoy some snacks downstairs.”
“My goodness, is our baby sister actually being considerate? Touching.”
She'd meant leave me alone. Rauga knew, no doubt. Face like iron plating.
“Look at that dress. Hehe, pre-celebrating the engagement? C'mere, lemme hug my grown girl.”
“Touch me and you're out.”
“So frosty. Even to Gotberg?”
“Obviously.”
Too quick. Didn't want to reveal her soft spot for Ras, so a clumsy lie slipped out.
“Should've tipped me off. I was shocked. When did you two get so close? Political betrothal turning romantic in the imperial family? So romantic!”
Rauga's head was a flower field. Or pretended to be. Openly feigning disinterest in politics signaled harmlessness to rivals. Whoever became heir wouldn't target her.
Maybe Rauga's hard-won survival strategy, Asella mused—like her own choices to endure the court.
This betrothal too.
'Wait, is it?'
She'd thought it a pretext to summon young nobles. But really, the engagement was her impulsive whim, no afterthoughts.
'How'd it come to this?'
Ras, obviously. But admitting she liked him more? No way.
He had to like her.
…Right?
What did he really think? Unknowable. Headache brewing.
All Rauga's fault.
“Where's Gotberg anyway? No rule against seeing the groom pre-ceremony, even if it's not a wedding. All prepped?”
“…Yes.”
“Aw, I wanted to greet Sensei early. Too bad.”
Another entered the VIP lounge. Frieda Shvartsshubaiku, strutting in her flashy dress like the star.
“Your Highness. Long time no see?”
One more annoyance. Asella sighed.
“Really, sorry about last time. Who knew it was serious enough for a formal engagement? My bad for missing it.”
Insufferable girl. Irritation flared.
“Don't glare so. I've been rejected thrice by House Gotberg already? Father insisted I behave for Your Highness today.”
“Keep that mindset to the end. You're still chatting with the Grand Duke—don't mess it up.”
“Of course.”
Frieda cutely lifted her skirt hem with a wink. At least she knew boundaries—no nonsense expected.
'…Hold on.'
Seeing Frieda spiked Asella's anxiety.
'…What if Ras skips entirely due to work?'
She'd end up just like her. No fiance at the engagement? As good as dumped. Implies bad blood humiliating the other house.
True or not, society would see it that way.
'Hoo.'
Asella deep-breathed inwardly.
The main party kicked off at six. Orchestra played, hall aglow with lights, guests assembled.
'…Ras.'
Asella bit her lip. No sign of him.
Opening with his rite? Dead plan.
Ten minutes. Twenty. Every second burned.
An hour late, no start—mood sank. Should've been post-ceremony banquet by now.
Couldn't reorder. Declaring succession bids amid burps and smacking lips? No.
“The young lord?”
“Still at the Medical Office…”
“I see.”
No more delays. Asella stood. Head maid signaled—grand music swelled, spotlight hit the second-floor balcony.
All eyes on her. She straightened, strode into the light with poise.
Her figure gleamed, nobles bowed. Gazing down, Asella declared boldly.
“I ask you. Who am I?”