Yustia Banquet (2)
"I'll give you the invitation tomorrow during class."
Iriel, who had ordered daggers from Aleng, headed straight back to her own mansion.
Once she had completely vanished from sight, Serena stretched her arms languidly.
Her face looked utterly refreshed, as if a nagging tooth had finally been yanked out.
"She's finally gone!"
"Hmm, a banquet, eh. She said she'd invite all the students taking swordsmanship lessons."
That meant the First Prince, the Second Prince, and even Soy Spoon.
'Every person worth watching all gathered in one place.'
In truth, up until now, it had all been monster-slaying and training—so in a way, this finally felt like a proper romance fantasy.
After all, weren't romance fantasies supposed to feature dances at balls and drinks splashed in faces?
"Yes, that's how we avoid any rumors. If she only invites me and you, Instructor, it might tip off that we've pulled Iriel to our side."
"Even inviting everyone still means Yohayden gets an invite—so what's the point?"
For now, since this was Serena's scheme after racking her brains, Zeke decided to play along.
But it felt a bit too flimsy.
"Nobles stake their lives on 'pretext' and 'face' as a basic rule."
"Hmm."
"Our class has the Second Prince to begin with, and the First Prince is there indirectly too."
"Right."
Zeke nodded.
"Iriel inviting them catches two birds with one stone: 'pretext' and 'face'. If they attend, it elevates the prestige of Yustia's banquet. But until now, there wasn't a direct enough connection to invite them outright."
Zeke could follow that logic.
Indeed, royalty showing up—even indirectly—would lend weight to the Yustia side.
"But secretly inviting them? Bad idea. It could spark misunderstandings of political maneuvering through her kid."
"So, class time."
"Exactly. Inviting them publicly in class dodges those suspicions. The catch is, I'm in that class—so 'face' is on the line."
Serena flashed a confident, dazzling smile.
"Invite all the royals but snub the duke's daughter? No matter our bad blood with Yustia, that'd paint them as petty and small-minded. Put sharper: Yustia checking Yohayden."
"Hoo."
"So, the most sensible move is handing me an invite too. Though the only one in Yustia thinking I'll actually show is Iriel."
"I see..."
Zeke marveled at Serena's ploy.
A tactic he'd never dream up rolling through dark fantasy.
It surgically exploited the 'face' nobles prized so dearly.
'Serena's sharper than Iriel.'
Compared to Iriel's blind charges—headlong into assassin traps without a thought—
Serena weighed scenarios, picked the optimal play, and executed. Clear edge.
"One potential snag, though..."
Serena eyed Zeke, face troubled.
"Snag?"
"...That day, we'll probably have to dance, Instructor. Gotten any better...?"
Zeke's face went rigid.
'Shit, come on, Serena... We really gotta dance?'
*
"Ow! That's the seventy-fourth time!"
Dance practice dragged on till late that night.
Piano music flowed as backdrop, pierced now and then by Serena's yelps as her instep got crunched.
Even the accompanist looked drained from the marathon playing.
By the end of the grueling session, Serena's insteps were battered.
After stomping them raw with his boots, Zeke had ditched his shoes entirely to keep practicing.
"Instructor, what's the damn problem!?"
Serena couldn't take it anymore.
The problem?
Zeke, for one, couldn't tolerate someone wriggling that close without reacting.
Long-ingrained habit: any foot invading his space triggered an instinctive counter.
He fought it down on purpose, but up close like that? His foot lashed out the instant hers neared.
Sure, he eased off before impact—no shattered bones.
But dancing meant syncing breaths and steps together, right?
'This is fucking insane.'
Zeke spoke, exhaustion plain.
"Any ironclad reason I have to dance that day?"
"Yes. Social dances are the prime way to flaunt grace in public."
"..."
"Especially you, Instructor—total unknown in society. If nobles had seen your usual self, maybe persuasion works... but no noble pals, huh?"
"Aren't you my pal?"
Zeke grumbled curtly, tone sour.
Serena flinched hard.
"...Y-yeah, but! Besides me!"
"...Nobody comes to mind."
"So I'm the only... Ahem! Anyway! To shield you politically, we gotta show 'em. That you're no pushover."
"Gotta be a dance? No alternatives? Duel, say."
Grab some random noble, thrash 'em—no one ignores that. Zeke figured.
"...We're nobles here, not knights, Instructor. Knights don't beat nobles sans cause either."
Even with cause, they don't. Serena muttered inwardly, sighing gustily.
"Schmoozing one-on-one works too, but Yustia's turf—no friendlies."
Haa—
Zeke felt choked, like a sweet potato jammed in his throat.
Flailing around like idiots—this crucial? No comprehension.
'What bullshit. Just say sword dance!'
Lightning cracked through his skull.
'Sword dance?'
Zeke's lip curled sly.
"Serena."
"Yes?"
"Dances fixed?"
"Well, basics like this—formal style. Music allows leeway... but trends limit varieties."
"...Right. Then this work?"
Serena's eyes went wide.
Next day.
Swordsmanship class. Students assembled.
Zeke eyed Iriel.
Time's yours—do it now.
She stepped up, cleared throat.
"Ahem!"
Gazes locked on her.
"Prince Rosnante Leonine."
Casual speech pact or not, royalty got honorifics for invites.
"What."
"Week from now, weekend. Banquet at our mansion. Please honor us."
"Hmm..."
Rosnante took it, face troubled.
Glanced Serena-ward.
Public acceptance? Open backing. Caution mandatory.
His base shaky now—extra care.
Serena just smiled soft.
Next: Yuri Gilbert, First Prince's line.
"Yuri, relay to First Prince. Grace Yustia banquet. Yours bundled."
"..."
Yuri shot Iriel a what-the-hell glare, snatched invite.
Then: Serena Yohayden.
"Lady Serena Yohayden."
"Yes, Lady Iriel Yustia."
"Yustia banquet invite."
"Got it. Proper."
Plain as water—but family feud knowers stiffened.
Swift after:
Soy Spoon one. Zeke last.
"Grand affair for all. Attend aplenty."
Iriel bowed crisp.
"Done?"
"Yes."
"Class starts. Mana Road apps first, as planned. Ah, Rosnante—you this session. Fine."
"Wh-why...?"
Hated grind, but first? Worse. Rosnante paled, quizzed Zeke.
'Why? Guy. Chest out? No issue.'
"Just is."
"Th-that's..."
"Yuri. Elise. Book dates."
Soy Spoon ping-ponged Iriel-Zeke.
"Iriel yesterday."
Soy's cheeks ballooned.
'No noble-peasant bias, you said!'
Serena lead. Iriel next. Rosnante class-favor.
Not bias? What then.
Tch.
Tongue-click sole recourse.
*
Zeke: Serena mana cycles. Rest stamina basics.
Iriel needed stamina base still.
"Instructor."
Lingering Rosnante hailed.
"Hm."
"Iriel done—why basics?"
"Her sword needs it."
"...All different styles?"
"Dunno. Similar builds? Same possible."
Rosnante's eyes quaked.
Felt Zeke's prowess flesh-deep. Limits where?
Vets drilled one style deep.
Jack-of-all lost to masters. Consensus.
'Different per? Physique-fit?'
Gulp.
True tutelage? Strength possible.
"Now what."
"...Shirt off."
"Pardon?"
"Back touch. Cloth blocks. Can't check."
"Hand inside?"
Rosnante puzzled.
"That—obstacle near hand..."
Rehashing Serena spiel, Zeke bugged eyes.
'Uh, fuck. Other hand grabs cloth, lifts clear of palm?'