The Evil Woman's Tea Party -2-

Peaceful Desmont Mansion.

"..."

Darbarb, seated at his desk in the study, read a single letter from Olivia and let out a heavy sigh.

Darbarb nodded in satisfaction at Olivia's elegant handwriting. No matter whose daughter she was, the penmanship alone was impressive enough to draw admiration.

"Indeed."

The letter didn't contain good news, which left a bitter taste, but Darbarb still nodded repeatedly in contentment at the missive from his daughter.

"I never thought about her not having friends..."

Darbarb looked up, reminiscing about his academy days.

—Darbarb! Let's eat together.

—Noisy. Commoner.

—Darbarb's eating alone again?

—What's wrong with eating alone? It's efficient use of time. Don't make a fuss.

—O... okay.

Recalling his brilliant youth, when he had been exceptional from the start, Darbarb made a sullen face and neatly folded the letter.

"Like father, like daughter, huh."

Darbarb could understand Olivia's pain. He'd made friends through business, but they were only business acquaintances. Balls were for showing off in front of crowds, and dancing with strangers you weren't close to felt off—so he got why she'd scrapped the ball idea for a tea party. It wasn't the intimate gathering she'd wanted, but it wasn't bad either. She could build her standing later; no need to rush. Blaming himself for not considering his daughter more, Darbarb nodded.

"A tea party, eh..."

Darbarb smiled excitedly and called to the man beside him.

"Kyle."

"Yes, Father."

"Olivia's hosting a tea party."

"Didn't she decide on a ball?"

Darbarb asked Kyle with a serious expression.

"Name three close friends."

"..."

Kyle couldn't answer. Darbarb smiled warmly, seeing his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠son follow in his footsteps. How alike they were—Kyle, the next Desmont heir, showed such fine qualities; the future was secure.

"I'm proud of you, son."

"..."

Kyle gave a wry smile. * Today, too, the Young Lady's mansion was peaceful.

"Eeeeek."

The Young Lady, scribbling invitations at her desk, racked her brains trying to think of friends.

"Young Lady, so far we have Lord Darbarb, Kyle, Lady Rosanna, Malik, and Hanna."

"Hold on..."

The Young Lady struggled to finalize the tea party guests ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for this rare event. No matter how hard she thought, no one else came to mind. Back at the academy, people had flocked at her slightest word, but now that she was fallen, who would be thrilled by her invitation? Her list had run dry.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, as if telepathing her future self.

"Eeeeek..."

Her bizarre expression, like she was asking her future self if she had friends, made me chuckle.

"Young Lady, friends won't appear just like that."

"Hold on. Something'll come to me."

Her already narrow circle wouldn't expand by sheer force of will, but I patted her shoulder with a wry smile.

"Young Lady."

"Eeeeek..."

"Canceling now and aiming for next time might be smart. You can always buy friends with money."

"Can't buy 'em with money."

"True enough."

"And I wanna have a tea party. It's been forever—I wanna meet friends, have pillow fights, make snacks, do a pajama party."

I swallowed tears, looking at her with pity.

"Young Lady."

"Yeah?"

"It's not 'been forever'—you've never done it even once."

"...I did in novels."

"..."

The Young Lady wanted pillow fights. Not parties born from business ties masked as friendship, but genuine bonds, deep and structured. Wiping my tears with a handkerchief, I gently tapped at her heart—having no friends wasn't her fault; those novels planting such fantasies were to blame.

"How about just you and me?"

"..."

"We can pillow fight today, wear pajamas, chat, even bathe together. I'm fine with it."

"You know we built a separate bath during the remodel? We can have fun there and get the vibe."

I smiled faintly, offering kind words.

"You, me, and Gomtang make three... well, three beasts."

The Young Lady bowed her head and clenched her fists.

"Ricardo..."

"Yes."

"Don't you have friends?"

"...That's kinda rude."

"But a tea party with just us two isn't a tea party."

"Hmm."

I carefully broached the subject.

"Mind if I invite my friends, then?"

"Friends?"

"Yes."

"You have friends?"

I gave an ambiguous smile, thinking of a few names.

"People you know too."

"Who?"

I smiled bitterly and wrote out the invitations.

—Yuria.

—Shartia.

That was everyone I knew. *

The recipients of the invitations had varied reactions.

Yuria felt excitement.

"Wh-wh-whoa?!"

Hanna saw opportunity.

"This is my chance..."

Shartia opened her invitation with suspicion.

'Not going.'

The women, each with their own thoughts, began preparations—donning hidden dresses from closets, putting on earrings for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tea party.

A week later.

The day of the tea party dawned.

After hanging the banner on the mansion wall, I stood by the Young Lady, massaging her shoulders as her face paled with tension.

"Young Lady. Don't be nervous."

"Sniff... I thought no one would come, but three showed up...!"

Malik. The Desmont family. The Tower Master.

With quite a few guests amid the crowd, I held back my emotions and said to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her,

"Looks like we've lived pretty well."

"Yeah..."

At least we hadn't lived meaningless lives. I'd even considered hunting orcs in a dungeon if needed, but no necessity arose. Wiping tears at the sight of carriages beyond the wall,

"Young Lady... another one's coming."

"Eeeeek!"

"Smile."

"Heehee..."

"That's scarier."

"Eeek!"

I lightly poked her awkwardly smiling cheek and swallowed as the women approached the front gate.

"Wow..."

Yuria in a light dress. Hanna in a figure-hugging one. Work-worn Shartia.

Beauties lovelier than flowers entered the mansion. The three stared blankly at the banner, giving awkward smiles.

"Ahaha..."

"You prepared hard!"

"I wanna go home."

Hanna reacted biggest.

"Butler!"

Long-unseen Hanna, brown hair tied to one side, rushed into my arms.

Feeling my disciple's heartfelt emotion, I smiled softly and hugged her tight.

"Long time no see."

"Butler!"

"Saw it in the papers. Big trouble, but you resolved it."

"No... all thanks to you, Butler."

Yuria gave an awkward smile and greeted me.

"Hello."

"Thanks for coming."

"No, you helped me big time before—I had to. And..."

Yuria bowed awkwardly to the Young Lady.

"Thanks for last time."

"Yeah."

"Still... lots to talk out, but I wanted to say that much."

"Thanks."

Princess Shartia.

"What's this?"

"Nothing."

"Then I'm out."

She wanted to go home. *

After greetings, Shartia shook her head with a hollow laugh.

'What is this lineup?'

Magic Tower rival Desmont family.

—Daddy!

—Magnificent.

Kyle, the iron-blooded young lord.

—Ricardo.

—Lord Kyle, you could invite other guests too—anyone in mind?

—...

And Histania heir Malik.

—Business talk?

And the Tower Master himself.

—Install a teleporter?

—Yes.

—...?

—Didn't you say one wish?

—Even so. That's... ha.

—I think it's a bargain.

—Impossible. Installation alone tops ten million gold. Asking for that? And calling me after the Desmont head...

—No 'impossible' at the Tower, right?

—...

—Below Desmont?

—...Got business; heading out.

—I was about to say the same.

All heavyweights. Too much for a fallen lady's tea party. If they had time, they could claim an empire fifth. Shartia shook her head, laughing hollowly at them gathering for one lady's tea party.

"Insane."

She clenched her fist watching Ricardo approach the group. No idea what he'd say. She didn't buy he'd called them just for tea. Rumors painted Desmonts as pitiless.

Gulp.

Shartia tensed, ready to bolt if rebellion brewed.

"Thank you for gracing us."

Ricardo, eyes misty with emotion, addressed the guests.

"First, a quick rundown of today's schedule."

Make cookies. Banquet. Pillow fight. Bath.

Hearing it, Shartia furrowed her brow, doubting her ears.

"Huh...?"

Words unfit for this crowd.

Ricardo continued without pause. As the schedule spilled from his lips, tension etched Olivia's face.

"Cookies we make will go to charity, so please join. Much appreciated."

"..."

"If not, can't force it—but kids'll love 'em."

"..."

Shartia widened her eyes at his mutter.

'Of course, it'll go to the Unfortunate Evil Lady Olivia Foundation...'

'Ha.'

Shartia wanted to go home.