Riersha’s expression shifted into one of genuine surprise.
She had a rough understanding of the Willias ducal family’s relationships, but—
Olivia Willias’s cousin brother?
Most noble families were closed off by nature, rarely interacting even with distant relatives. If anything, it was the Arachrene family that was the unusual case, running their household together with collateral branches.
“Hmm.”
Riersha stared down at the large hand extended toward her in easy familiarity. It looked smooth at first glance, but the scattered calluses told her that Yuta, too, had trained in swordsmanship.
He introduces himself as Olivia’s cousin rather than by his own family name. Does that mean he doesn’t have a surname?
That struck her as a little odd. Even collateral branches typically had their own family names. And the fact that Yuta was attending the Hunting Festival meant he was a noble, which meant he ought to have one.
But asking someone outright what their family name is when they clearly don’t want to share it—that would be rude.
The furrow between Riersha’s brows deepened gradually.
Just then—
“Hey, Riersha.”
“Hm?”
When it became apparent that Riersha had no intention of shaking his hand anytime soon, the smooth upward curve of Yuta’s lips began to tremble—just barely, but unmistakably.
“…Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Nothing like that. Why?”
“Then when are you going to take my hand?”
“Oh. Sorry. Nice to meet you, I guess. Looking forward to the Hunting Festival.”
Keeping a comfortable distance from suspicious people was definitely the right policy.
Riersha grabbed his hand and gave it a perfunctory shake. Yuta answered with a smile still fixed in place.
“That was very… decisive of you.”
“Yeah. I’m kind of like that.”
“R-right. I like that kind of straightforwardness, actually.”
His words said one thing, but his green eyes were shaking with something unmistakably close to bewilderment.
It made sense. Most people would leap at the chance to grow closer to someone connected to the Willias family—Riersha’s attitude was cynical to a degree that defied expectations.
Yuta awkwardly let his hand fall to his side and tried to pick the conversation back up.
“So, Riersha—who are you rooting for in the martial tournament?”
“I don’t know. Who are you rooting for?”
“Prince Isierd, obviously.”
The moment introductions were done, Yuta pressed himself to her side as though they were old friends and began to talk freely.
“I’ve heard Prince Isierd’s swordsmanship is absolutely extraordinary.”
“I already knew that. But from what I overheard earlier, the young lord of Marchioness Tetran’s family is apparently incredible too, isn’t he?”
“That’s true enough. He’s never once lost the top mark in the academy’s swordsmanship classes. He’s a monster, honestly. A complete monster.”
Yuta shook his head with an expression of weary disgust that was perhaps a touch too dramatic.
Riersha studied his reaction and ventured a guess, half-disbelieving.
“Did you lose to him?”
“…Pardon?”
“Did you lose to the Tetran heir?”
“……”
“Is that why you’re rooting for Prince Isierd?”
Yuta smiled and said nothing.
No response came from him after that.
He kept his expression under careful management, but everything else about him was apparently very honest.
Once Riersha had pieced together a rough picture of who Yuta was, she slowly lowered her guard.
She puffed out her cheeks and let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Actually, something happened and I lost contact with a friend for a while.”
“I see.”
“And I wanted to reconnect, but I thought it’d be better to talk in person, so I slipped in to the Hunting Festival—that’s what I’m saying.”
“Right. And?”
“But when I ran into them earlier, they just walked straight past me.”
“What? Your friend did?”
“Yeah.”
Riersha nodded, her face crumpling into something miserable.
When Yuta murmured, “That’s quite a situation,” with genuine gravity, Riersha’s pout deepened further.
“Even so, the least they could do is hear you out, don’t you think?”
“That’s what I think too. But they must be really, really angry.”
“How long were you out of contact?”
“About… two months or so…”
The period without her crystal ball had been roughly that long—maybe a little over two months. But Riersha quietly trimmed the number and watched Yuta’s reaction from the corner of her eye.
“Two months is genuinely a long time. Easy to misunderstand something.”
“But they would’ve heard I passed the heir’s examination, right? They would’ve known I spent that time preparing for the trial…”
“Hmm. Even so, your friend probably felt hurt. Are you two close?”
“Really close. But right now I honestly can’t tell.”
At this moment, Isierd still hadn’t stepped so much as a foot outside his tent.
Riersha kept stealing glances toward the cluster of tents reserved for members of the imperial family.
Yuta noticed that her crimson eyes kept drifting in the same direction. His own eyes narrowed.
“Could it be that this friend of yours is Prince Isierd Declair?”
“…Yeah.”
“And since he hasn’t come out of his tent at all, you can’t even attempt a conversation?”
“Yeah.”
Yuta’s instincts were telling him something.
This wasn’t a simple falling-out between friends.
It’s only natural that a lasting bond would form between them, given how long Prince Isierd stayed with the Arachrene family.
Yuta stared at the tent for a moment, then let the corner of his mouth curl upward.
This felt like the beginning of something tremendously entertaining.
“This isn’t such a difficult problem, Riersha.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. You just have to do what I say.”
Yuta gestured for her to come closer.
Riersha darted to his side and leaned her ear toward him.
“If you can’t go to Prince Isierd yourself, you just make Prince Isierd come to you instead. Simple as that.”
The moment those words reached her, Riersha’s eyes went wide.
“You have a way to do that?”
“Just trust me, Riersha.”
Yuta flashed a bright, wide smile, all white teeth.
⁂
The interior of the tent was saturated with a frigid, paper-thin tension.
Before the martial tournament for noble heirs was set to begin.
Calius sipped his tea and issued his warning to Isierd.
“You are to come back with a decisive victory, Isierd. I will not tolerate you embarrassing me.”
“Yes. I can win.”
“Good. The captain of the imperial knights says you’re better than the Tetran heir.”
Calius set his teacup down with an air of satisfaction.
It was nearly time to step out of the tent.
When the Emperor rose from his seat, Isierd reached for his sword and stood as well.
The imperial family was scheduled to make their entrance to the tournament grounds together.
“Then let us depart, Your Majesty.”
A knight announced that the hour of departure had arrived, and Isierd was just stepping out of the tent when—
“…What is it, Isierd?”
Isierd had stopped in his tracks, his expression twisting into a sharp frown as he stared at something ahead.
There stood Riersha, and beside her…
Some boy he’d never seen before—hair tied back in a short tail—chatting away with her in easy, animated conversation.
