Saturday evening.
The newly reborn Sacred Salon was rather quiet.
The social season was nearly over, with many provincial nobles having returned home. Moreover, after the salon's temporary closure, Madame Abigail had announced that all accumulated coins could either be exchanged for information or redeemed at 1.5 times their value the following year. Most attendees had likely decided to wait.
And then, today—the moment a certain man arrived, he sought out Madame Abigail.
"Madame Abigail. I heard the salon will help recover debts from bets made with outsiders?"
"Correct. It's a new service we've devised. Though verification might be tricky if the other party denies ever making such a bet."
Behind her pitch-black mask, Madame Abigail's voice sounded even more bewitching than before.
Perhaps, after the salon's closure, someone else had taken over the role of staff and Madame.
Well, it didn't matter either way.
'If only I can get back at that damned Tristan…!'
Alex Fillman—once Tristan's friend, now a man who had tasted the bitterness of a sanatorium forty years too early thanks to that very friend—ground his teeth as he spoke.
"That bastard would never deny it. He's got nothing but pride, and his social standing is too high for him to lie carelessly."
"Hmm, how amusing. A prideful man admitting defeat… I'd love to witness that."
"..."
Alex briefly scrutinized Madame Abigail up and down.
'What kind of person is this?'
The Madame Abigail he knew until last year had been pleasant and sociable, yet never losing her elegance.
But this new Madame Abigail…
'Seems like a complete lunatic.'
"Is there a problem?"
"Ah, no."
"Then tell me the terms of the bet and who the other party was. I'll decide after hearing it."
Alex lowered his voice after confirming no one was nearby.
"Last March, I made a bet with a friend at a club. He declared, 'If Tristan doesn't marry the most beautiful woman by next spring, I'll give you half my fortune and crawl naked to Redfield Manor.'"
"...Oh my."
"Hah, shocking terms, right?"
"And the person you made this bet with was—"
"Yes, Tristan himself. The man who used to be my friend."
Even now, the bones Tristan had broken during the hunting tournament still ached.
"After that, he started cozying up to Miss Maria, only to slink back to his fiancée within months. He even set a wedding date for next spring."
"...So he did."
"Morally, it's the right choice. But what do I care? I want my due—his fortune, and the sight of him crawling naked!"
"Sounds disgusting."
"Excuse me?"
"Either way, it seems unlikely you'll get your wish. The Third Prince is marrying the most beautiful woman, isn't he?"
"...What?"
Alex hesitated. Was Tristan's fiancée Maria? Natalie?
Neither seemed to fit.
"The woman marrying Tristan is… Doris Redfield."
But Madame Abigail didn't hesitate for even a second.
"She's pretty."
"What?"
"The prettiest in this year's social season."
"Are—are you serious? She's elegant, sure, but in what world is she the most beauti— Ghk!"*
Madame Abigail suddenly kicked Alex in the shin.
"Oops, my mistake. I must've bumped you while crossing my legs. But as the manager of the Sacred Salon, I must inform you—Tristan won the bet."
"Wha—on what grounds?!"
"Shall we ask the other members? Hey, come here."
A passing employee approached. A woman whose hands smelled of fine butter.
"Isn't His Highness Tristan's fiancée the prettiest in the world?"
"Yes, of course."
"See? Should we ask another staff member?"
"..."
Madame Abigail gestured again. Servers, chefs—all answered "Yes" to the absurd question.
'This is insane. Are they all on something? How is that woman the most beautiful?!'
Unless… No, it couldn't be.
Alex studied Madame Abigail, wondering if she was Doris Redfield herself.
The hypothesis shattered instantly. The domineering beauty radiating even through the mask couldn't possibly be that petite, elegant Do—
Thud!
While Alex was still processing, Madame Abigail propped a long leg on the table and spoke in a low voice.
"If you wanted a real bet, you should've wagered on something measurable. The moment you put something like 'beauty' on the scales, you lost the right to even call it a bet."
"Wh—who do you think you are?!"
"More importantly—what did you wager?"
Alex fell silent.
Nothing. He had only egged on Tristan's boast.
Madame Abigail smirked.
"A coward with nothing to lose comes here to tear down someone else's honor."
"I—I didn't—"
"The Sacred Salon has no interest in entertaining fools like you."
The smirk vanished. Madame Abigail rose, looming over Alex with an oppressive aura that made it hard to breathe.
"Get out, coward. And never dare speak of such a 'bet' to anyone again."
Crash!
Alex's chair toppled backward. As he scrambled up from the floor, the surrounding black masks stared down at him, sapping his strength.
By the time he stumbled out the door, Madame Abigail's gaze still followed him—as if vowing never to forget the fool who had dirtied her salon today.
After the Sacred Salon's first night of business.
Madame Abigail tore off her mask. Beneath the head-covering disguise, fiery red hair cascaded like scattered embers.
"Haah… Not many guests, but still exhausting."
"You did better than expected, Madame Abigail."
"Don't lie. ...But if you mean it, thanks."
The new Madame Abigail—Natalie—grinned at the inherited staff before sighing again.
"It feels like every idiot in the city will flock here. How did Her Highness the Crown Princess manage to smile while serving these people? And she's someone used to being treated as superior!"
"She said it was refreshingly fun."
"..."
"Besides, status isn't everything. The sharpest satire usually comes from below, doesn't it?"
"So pretending to serve while manipulating people is very fun—is that what you mean?"
"Yes, exactly."
"That does sound fun. I'll need to learn more about running things, though…"
Natalie chewed on leftover jerky, reminiscing about the events of months prior.
When planning the destruction of her wedding, her sister had mentioned receiving help from an unexpected figure.
'An unexpected figure? Didn't you say you bought information from Madame Abigail?'
'It was her. I wasn't going to reveal her identity, but… She said it'd be more fun to speak openly.'
'She said? Who the hell is she?'
...And then, the truly unexpected person intervened.
The Crown Princess—someone Natalie had assumed lived a perfectly dutiful, model life.
It was the Crown Princess who introduced the mercenary to retrieve Ariel Rabbit, who arranged the hiding place before the wedding. And when Natalie mentioned investing her dowry into a business, the Crown Princess showed interest.
'I only knew you as a confident socialite. But you prefer hosting parties?'
'I love the arts. Parties are a fusion of music, fashion, interior design, even landscaping. ...Honestly, I enjoy orchestrating the guests more than mingling.'
'...How intriguing. Far more than I assumed. If I teach you how to run a salon, would you consider taking over a certain business for me one day a week?'
***