Chapter 35 - Turf War

Translator: Nox

"Let's go, Anne."

Olivia Blanchett took the lead and began walking briskly.

She had intended to stay out of sight and quietly return, as instructed by the staff on her first day, but not anymore. It had been four days already. This was really too much.

She had thought to silently endure their displeasure, as her entry hadn't been unanimously decided by the members, but no more. The deadline she had set was right here.

"Miss? The Carriage is this way."

Anne said, thinking she might be lost.

"We're not going, Anne."

"Yes?"

Anne, who had secretly been relieved to be going home, was surprised and asked again. Anne had been angry all along that her mistress had to suffer such treatment here.

"I'm looking for a place to practice."

Surely, there was more than one court on this vast property.

Olivia hurried towards court number 11. Then 10, 9... Her diligent footsteps stopped abruptly in front of the last court. The sea-colored eyes, gazing at the grass court, narrowed slightly.

Not a single court was empty.

Whether the British were exceptionally fond of tennis or this was a clear warning to Olivia, she guessed it was the latter. There's no place for you here.

Olivia turned back with Anne. Their steps along the walking path, away from the courts, were heavy. The shadows of broad leaves cast by the deciduous trees flickered restlessly over her pristine white shoes.

Lost in thought, Olivia walked along the straight path.

Following the chirping of birds and the sound of water flowing from somewhere, a magnificent fountain appeared at the center of the intersecting walking paths.

Seeing the cool, soaring water, she suddenly thought of that man. Edgar Lancaster Lancelot.

The grand fountain and tennis court of the Lancelot Hotel, and the day she competed against him.

Should I ask for help?

Olivia cautiously entertained the thought, but shook her head.

No. No.

Things were already complicated enough with that man and Princess Anne Boleyn; she couldn't create an even more difficult situation here.

A lover with that man?

Even thinking about it made her neck flush. As Olivia absently rubbed the back of her neck, she noticed a small building behind the dense landscaping.

The width of the wall was similar to the width of a tennis court.

Her bright blue eyes, like the surface of shimmering water, began to shine.

As she approached, she saw a padlock on the door, and a gold panel in the center of the door that read "Equipment Storage."

Standing on tiptoe, she peered inside through the window and thankfully, it didn't seem like anyone was living there.

Olivia took out her racket from her white leather bag and stood at a suitable distance.

"Oh, Miss?"

"That's right. I'm going to practice here, Anne."

Olivia smiled brightly and lightly stretched her body.

Olivia, who had been lightly bouncing a ball taken from the box on the ground, took a long breath in and out, then quickly inhaled and tossed the ball into the air.

"Miss!"

Thwack! The sound of the racket strings hitting the ball echoed through the air.

Anne, who had buried her face in her hands, worried that the window might shatter, cautiously peeked out.

Anne's worries were unfounded. Olivia's ball landed exactly where she intended.

Olivia relentlessly hit the ball as it bounced back quickly from the wall. Her breathing gradually became rougher.

Avoiding the windows while hitting the ball was more difficult than she thought, and her calves soon began to ache.

Her fair cheeks were flushed with the rose color of spring, and beads of clear sweat formed on her forehead.

The sound of the ball hitting the wall echoed through the quiet club.

What on earth is this...?

Passersby, their eyebrows raised, began to stop, one by one, two by two.

The woman they thought had quietly returned home, out of sight, was struggling against the wall, and it was quite a spectacle.

"She's going to wreck a perfectly good window."

The men scoffed.

"Shall we bet on how many she breaks?"

They snickered sarcastically. At this point, one might expect her concentration to waver, but the woman sent the ball flying without any sign of agitation.

The spectators, who had been standing askew with their arms crossed, were soon absorbed in the woman's textbook-perfect tennis strokes.

The shots, focused and aimed high, were awe-inspiring. Each time a precise shot avoided the window, suppressed exclamations of admiration leaked out from here and there.

Occasionally, when a ball flew as if to shatter the window, they would gasp, but when it narrowly hit the window frame, sighs of relief burst out unguardedly.

"She's crazy. She's crazy."

The spectators clicked their tongues.

Olivia casually wiped the sweat from her forehead with her forearm and checked the time. Fifteen minutes before twelve. It was time to finish practicing.

After catching her breath for a moment, Olivia raised her last serve.

The ball soared into the sky, and her body leaped up with all its might. It was one of Olivia's favorite moments.

As she followed the green ball upward, a window on the third floor of the main building behind the equipment storage came into view. She made eye contact with a man who was leaning on the windowsill, looking down at her.

"!"

It was hard to see clearly from the distance, but it was him. A feeling more accurate than sight told her so.

Edgar.

In that dazed moment, the ball fell before her eyes. Startled, Olivia finally swung her racket, and a moment later, a loud crash echoed through the quiet club grounds.

Oh my goodness!

It seemed as if the man's laughter, carried on the breeze, reached Olivia's startled ears. A very cheerful sound.

Under the midday sun, Olivia's face turned bright red.

Even after that, the club members' turf war remained unchanged. Olivia faithfully stood in front of court number 12. The time was invariably eight fifty-five. It was already the fourth day.

Today, too, she stood in a neat posture, waiting for the game to end.

"Let's just give up here, Chairman."

Charles, the club's manager, said pleadingly, watching Russell's reaction.

"Members are starting to talk."

The Dumbleton Club members were divided into conservatives, who bet on whether she would break the glass today, and sympathizers, who questioned the need to be so petty over a single court.

She was a woman backed by Lancelot Corporation. Even the club owner was on her side. If she wanted to, she could easily use their power to get a court, as easily as taking candy from a baby.

But the woman was simply doing her best.

That sight was enough to stir the hearts of the stubborn men.

"At this rate, the Dumbleton Club will get a reputation for being narrow-minded."

Regardless, Russell didn't even pretend to listen and just did his own thing.

"What will our image be if it's reported in the news?"

Russell didn't even snort at Charles's worries.

She dared to beat my son and humiliate him, so she has to pay the price. Russell had incited the members to occupy the tennis courts.

Thanks to the men, who had rallied together in the face of a crisis, Olivia Blanchett still hadn't set foot on a court. Russell's mustache twitched.

"You're being really petty, you know."

"What?"

The face that had been buried in the documents was suddenly lifted.

"Am I wrong?"

"Charles!"

"Yes, Chairman!"

Charles shouted at the top of his lungs. Russell's ears rang.

Charles was furious. If that was the case, they shouldn't have allowed her entry in the first place.

It was like playing with people. He wondered if they didn't feel sorry for her, standing in front of the storage building with no proper place to rest.

"Just say one word to tell them to stop."

"I can't."

"Chairman!"

The two men's gazes clashed fiercely, as if sparks were about to fly, when an employee burst into the chairman's office without knocking, running in a flurry.

"What's going on that you're coming in without knocking!"

Russell shouted angrily.

The anger was directed at the wrong person. The employee, belatedly realizing the atmosphere, moved his lips.

"That, that is..."

"What is it!"

Russell pressed, annoyed.

"Miss Blanchett has started practicing."

"What?"

Russell and Charles, who had been glaring at each other, turned their gazes to the employee like lightning.

"W-Where?"

The two asked simultaneously.

"On court number 12."

It was nine o'clock. Olivia turned around with a calm expression. She was about to take a step towards the equipment storage when she heard a voice from behind.

"You finished on time today."

Olivia, startled, turned around.

Her blue eyes, staring at the man walking out of the court, widened. She had an expression of disbelief, as if she had encountered a snowstorm in the middle of summer.

The man, passing by Olivia, wiped his sweat with a towel handed to him by an employee and said,

"Do your best."

The man gave a light bow. He asked the employee to bring a drink to the lounge and turned away. Olivia, who had been blankly watching him, asked urgently.

"...Why. Why did you change your mind?"

Her voice trembled. The man slowly turned around.

"Dumbleton's tradition is a source of pride for the people here."

"..."

"The tradition has been broken."

The man met her gaze.

"If the woman who broke that tradition breaks the second sanctuary and wins, I thought it might restore some of the wounded pride. That's all."

The man smiled briefly, then turned back and looked at Olivia again.

"That's all nonsense."

"Yes?"

"I'm exhausted from doing this for three hours."

"..."

"It's damn hard."

The man chuckled and walked away. Olivia couldn't take her eyes off him until he disappeared into the lush greenery. Then, she burst out laughing.

'It's damn hard.'

With those playful words, the upset feelings vanished into thin air like bubbles.

I won.

Olivia took a deep breath and slowly walked into the court.

It had been a week. The grass under her feet felt particularly soft.

Olivia closed her eyes and enjoyed the softness of the grass. The hair fluttering in the breeze tickled her neck. Her heart swelled and her eyes were about to get hot, but she suddenly opened her eyes wide.

She stared at the empty court opposite her and muttered.

But...

Who am I supposed to play with?

It was truly one mountain after another.