Chapter 81
Chapter 81. Olivia VS Anne Boleyn
2023.12.20.
Olivia and Anne Boleyn stood on their respective courts, separated by a white net.
A tense silence hung heavy in the center court of Dumblin Stadium.
Hoo. Olivia took a breath. Her heart was slowly racing.
She seemed to naturally erase any thoughts of Edgar.
Her eyes, as blue as the sky today, were fixed solely on Anne Boleyn. Only she was in sight.
Olivia lightly swung her racket, warming up her body.
On the opposite court, Anne Boleyn was also moving her body with moderate intensity.
With each movement, her calf-length flared skirt twirled, blooming and closing like a fully opened flower.
At that moment, a long whistle cut through the air.
It was the signal announcing the start of the final match.
Having won the right to choose the court and the first serve, Anne Boleyn received a ball from a staff member.
Anne Boleyn's movements, lightly bouncing the ball on the ground and catching it, were as natural as flowing water.
Olivia, keeping her eyes fixed on her opponent, lowered her upper body and pressed her feet firmly into the grass.
Anne Boleyn twirled the racket in her hand, stalling for time.
Anne Boleyn, wearing an unsettling smile with an unreadable meaning, took her serving stance.
It was then that Olivia's eyes shone sharply in the clear sunlight.
"……!"
Olivia's face hardened. Anne Boleyn shifted her grip on the racket.
Her left hand.
It felt like a strong blow to the back of her head.
'This world is advantageous to right-handed people, but in tennis, it's absolutely advantageous to left-handed people.'
The voice of the man who had once explained this while watching a Rafael Nadal match together echoed in her ears.
'Of course, the trajectory and direction are different from right-handed players. That's why they often hit unexpected shots. Like now.'
At that moment, Nadal on the screen unleashed his signature buggy whip shot.
The ball, which seemed like it would fall outside the line, suddenly curved and landed just inside the line.
'No way! Unbelievable!'
'Right?'
Her senior smiled. The small green ball drew a trajectory that was hard to believe even when seen with her own eyes. It was disconcerting. But.
Princess Anne Boleyn is… left-handed.
Olivia simply stared blankly at Anne Boleyn's hand holding the racket.
The Princess smiled.
Her smile was arrogant, like that of a victor.
"……."
Olivia's composure, who had never competed against a left-handed player, began to crumble.
The audience, who had been holding their breath in tension, also began to stir.
"No, but… why is she holding the racket in her left hand…."
Crown Prince Alex's brow furrowed harshly.
In Brite, the left hand was the hand of the devil. Therefore, its use was taboo.
The only time Alex had treated Anne Boleyn harshly was to correct her left hand.
As a result, before she turned thirteen, Anne Boleyn had become perfectly right-handed.
You. What on earth are you thinking?
Alex's eyes, filled with anger, glared at his sister.
Don't be afraid. Han Ji-an.
'Just do as you did with me. Just do exactly as you did.'
Edgar's voice, whispering to her before the match against Russell Junior at Dumblin Club, echoed in her ears.
As the warm summer breeze caressed her cheeks, warmth seeped into her hands, which had been cold with tension.
Even though he wasn't by her side, her anxiety quickly subsided as if he were.
Right, there's nothing particularly special about it.
Olivia took a deep breath.
"Play!"
The referee's voice, announcing the start of the match, echoed over the net that divided the grass court.
At the same time, Anne Boleyn jumped up and slammed the ball down with terrifying force!
\\
The Leopold cut through the water. Waves crashed against the hull, breaking into white foam.
Maurice, who had entered the cabin, was horrified to see Yohan's injured body.
His once smooth body was covered in blue or dark purple bruises, and the lacerations where shattered pieces of wood had pierced him looked severe.
Yohan's face, however, remained indifferent as he received treatment.
The doctor, who had quickly and skillfully applied the bandages, stepped back. Yohan reached for the shirt Maurice had brought, but frowned.
"Give it to me. I'll do it."
Facing Yohan, whose gaunt face was still dangerously handsome, Maurice buttoned up the shirt.
He wanted to ask if it was really necessary to go see the final match, but he held back.
Wasn't this the man who had driven the carriage through the storm? It felt strange to ask now that Litten was just around the corner, and he wouldn't change his mind anyway.
"I've contacted His Grace the Duke of Edinburgh and the Grand Marchioness of Wellington… What are you planning to do?"
"A waste of effort."
At the indifferent reply, Maurice, who was buttoning up the shirt, glanced at him.
It was a major accident related to Duke Leopold's prestige.
He didn't know when he would regain consciousness, and his condition might even worsen.
Maurice had sent a person to send an urgent telegram to the capital as soon as dawn broke. Therefore, the two were currently heading to Lemonde.
I'm dead. I'm dead.
Maurice shuddered at the thought of the Marchioness of Wellington's fierce gaze.
He should have dissuaded him more strongly. In the end, he had failed.
Maurice wasn't a doctor, but in his opinion, he would have to stay in the hospital for at least a month.
'If you don't overdo it…'
The untrained doctor, faced with Yohan's cold eyes demanding to be discharged, granted his release with irresponsible conditions and scurried away. Going to Litten in this condition was overdoing it, wasn't it? What a quack.
"Director… Love is good, but you need to take care of your body first."
What the hell is this crazy thing? Of course, he omitted these words.
"Love?"
Yohan asked back.
Stopping his hand, which had been playing on the shirt, Maurice let out a long sigh as if he had been holding it in.
So even this handsome and neat face can make a stupid expression.
Maurice felt a sense of kinship for the first time. The only difference was that Yohan was handsome even then.
"Then what else is it if not love? Of course, it's one-sided, but."
Yohan looked down at Maurice impassively. The more impassive his expression became, the more foolish his face looked.
"…Love."
Yohan, as if dealing with something unfamiliar, unconsciously recited the word and hardened his face.
It wasn't that he was displeased, but he just looked like he couldn't believe it. Still, he frowned as if he didn't like it.
"Yes. Love. Very crazy love at that."
"Crazy."
"That's right. I'm very glad that you seem to have regained some reason now. Just remember that you've hurt your head. It's not strange to be crazy."
Yohan, closing his eyes tightly, raised his left hand and covered his eyes. He could see him frowning as if he was in pain.
"It's true that I'm crazy."
The dry tone continued. The sunlight streaming through the small window of the cabin slid down his sharp nose.
His unnecessarily sculpted face turned crookedly towards Maurice.
"It's not love."
If he wasn't his boss, Maurice would have scoffed right now. He shook his head.
"Yes. Yes. I understand. It's not love. The director is a crazy bastard. The conclusion is very neat and good, good."
Maurice continued to button up the shirt.
Whether Yohan's face contorted or not. In the meantime, the land began to appear in the distance.
Yohan's gaze stopped somewhere beyond the window. Maurice, who was raising the collar of his white shirt and tying his dark blue tie, saw it.
He saw a slight crack forming on the face of the man he had thought had no emotions.
It was a sign that the fever of first love was about to begin.
\\
The thought that there was nothing particularly special about it was a huge misjudgment.
At the center court of Dumblin Stadium, surrounded by lush greenery, Olivia gasped for breath.
Before she could even catch her breath, the ball came flying with a loud thud!
"Fifteen, love!"
The ball that Olivia had hit flew out of bounds.
The ball, curving to the left and bouncing off the ground, was hit by Olivia with a backhand, but it lacked power.
To make matters worse, her instep, which had been numbed by the ice pack, throbbed. It was a disaster.
Under the increasingly hot sun, Olivia swept the stray hairs clinging to her forehead and regulated her breathing.
On the contrary.
To face a left-handed player, Olivia had to reverse all the strategies she had applied in her matches so far.
The problem was that while her mind was quickly making the switch, her body couldn't keep up.
"As expected, the Queen of Tennis is different."
The noble ladies, watching Olivia struggle, exclaimed in admiration.
It was a reaction quite contrary to their earlier attitude of disparaging left-handed people as having the devil's hand.
Hmph, people without principles.
Henry McDowell scoffed inwardly.
The Princess's appearance, gracefully hitting the ball with an unwavering posture, was as hateful as a swan leisurely swimming on a calm lake.
Henry, who had bet 100,000 francs on Olivia Blanchett, began to get anxious.
The veins on the back of his hand, gripping the racket tightly, bulged. Olivia glared at the opposite court and lowered her stance.
The ball is coming.
The ball, drawing a gentle parabola and falling on the court floor, bounced higher than Olivia had expected.
Olivia, running towards the landing point, flew into the bright sunlight and stretched out her arm.
At that moment, with a gasp of pain, the ball she barely managed to hit caught on the net and fell with a thud.
"Thirty, love!"
The referee declared the Princess's score.
Wow! The enthusiastic cheers of the audience echoed high into the sky.
"I wonder how she made it to the finals with that skill. I guess it's possible if you have the representative of the organizer as your lover."
"I'm starting to doubt all the winning results she's had so far."
The sound of laughter, hidden behind fans, mingled with the shouts cheering for Princess Anne Boleyn.
Anne Boleyn, receiving a new ball and lightly bouncing it on the grass, was smiling leisurely. Olivia gritted her teeth.
Strong and high balls were no problem at all with her forehand. But the situation was different with her backhand.
I just need time to adjust.
Yes. That's all it is.
Get a grip. Han Ji-an.
Olivia shook her head briefly and looked straight ahead.
Don't get swept away.
Like a beast enjoying cornering its prey, Anne Boleyn stalled for time with a strange smile.
Then, she put on a cold face and threw the ball up.
Here it comes!
