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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 56
Chapter Title: Letters and Tennis Lessons
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"Representative Cynthia, you've received a ton of letters. Not just from Lutemia's social elite, but from the upper crust of the Media Kingdom as well."
My excellent aide, Dalia—who always addresses me as Representative—brought in a mountain of correspondence.
I skimmed through the letters.
Rather than genuine admiration for my remarkable achievements and a desire to meet... most of them seemed like schemes to snag even a few crumbs.
"Now that you've started your social activities, why not host a social gathering at home?"
"As expected from my strategist. That's a great idea."
"Please prepare a guest list for the social event. I'll use it as a reference for building connections going forward."
I picked up my fountain pen and asked Dalia,
"The Brigadier General handles the guest list for the military folks on his own, right?"
"You'll coordinate and decide together."
She leaned in close, her eyes sparkling as she whispered,
"In the capital's social scene—away from the battlefield—the wives of military officers are usually the real power players."
A soldier's rank determines his spouse's status, and catching the eye of a superior's wife can make or break a promotion.
Thank goodness I was married to a general. Otherwise, I'd have to pull out all the stops with mercenary gigs and talent shows.
I went through the letters in front of me, first weeding out those to exclude.
Among them were, of course, people from Media whose faces I remembered.
Dalia watched me sort them and asked what criteria I was using.
"These are the emotional baggage types, these are the conflict-stirrers, these are the shady gossipers..."
In stark contrast to my cheerful tone, Dalia's expression grew increasingly somber.
"...You've must have had it really tough dealing with people's prejudices all this time."
I laughed it off casually.
"Nah. People burdened with prejudices always have to prove their harmlessness... but just like now, anyone can become a target of judgment. Maybe I'm one of the few who can easily tell malice from goodwill."
It's better than mistaking a faker for a good person and getting betrayed.
Dalia lowered her gaze and let out a sigh.
"I used to judge you based on prejudices too, Representative. I still feel ashamed about it."
"It's fine. No one's free of prejudices. And a skewed perspective eventually tilts toward genuine feelings. You saw my true self and reached out first, didn't you?"
I once thought Dalia hated me and had spiked my cocoa with laxatives. Prejudices breed prejudices, but if you're both good people at heart, misunderstandings clear up eventually.
For some reason, Dalia's cheeks flushed red as she cleared her throat with a cough.
"Thank you. And... I put this together with Aide Diego as a reference for your social activities."
"Thank you so much!"
I took the paper she'd meticulously prepared.
"Lots of outdoor activities..."
Parties, theater, and opera were mostly evenings, while daytime was tennis, hunting, horseback riding, golf—all active pursuits.
These were tough for me, vulnerable to sunlight. No 'lounging in a warm bed munching snacks and gossiping'?
"Dalia, I'm not good at any of these."
They were basic accomplishments for nobility, but I couldn't admit to being a former maid, so I added an excuse.
"Living in the countryside meant no opportunities for this stuff."
"I understand. But most are skills learned from childhood."
Dalia's expression turned a bit complicated. Hiring a tutor now might stir up rumors.
She added,
"You can learn them step by step from now on. The military folks are playing tennis during free time today. Why not give it a try?"
At her suggestion, I glanced out the blazing window.
Free time started at 4 p.m., so the building shadows would cover the court by then.
My arm wound had healed nicely too, so I'd ask Masera to teach me.
I imagined my kind husband gently teaching tennis and his clumsy but eager wife.
He'd been pretty gentle making the cat house.
Resolved, I changed into comfortable clothes and headed out.
But contrary to my vision of a sweet tennis lesson, Masera was too busy betting on matches with the others.
"2 to 1!"
"Woo-hoo!"
Seeing the crowd in their light summer attire made me feel oddly envious. Playing tennis in short sleeves in this heat—were they snow people?
Masera was in a short-sleeved polo too.
Always seeing him in formal uniforms, the casual look felt refreshingly new.
"Oh... Ooh?"
As I watched, his arm muscles and those vein-popping forearms with every swing made my eyes widen.
'But this isn't the time.'
Snapping out of it, I approached a resting non-commissioned officer and asked him to teach me tennis.
Ten minutes into the lesson...
"You should try a different hobby."
The NCO suggested I give up after my nonstop whiffs.
I asked with a dejected face,
"Am I that hopeless?"
"Yes. You're a natural klutz."
The brutally straightforward T-type NCO nodded. No room for hope, huh.
After he left, I practiced alone with the racket. Had to hit the ball first.
But no matter what, it wasn't working, and reality started sinking in. Should I just quit?
Then, someone placed a hand on my shoulder.
"That's not how you do it."
Masera looked down at me with his usual impassive face.
"Hold it like this."
He grasped my hand on the racket. His body pressed close behind me, which was a bit distracting.
As he guided my wrist into a swing, his warm breath brushed my nape.
"How's the injury? You're not overdoing it, are you?"
At the whisper, I shrugged and smiled awkwardly.
"It's fine."
'But my mood feels weird...'
My pulse quickened, cheeks warming slightly. Not the emotion a student should feel.
"Let me try."
Shaking my head, I quickly stepped back to put distance between us.
He lightly tossed a ball, but my racket still missed.
After three tries, Masera just stood there staring at me.
"Hmm... It's not working, right? Should I give up?"
I asked glumly.
'Yes, no talent, so quit.' Is that coming?
As I gauged his reaction, he surprised me with a gentle tone.
"It's okay."
"Huh?"
"No one starts out good. Keep trying until you get it."
It wasn't the start; I'd practiced an hour... I decided not to mention it.
He showed me the ball in his hand and advised,
"I'll toss it slowly, so just focus on the ball."
I narrowed my eyes and concentrated.
He tossed it slower and softer than before.
Thwack—
"Whoa!"
Not a great hit, but I clipped the edge of the racket.
"Well done."
I looked at Masera, who praised me for such a small thing.
The sun had shifted, orange afternoon light caressing his hair. His usually sharp eyes seemed softer, rounder.
Then, his relaxed lips suddenly tightened self-consciously.
"Saying things I don't usually say. You seem like someone who doesn't know the word quit."
He spoke like it was an excuse.
"In your eyes, Brigadier General, am I someone who never gives up?"
He turned away without answering my question.
Is he running off without a reply to avoid an awkward rom-com moment?
I chased after him as he started to leave.
"More importantly, we should discuss the invitations. When are you free?"
"After dinner. I'll come to the bedroom."
Masera replied curtly and walked off.
I stared blankly at his retreating back and muttered,
"...The bedroom?"
Just a wholesome chat about guests, but why does it sound so suggestive?
I shivered and rubbed my arms.
