Yet, there was still another master.
—The Ballroom. Changing Area Entrance Corner—
Misha was stealthily shifting her body, merging her petite frame almost completely into the darkness of the corner.
Her chest heaved violently, her light brown eyes filled with unmistakable panic and anxiety.
“Calm down... Misha, you can't panic, absolutely not...” She extended her slightly cold fingers, gripping the rough edge of the stone sculpture, her palms drenched in cold sweat.
She had come here tonight to carry out a sacred and secret mission—an instruction personally handed down by Miss Loris.
Back in their dormitory during the evening, Miss Loris had commanded her in her usual cool, haughty voice that she so deeply adored: 【Before the opening of the second half, sneak into the ladies' changing room, cut the straps of Liliana's spare light blue dress meant for the second half, and while you're at it, hide her shoes.】
As a humble eldest daughter of a viscount, a bottom-tier existence who could only act as a “villainess's follower” at the academy, Misha knew only too well what this move entailed.
This was a bullying tactic that could completely cast a commoner girl into the abyss!
If this had been the past, or if the order had come from anyone else, Misha might have felt a trace of reluctance or resistance in her heart.
But now, the one giving the order was Miss Loris.
And since the target was Liliana, she actually felt a sigh of relief!
Miss Loris definitely hadn't fallen for her. Otherwise, why would she do such a thing?
In Misha's little brain, which was already utterly blinded by heavy rose-tinted filters, everything Miss Loris did and every word she spoke absolutely had unfathomable, noble, and far-reaching considerations.
Even if this action appeared utterly evil to outsiders, as long as she could be the sharpest and most obedient dirty blade in Miss Loris's hand, Misha would do it gladly.
She even felt a sense of tragic heroism, akin to a martyr, welling up inside her: If an evil person had to take the blame for ruining the dress tomorrow, then let it be her, Misha Noren!
However, the actual difficulty far exceeded her imagination.
True to its reputation as a premier social venue hosted by the royal family, the Royal Ballroom's security level tonight was despair-inducing.
Clack, clack, clack.
Students from the Swordsmanship Department, dressed in dark blue formal uniforms with ceremonial longswords hanging from their waists, slowly walked past from the other end of the corridor.
The expressions of the four boys were exceptionally solemn.
Their hands rested on their sword hilts at all times, the silver scabbards reflecting a cold and dangerous gleam under the lights.
This was already the third patrol squad to pass by the outer perimeter of the central changing area in the past five minutes.
“Damn it... why does the security have to be so tight tonight of all nights...”
Misha bit her lower lip hard.
Since the preparation rooms of the various families were partitioned by noble rank, the entrance to the communal preparation room was in the most prominent position in the corridor. If she so much as stepped out a single foot, she would absolutely be pinned to the ground on the spot within a tenth of a second by those sharp-eyed Swordsmanship Department students.
After all, her family's noble rank was practically at the very bottom.
Inferiority, cowardice, and fear—these negative emotions belonging to a low-tier noble girl surged into her mind like a tide, almost crushing Misha completely.
She even felt an urge to give up and slip back to the main ballroom.
“No... I can't!”
Misha shook her head vigorously, fiercely denying the thought in her mind.
“Misha, what are you thinking?! Miss Loris giving you such an important task is her greatest sign of trust in you! If Miss Loris's plan fails because of your cowardice, what right do you have to remain as her most loyal follower?!”
“For Miss Loris! Never back down!!”
The young girl's gaze became exceptionally determined in this instant, her once-trembling body tensing up completely, like a moth ready to throw itself into a blazing fire at any moment.
Just as the atmosphere in the entire central changing area grew incredibly tense and Misha was about to steel herself to force her way through the corridor's patrol line, suddenly—
“—Aaahhh!!! My gown!!! My handmade Brussels lace ballgown for the second half!!”
“Pervert!!! Creep!!! A creep snuck into the ladies' changing room!! Someone, help!!”
Two ear-piercing, high-pitched shrieks, loud enough to nearly shatter the glass of the wall sconces, exploded without warning from the communal preparation room at the deepest part of the corridor.
In that instant, the air in the entire corridor was brutally shattered by these screams.
“What was that noise?!”
“It's over by the communal preparation room! Miss Horn is calling for help!!”
“A creep snuck in?! Damn it! Flank him! We absolutely cannot let some pervert startle the noble ladies!!”
The Swordsmanship Department patrol squad that had been strolling back and forth before Misha with orderly steps instantly erupted into furious motion, like a pack of wolves whose tails had been stepped on.
The faces of the four Swordsmanship Department boys changed drastically.
With a shring, they drew their ceremonial longswords in unison. Without a single moment of hesitation, they held their swords and charged frantically toward the deep end of the corridor with heavy, hurried steps as if their pants were on fire.
Not only this squad, but also several other Swordsmanship Department squads stationed along both sides of the corridor, the courtyard entrance, and even the back door were completely alerted by this earth-shattering, amplified scream of “catch the pervert.”
For a moment, the sound of leather boots pounding the floor, the crisp clatter of metal swords striking uniforms, and the endless shrieking of the wicked women filled the air, sweeping toward the deepest parts of the west corridor.
Off to catch the creep they went.
Within moments, the outer perimeter of the central changing area, which had been packed tighter than an iron barrel, was miraculously left completely undefended, as empty as a ghost town.
Hiding in the shadow of the stone sculpture, Misha stared dumbfounded at this dramatic scene.
“What... what's going on?”
Although her brain was temporarily fried, unable to comprehend which noble, unsung hero had gone and played the creep in the ladies' changing room, Misha's keen intuition, honed over years of acting as a follower, lit up instantly at this moment.
Her chance had come!
This was a godsend! It was a chaotic distraction specially crafted by the gods to ensure the success of Miss Loris's plan!
“Wonderful... Miss Loris, I will definitely complete the mission!”
Misha didn't hesitate for a second.
She lowered her head and ran forward swiftly.
The gentle breeze in the corridor ruffled her hair. The door to the preparation stall that symbolized success was now only three steps away.
One step.
Two steps.
However, at the most critical split second, just as Misha was about to extend her right hand to touch the heavy walnut door handle,
Whoosh.
Without warning, a hand—excessively large, slender, powerful, and carrying the faint scent of cold leather and rust—thrust out abruptly from the shadow of the stone pillar diagonally behind her.
Before Misha could make any reaction whatsoever, that large hand clamped down with absolute precision and crushing force directly onto the shoulder of her gown, like a swooping hawk.
The grip was incredibly strong.
So strong, in fact, that it felt like an icy iron clamp, locking her entire body right where she stood. Even moving her skirt became an impossible dream.
It felt as if Misha had plummeted into an ice cave; the blood in her body ran completely cold.
She was completely doomed.
She had been caught.
She stood frozen in place, cold sweat instantly drenching her back.
She didn't even dare to breathe, turning her head inch by inch with a near-despairing terror.
She looked up, tracing the path of that long, slender hand.
The first thing to enter her view was an impeccably tailored, dark-colored Swordsmanship Department formal uniform.
And above those broad, upright shoulders, a head of neat black short hair looked somewhat cold and sharp in the dim light of the ballroom's wall sconces.
Waldenburg von Edmond.
The cool, black-haired swordsman simply spoke:
“Miss Noren.”
“Everyone else is running to the deep end to catch the pervert. So why is it that you, of all people, are trying to slip into the private changing room at this exact moment?”
“...” Misha stammered, tears welling in her eyes as she choked on her words.
...
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