CHapter 09
The Rose Festival was most famous for the legend that couples who watched the fireworks together on the final night would remain in love forever.
Perhaps it was because many of those couples went on to marry, but the rumor had spread widely among the people. That night had become something of a pilgrimage for those newly in love.
It was a spontaneous celebration born of romantic hearts, and as such, the scale of the event grew larger each year. It had grown so grand that people from other countries traveled to see it.
“Marriage doesn’t necessarily mean eternal love. Yet the ignorant masses go wild over baseless tales.”
“It’s the desire to believe that makes people ignorant. They’re always desperate to cling to something intangible—makes fools out of them.”
Franz wore a cynical smile on his lips.
“It’s childish, but… as Blair said, it’s a fairly difficult bet, no doubt.”
At Marco’s comment, Richard opened his mouth to object—but then hesitated.
“…Yeah. It’s ridiculous, but not exactly an easy game.”
“So what, are you going to try it?”
Andrew shook his head in disbelief.
“Tch. Who said that? It’s just—since Lady Clarence is the target, those guys won’t have it easy. That’s all.”
With Andrew and Marco both giving him suspicious looks, Richard snapped back as expected.
“But really, Blair’s getting too much leeway. You’re being too soft on him. He’s starting to push the limits.”
“It’s fine, Andrew. He’s entertaining enough.”
At Franz’s calm dismissal, Andrew suddenly remembered something.
“Oh, right. Who is Iella Clarence? Since when did the Clarence viscountcy have two daughters?”
“You’re just now figuring that out? Tsk. And you call yourself a young marquess…”
Richard beat his chest in frustration, clearly exasperated.
“Unlike someone who memorizes the names of all the women in Bilne, not all of us keep tabs. I bet these two didn’t know either.”
As Andrew gestured, Franz appeared just as clueless, while Marco responded calmly.
“I know her.”
“But your ‘knowing’ probably doesn’t mean what I mean by ‘knowing.’ Whatever it means, I’m still surprised.”
Andrew looked faintly surprised, but that was the end of it.
“Of course not. I’ve never even spoken a word to her.”
Marco had first seen Iella Clarence at the royal ball last autumn. Like a wallflower, she stayed tucked in a corner—quiet, almost invisible—until she vanished without notice. And she remained that way ever since.
Though she had debuted into society some time ago, she rarely showed up at gatherings, and even when she did, she was so unremarkable that no one remembered her.
She wasn’t overly giddy like other young ladies her age, nor did she laugh too freely. She never made small talk with men unnecessarily, nor did she act overly polite.
Most women liked to flaunt their appearance and chatter, but Iella was different. Always neat, always calm. She didn’t smell of cloying perfume but carried the crisp scent of grass and a faint trace of oil paint. She was… unusual.
Unless you paid close attention, you wouldn’t even notice her. Yet at the same time, she exuded a quiet strength that made her difficult to approach. Perhaps it was her poised posture or composed demeanor.
“You too, Marco? So do I!”
Delighted to find a kindred spirit, Richard burst out enthusiastically, while Andrew grimaced.
“Are we still out here on the balcony?”
He muttered with a disgusted expression. Franz lifted one corner of his lips in agreement.
Richard, unfazed, continued babbling excitedly.
“She definitely gave off a tough vibe, but I had no idea she was such a legendary ice queen! No wonder those guys are on edge. I heard some of them initially had their eyes on Miss Louisa but ended up falling for Lady Clarence instead.”
“Mind your own business.”
Andrew scoffed.
“Still, it’s entertaining. I wonder who’ll win this year’s club trophy, and who’ll get to stand by Iella Clarence’s side.”
“You should write a novel.”
Shaking his head, Andrew glanced at Franz and added,
“Franz, make some space for Richard at Publica. He’d make a great gossip columnist.”
“Sorry, but we only publish factual and evidence-based articles now. My apologies, Richard.”
“Oh, come on! This is a matter of the club trophy! Of course I’m curious!”
Red-faced, Richard fumed while Franz patted his shoulder and began walking toward the academy’s main building. Though he was now at the university, he still visited the academy once a week for mentoring sessions in management.
“Cut it out, Richard. This is childish.”
Once the three of them were left alone, Andrew frowned at Richard.
“Hey!”
“Whoa there, Richard. I’m no prophet, but I’ll tell you this—I’m sure no one’s getting the trophy this year.”
Marco’s words drew questioning stares from the others.
“I mean it.”
He gave a slight shrug and smiled.
“I think Blair had a point. It’s not easy, and nobody’s immune.”
“Come on. But if it’s Franz, it’s a different story, isn’t it?”
“Who knows.”
It was a vague answer, but the implication was clear—even Franz wouldn’t succeed.
Though Richard didn’t know Lady Clarence well, he found himself agreeing with Marco’s view.
“The point isn’t the outcome. Franz doesn’t even intend to participate in the first place. If Marco’s right, no one gets the trophy this year. That’s the conclusion, isn’t it?”
Richard had been thinking the same thing not long ago, but Andrew’s smugness made him want to disagree.
“Who knows? Franz might change his mind.”
“And why would he do that?”
“Hmm… Because leaving a gap in the trophy history would look weird…?”
Even as he spoke, he laughed awkwardly at his own flimsy excuse, hiding behind a cough.
“Good grief.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead and clicked his tongue.
“What if—by some miracle—Franz does show up with Lady Iella?”
Just when they thought Richard had backed down, he returned with more speculation. Andrew looked scandalized.
“Marco, talk some sense into this guy.”
Marco, however, remained a passive observer. His expression said it all—he was enjoying the show.
These twins got along fine most of the time, but when they clashed, the results were pure chaos. Marco had grown used to it over the years.
“Then shall we bet Ivette?”
“Ivette? Are you out of your mind?!”
“You scared?”
Richard’s provocation made Andrew groan and mess up his hair.
“And what will you bet? Your grandfather’s summer villa?”
Richard faltered. The summer villa he inherited from Grandfather…?
“Hmph. Forget it.”
At his hesitation, Andrew scoffed.
“Figures.”
“Fine, whatever. Like Andrew said, it’s not even that important.”
Despite Marco’s attempt to de-escalate, Richard was already fired up and refused to back down.
“Fine! I’ll bet! You put up Ivette—and Lois, too!”
When Richard mentioned Ivette’s partner, Lois, Marco was stunned.
“Are you insane?”
Lois was the top leading sire of the Bloodmare line—a prestigious stallion bred through three generations of elite lineage. It was absurd to wager something so valuable, and Marco couldn’t believe Richard even suggested it.
“I bet Franz will join the bet and win the trophy!”
“Richard, that’s going too far…”
Marco tried again to stop him, but it was pointless. When Richard got excited, he lost all sense of reason. He’d regret it in a few hours—but for now, he wouldn’t budge.
“Haa…”
Andrew sighed deeply, then considered it. It was a guaranteed win for him. No reason to refuse.
Heh. Might as well play along. I’ve got nothing to lose.
With a smirk of superiority, Andrew turned to Richard.
“Deal. But if you lose, don’t come whining to me.”
“Save it! That villa’s a gift from my grandfather—no way I’ll lose it to you!”
“Seriously. Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk Franz. No guilt-tripping or emotional manipulation, got it?”
“Right back at you.”
Their banter was casual, but the fierce glint in their eyes showed they were dead serious.
“Marco, you in?”
At Richard’s question, Marco waved it off.
“Nah. Someone has to stay objective. I’ll stay neutral.”
“Fine.”
Despite his words, Marco’s thoughts mirrored Andrew’s.
Franz probably wouldn’t change his mind. And even if he did—highly unlikely—he wouldn’t win the trophy.
Of course, Andrew would never admit that last part.
However you looked at it, Richard had the losing hand. And yet…
Marco couldn’t help rooting for him.
Maybe it was human nature to support the underdog in a hopeless fight.
The Rose Festival was most famous for the legend that couples who watched the fireworks together on the final night would remain in love forever.
Perhaps it was because many of those couples went on to marry, but the rumor had spread widely among the people. That night had become something of a pilgrimage for those newly in love.
It was a spontaneous celebration born of romantic hearts, and as such, the scale of the event grew larger each year. It had grown so grand that people from other countries traveled to see it.
“Marriage doesn’t necessarily mean eternal love. Yet the ignorant masses go wild over baseless tales.”
“It’s the desire to believe that makes people ignorant. They’re always desperate to cling to something intangible—makes fools out of them.”
Franz wore a cynical smile on his lips.
“It’s childish, but… as Blair said, it’s a fairly difficult bet, no doubt.”
At Marco’s comment, Richard opened his mouth to object—but then hesitated.
“…Yeah. It’s ridiculous, but not exactly an easy game.”
“So what, are you going to try it?”
Andrew shook his head in disbelief.
“Tch. Who said that? It’s just—since Lady Clarence is the target, those guys won’t have it easy. That’s all.”
With Andrew and Marco both giving him suspicious looks, Richard snapped back as expected.
“But really, Blair’s getting too much leeway. You’re being too soft on him. He’s starting to push the limits.”
“It’s fine, Andrew. He’s entertaining enough.”
At Franz’s calm dismissal, Andrew suddenly remembered something.
“Oh, right. Who is Iella Clarence? Since when did the Clarence viscountcy have two daughters?”
“You’re just now figuring that out? Tsk. And you call yourself a young marquess…”
Richard beat his chest in frustration, clearly exasperated.
“Unlike someone who memorizes the names of all the women in Bilne, not all of us keep tabs. I bet these two didn’t know either.”
As Andrew gestured, Franz appeared just as clueless, while Marco responded calmly.
“I know her.”
“But your ‘knowing’ probably doesn’t mean what I mean by ‘knowing.’ Whatever it means, I’m still surprised.”
Andrew looked faintly surprised, but that was the end of it.
“Of course not. I’ve never even spoken a word to her.”
Marco had first seen Iella Clarence at the royal ball last autumn. Like a wallflower, she stayed tucked in a corner—quiet, almost invisible—until she vanished without notice. And she remained that way ever since.
Though she had debuted into society some time ago, she rarely showed up at gatherings, and even when she did, she was so unremarkable that no one remembered her.
She wasn’t overly giddy like other young ladies her age, nor did she laugh too freely. She never made small talk with men unnecessarily, nor did she act overly polite.
Most women liked to flaunt their appearance and chatter, but Iella was different. Always neat, always calm. She didn’t smell of cloying perfume but carried the crisp scent of grass and a faint trace of oil paint. She was… unusual.
Unless you paid close attention, you wouldn’t even notice her. Yet at the same time, she exuded a quiet strength that made her difficult to approach. Perhaps it was her poised posture or composed demeanor.
“You too, Marco? So do I!”
Delighted to find a kindred spirit, Richard burst out enthusiastically, while Andrew grimaced.
“Are we still out here on the balcony?”
He muttered with a disgusted expression. Franz lifted one corner of his lips in agreement.
Richard, unfazed, continued babbling excitedly.
“She definitely gave off a tough vibe, but I had no idea she was such a legendary ice queen! No wonder those guys are on edge. I heard some of them initially had their eyes on Miss Louisa but ended up falling for Lady Clarence instead.”
“Mind your own business.”
Andrew scoffed.
“Still, it’s entertaining. I wonder who’ll win this year’s club trophy, and who’ll get to stand by Iella Clarence’s side.”
“You should write a novel.”
Shaking his head, Andrew glanced at Franz and added,
“Franz, make some space for Richard at Publica. He’d make a great gossip columnist.”
“Sorry, but we only publish factual and evidence-based articles now. My apologies, Richard.”
“Oh, come on! This is a matter of the club trophy! Of course I’m curious!”
Red-faced, Richard fumed while Franz patted his shoulder and began walking toward the academy’s main building. Though he was now at the university, he still visited the academy once a week for mentoring sessions in management.
“Cut it out, Richard. This is childish.”
Once the three of them were left alone, Andrew frowned at Richard.
“Hey!”
“Whoa there, Richard. I’m no prophet, but I’ll tell you this—I’m sure no one’s getting the trophy this year.”
Marco’s words drew questioning stares from the others.
“I mean it.”
He gave a slight shrug and smiled.
“I think Blair had a point. It’s not easy, and nobody’s immune.”
“Come on. But if it’s Franz, it’s a different story, isn’t it?”
“Who knows.”
It was a vague answer, but the implication was clear—even Franz wouldn’t succeed.
Though Richard didn’t know Lady Clarence well, he found himself agreeing with Marco’s view.
“The point isn’t the outcome. Franz doesn’t even intend to participate in the first place. If Marco’s right, no one gets the trophy this year. That’s the conclusion, isn’t it?”
Richard had been thinking the same thing not long ago, but Andrew’s smugness made him want to disagree.
“Who knows? Franz might change his mind.”
“And why would he do that?”
“Hmm… Because leaving a gap in the trophy history would look weird…?”
Even as he spoke, he laughed awkwardly at his own flimsy excuse, hiding behind a cough.
“Good grief.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead and clicked his tongue.
“What if—by some miracle—Franz does show up with Lady Iella?”
Just when they thought Richard had backed down, he returned with more speculation. Andrew looked scandalized.
“Marco, talk some sense into this guy.”
Marco, however, remained a passive observer. His expression said it all—he was enjoying the show.
These twins got along fine most of the time, but when they clashed, the results were pure chaos. Marco had grown used to it over the years.
“Then shall we bet Ivette?”
“Ivette? Are you out of your mind?!”
“You scared?”
Richard’s provocation made Andrew groan and mess up his hair.
“And what will you bet? Your grandfather’s summer villa?”
Richard faltered. The summer villa he inherited from Grandfather…?
“Hmph. Forget it.”
At his hesitation, Andrew scoffed.
“Figures.”
“Fine, whatever. Like Andrew said, it’s not even that important.”
Despite Marco’s attempt to de-escalate, Richard was already fired up and refused to back down.
“Fine! I’ll bet! You put up Ivette—and Lois, too!”
When Richard mentioned Ivette’s partner, Lois, Marco was stunned.
“Are you insane?”
Lois was the top leading sire of the Bloodmare line—a prestigious stallion bred through three generations of elite lineage. It was absurd to wager something so valuable, and Marco couldn’t believe Richard even suggested it.
“I bet Franz will join the bet and win the trophy!”
“Richard, that’s going too far…”
Marco tried again to stop him, but it was pointless. When Richard got excited, he lost all sense of reason. He’d regret it in a few hours—but for now, he wouldn’t budge.
“Haa…”
Andrew sighed deeply, then considered it. It was a guaranteed win for him. No reason to refuse.
Heh. Might as well play along. I’ve got nothing to lose.
With a smirk of superiority, Andrew turned to Richard.
“Deal. But if you lose, don’t come whining to me.”
“Save it! That villa’s a gift from my grandfather—no way I’ll lose it to you!”
“Seriously. Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk Franz. No guilt-tripping or emotional manipulation, got it?”
“Right back at you.”
Their banter was casual, but the fierce glint in their eyes showed they were dead serious.
“Marco, you in?”
At Richard’s question, Marco waved it off.
“Nah. Someone has to stay objective. I’ll stay neutral.”
“Fine.”
Despite his words, Marco’s thoughts mirrored Andrew’s.
Franz probably wouldn’t change his mind. And even if he did—highly unlikely—he wouldn’t win the trophy.
Of course, Andrew would never admit that last part.
However you looked at it, Richard had the losing hand. And yet…
Marco couldn’t help rooting for him.
Maybe it was human nature to support the underdog in a hopeless fight.
