Chapter 52
“Ah, come to think of it—two years ago, there was this contestant with the most remarkable freckles. Her hair was so curly that even combing it looked like a battle, and she was taller than all the others. But when she smiled, she was like a sunflower in midsummer. I saw those freckles as her charm point and convinced the other judges to award her first place. The crowd loved her. For a while, young women were even drawing fake freckles on their faces because of her!”
The man, who had gotten a little too excited telling his story, coughed to hide his embarrassment.
“So what I mean is—we shouldn’t overlook the details of our male contestants either. I’m not just going to fill the stage with brawny young men. If there’s a boy with deer-like eyes, I’ll be sure to—”
“Accepted!”
Variety was important. And so was the eye that could see the strength that outshined flaws. Marien grabbed the male judge’s hand and shook it enthusiastically.
Then she moved to the next person.
The previous candidate had just been accepted—would she pass as well, or taste the bitter cup of rejection?
The man in rimless glasses, now in line, spoke with a determined expression before Marien could even ask him a question.
“I will pour water on the contestants.”
Everyone looked at him in confusion. But the speaker went on unbothered.
“I’m not only a judge, but also on the planning committee. It’s a summer festival, after all. Imagine contestants in white shirts walking through pouring rain—that’s the kind of stage I want to create.”
“My, my… you must be quite the scholar. That academic ribbon of yours must be long enough to wrap around the capital twice.”
“Even so, I’m the most educated person in my family,” he said proudly, pushing his glasses up with a smile.
Marien extended her hand. “Accepted.”
“I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”
Their eyes met with a spark of understanding.
And thus, the judging panel was complete.
Only three days remained until the summer festival. But if they moved the beauty contest—usually held on the first day—to the last day instead, they could keep accepting contestants longer.
The other committee members hurriedly jotted down Marien’s suggestions.
“If you act too timidly, no one will sign up. You have to go bold, like it’s been planned from the start—brazenly, confidently!”
She instructed them to design the promotional posters that very day—bright, dazzling, and impossible to miss.
“Don’t just post them at gentlemen’s clubs,” she continued. “Spread them evenly—training halls, tailor shops, barbers, libraries. Everywhere.”
Then she snapped her fingers to get their attention.
“And here’s the important part. For places where a lot of women gather, make a different poster. Add a line like: ‘Thirty-one beautiful boys await the day they’ll meet you.’”
The committee members, heads buried in their notebooks, began to raise questions.
“Does it have to be exactly thirty-one?”
“Do they have to be boys?”
“…That was just an example,” Marien replied patiently.
“The point is—each woman should believe there’s at least one contestant who’s her type. And that she must come if she wants to see him win. Get it?”
She clapped her hands once, sharply. All heads turned toward her.
“Everyone, what’s our goal?”
“…To keep our necks intact?”
“Well, that’s important too,” she said with a smile. “But if we pull this off, we might even get rewarded.”
Even so, the judges didn’t look convinced.
Marien pressed again, louder. “What’s our goal?”
“…What should it be?”
“To secure excellent contestants—and to fill the stands with buzzing women! Grandmothers, aunts, nieces—three generations in the audience! We’ll have them talking all summer long about the gorgeous men in wet shirts! Understood?”
Marien’s eyes blazed with conviction. Slowly, the others were swept up in her fervor.
The argument that women’s hearts are the people’s hearts began to sound more and more persuasive.
Someone murmured to themselves, “My sister will probably line up at dawn to get a good seat.”
Marien took a big spoonful of rainbow-colored ice cream. The sweet-tart flavor of summer fruit melted over her tongue.
Ahh, this is the life. A snack after fieldwork—perfect.
“Tasty?”
“Yep!”
“Give me a bite.”
Vaileon smiled, already leaning forward to receive it. Marien looked around nervously.
“What if people see us?”
“I’ll just say I was holding something in my hands and you were kind enough to feed me.”
“But… you’re not holding anything.”
“Am I not?”
He glanced at his own ice cream. Unlike Marien’s, which was in a cup, his came in a cone—one hand completely free.
“This thing’s heavier than it looks. Double scoop, two flavors, you know.”
He mimed lifting it with exaggerated effort. The cone rose a few centimeters, and he sighed dramatically. For a split second, Marien imagined a soft brown fox tail swishing behind him.
“Marien, hurry. I’m dying to know what it tastes like.”
If she fed him quickly, maybe this indecent scene would end sooner.
She hurriedly scooped up a bite and held it out to him.
He looked her straight in the eyes as he ate.
Was that a habit? He’d done the same thing last time. Didn’t he realize that staring like that made all sorts of strange, fluttery thoughts pop up in one’s head?
The rainbow ice cream disappeared into his mouth. He savored it slowly, then whispered—
“Darling.”
Marien’s eyes went wide.
“You called me that earlier, didn’t you? Where’d you learn such naughty tricks?”
“I—I didn’t learn it anywhere!”
“Then I’ll have to return the favor.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice even more.
“Darling.”
This time the word was barely sound—more like breath. It brushed her ear like silk, tickling her eardrum. Marien shivered.
“You shivered. Was it that good?”
“It tickled.”
“Just tickled?”
“Ugh…”
Should she admit it?
It wasn’t just ticklish. A faint thrill had run down her spine, making her body shrink involuntarily. She glared at him.
“I knew you could hold a grudge, but taking revenge on me like this is low.”
“Sorry. You glared, so I thought you really hated it.”
Well… it wasn’t that she hated it, exactly.
“Anyway, now that you’re a special judge, you’re going to have a rough few days.”
“Ah, well. What can I say? My talent’s like a needle in a sack—it just can’t stay hidden.”
Even if the festival went well, Marien knew she wouldn’t be praised.
The cheers would go to someone else—the official organizer, the Second Prince.
She didn’t like it one bit. All the work for her, all the credit for someone else.
“So why did you keep asking my opinion today?”
Thanks to that, everyone’s eyes had been on her. It had pumped her up so much she’d ended up proposing the first-ever Handsome Men Contest for the summer festival.
She’d accepted the judge position, chosen her co-judges, and directed the promotion strategy—all in one day.
Now, until the festival was over, the weight would all fall on her shoulders.
“You said it yourself—you’re exceptional.”
“Well, I am, that’s true. But it felt like you were giving me a stage to shine on, you know?”
According to Odette, Vaileon had claimed Marien’s schemes as his own ideas—to protect her from political attention.
He knew better than anyone how Odette operated. If Marien caught the Fourth Princess’s eye, she’d be used as a pawn without fail.
And Vaileon had been right.
A stable boy’s report had led to Marien being summoned to the Fourth Princess’s palace. The princess had told her not to break up with Vaileon until her “great work” was done—and in such a tone that made refusal impossible.
Afterward, Marien had returned to the Ministry of State. She hadn’t told Vaileon about her meeting with Odette.
So his behavior today—drawing attention to her instead of hiding her—was… a little off target.
The contest day would be attended by the Second Prince and other royals. As a special judge sitting on the panel, Marien would inevitably be noticed. And Vaileon knew that perfectly well.
“Marien, you were summoned by the Fourth Princess, weren’t you?”
Vaileon took a bite of his ice cream.
“When you came back that day, your body smelled faintly of… a northern specialty.”
What?
Marien froze, spoon still in her mouth.
A northern specialty scent? That already sounded unpleasant. Why was that on her? She certainly hadn’t given permission!
“The perfume in Her Highness’s reception room was a gift from Duke Blackwood. They say it smells of icy wind, branches, and snowfields.”
“So everyone noticed that, huh…”
“The finer the quality, the longer it lasts. Even when diluted in the air, the scent lingers.”
So she’d unknowingly left behind a clue about where she’d been—and it all came from that damn northern perfume.
How is it that that man manages to get in my way even when he’s not around?
Marien silently cursed the northern duke she hadn’t seen in ages. He was always trouble.
“Were you scared?”
“Huh?”
“You’re afraid of the princess, aren’t you? That’s why you try to keep your distance. Being summoned alone must’ve been terrifying.”
It had been. Her sheer presence had been like a crushing weight—Marien had felt flattened beneath it. She’d even had muscle aches the next day.
“It was scary, yeah. But she said if I do well, she’ll reward me handsomely. And also…”
Marien glanced at Vaileon cautiously.
“And also?”
“She told me not to break up… on my own.”
“Oh dear.”
Their ice creams had almost melted away. They both hurried to finish what was left—maybe to buy a little time, too.
“When Her Highness announced she’d marry that man with hair as black as his heart, I didn’t say a word.”
Their eyes met. Vaileon smiled faintly.
“Maybe I caught it from you. I seem to be developing feelings for black-haired people, too.”
