Summon the Modern Lady!

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Through the safe and joyful streets of Rudenheischt Square, the vibrance of the district greeted every passerby. Stores were lined with extravagant displays: gilded trims, bright fabrics draped over entrances, and eye-catching signs adorned with gold leaf lettering. Yet, amidst this grandeur, one shop stood out in quiet simplicity.

Oliver's Cup of Flowers and Coffee.

Its facade was modest, decorated only with natural bouquets of varying blooms. A trellis of ivy curled around the doorway, and the light scent of flowers carried on the breeze. Despite its humble exterior, the place was alive with energy— its charm clearly unmatched.

"A cup of latte, please!"

"Oliver, can I get a refill?"

"Look! The butterflies are glowing!"

"Excuse me, can I get a bouquet of peonies? With lasting magic, please?"

Inside, the establishment was divided into two areas.

To the left, a small yet flourishing garden and flower service welcomed visitors with bursts of color and fragrance. To the right, an elegant coffee shop merged with towering bookshelves, creating a haven of calm.

The cream-colored walls—simple, regal, and refined—seemed to embrace patrons, offering respite from the outside world. Each table was outfitted with state-of-the-art noise reduction magic, reducing the hum of conversations to a mere white noise.

For some, it was a place to meet friends.

For others, a place to find peace.

And for Riverus Arenied, it was starting to become a headache.

"Oliver~ can you give me roses?"

The sing-song voice floated from the garden area. A group of noble young ladies sat there, their laughter light and melodic, yet grating to his ears.

Riverus— disguised as Oliver, the beloved owner of the shop —stifled a sigh behind his smile. This was the fourth time they'd summoned him, waving off the server originally assigned to their table with petty complaints.

"Yes? What is it?" ...this time?

He kept his tone polite, though internally he grumbled.

Even now, in disguise, his persona seemed to charm everyone around him effortlessly. The face is technically the same, he thought with irritation, so why is Oliver better suited in social situations than me?

The young ladies giggled as he attended them again, their attention fixed solely on him as though competing for it. Nobles had the time and means to linger all day, and linger they did.

But then, mid-step, Riverus froze.

An unsettling sensation crawled up his spine, gnawing at the edges of his awareness. His muscles tensed, and his eyes instinctively turned toward the entrance.

It was faint, but the feeling was undeniable— something dark and malicious had entered his sphere.

The bell above the door tinkled lightly as someone stepped inside.

Riverus's sharp gaze narrowed. For a fleeting moment, he expected the worst. His heart hammered once, twice— then stilled.

It was Cheska Reyes.

The unsettling feeling vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Riverus standing in mild confusion. He watched Cheska stroll inside, her presence calm, followed by two companions deep in their conversation.

What was that?

He let out a slow breath, brushing his dark hair back before putting on his practiced smile. Oliver returned to the front.

"Good noon, ladies and the gentleman," he said, bowing politely. "As people of the royal palace, I am inclined to serve you myself. Please, follow me."

Cheska's gaze lifted to meet his. She blinked, surprised at first, then smiled warmly. "Okay. Thank you, Oliver."

Riverus guided the trio away from the bustling main area, leading them down a short hallway into a reserved sunroom.

The space was bathed in golden light, the walls lined with flowerbeds overflowing with blooms. A small aquarium sat at the far end, the soft ripple of water adding to the tranquil atmosphere. Elegant white chairs and glass tables were arranged perfectly, surrounded by miniature ferns and sun-kissed vines.

Riverus turned, his smile softening. "I see you've remembered me, my lady," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. Then he winked. "Though it might be rude of me to mention— I've forgotten to ask your name."

Cheska let out a short, awkward chuckle, coughing lightly. "Oh, right. My name is Cheska Reyes."

"The summoned one. I have heard of the name," Oliver responded calmly. Of course, he had done more than just hear of her name.

"Excuse me," Kalis interrupted, his brow furrowed. "Have you two met already?"

Cheska nodded, explaining briefly. "He was one of the people who delivered and designed the flowers during the Banquet of Honors."

Oliver confirmed with a small bow as he poured water into their glasses. Cool droplets of condensation ran down the sides of the elegant crystal.

"Welcome to the sunroom. This is a royal family exclusive area, and anyone with the crest may enter freely." He gestured to the crest pin on Cheska's chest.

Then, tightening the apron around his waist, he bowed again. "I am Oliver, the owner of Oliver's Cup of Flowers and Coffee. It is an honor to serve you."

Kalis and Walt exchanged a glance before offering polite introductions of their own.

Riverus handed out the menus, lingering for a moment. His gaze flitted briefly toward Cheska before softening again. He held his charming smile as he said, "I would like to point out that since it is lunch, we do serve this table specially, if you have specific requests, we will take it."

The group nods as he talked, "Take your time. I'll be back shortly to take your orders."

As he turned to leave, Riverus couldn't help but cast one more glance at Cheska. The strange, chilling sensation from earlier still lingered faintly on the edge of his senses, as though something had slithered away just before he could catch it.

What was that feeling? And why did it vanish when she entered?

With a quiet hum, Riverus left the sunroom, his thoughts clouded with unease.

Something didn't sit right.

And he had learned long ago to trust his instincts.

~~~

"Hehe... huff..."

A cloaked man took a sharp turn into a dim alley, his breath ragged and uneven, as though he had just run a great distance. Pressing his back against the cold stone wall, he dragged a trembling hand through his jet-black hair, pulling his hood back to reveal youthful features contorted in an expression of twisted delight.

His lips twitched, and then the laughter bubbled up—harsh, manic, and dangerous. It echoed faintly against the narrow walls.

"What a twist of fate," he rasped, barely able to contain himself. His shoulders shook as he leaned forward, gripping his knees to steady his trembling frame. "That bitch... of all people, it had to be her. What a perfect, ironic turn!"

Ariel Bracken's dark eyes gleamed with malice as he straightened, dragging his hand down his face in an attempt to stifle his deranged cackling. He tilted his head back, staring at the faint sliver of twilight above the alley, his grin morphing into a sneer.

"It wasn't even my fault," he muttered venomously. "I was an honored guest, an awardee. Everyone respected me. All I wanted was a little fun, just to see what she was made of. And how does she repay me? By acting like a self-righteous little brat. Sensitive, arrogant bitch."

His voice grew quieter, but the malice beneath his words only deepened.

He could still see the scene playing out in his mind, a cursed memory that refused to fade.

The grand hall of the banquet, glittering with wealth and influence. His name announced with reverence, his achievements celebrated by the elite. He had stood tall among them, basking in the attention, the admiration.

And then she had ruined everything.

Cheska Reyes.

She was supposed to be nothing more than a curious oddity, someone to provoke, just for fun. He had stepped too close, spoken too boldly, and when she snapped back, he had—perhaps—raised his hand. But she had too. She had too!

And yet he was the one reprimanded.

The memory of the prince's cold, cutting words made his jaw tighten. The murmurs of the crowd, the judgmental stares, the quiet gasps. And worst of all, the fallout.

Ariel's business partners had distanced themselves almost immediately, afraid of incurring the royal family's wrath. Contracts were terminated, deals dissolved. The penalty from the royal court had been steep—crippling, even.

The humiliation burned like acid beneath his skin.

"They called me out in front of everyone," he spat, his voice low and trembling with rage. "No one came to my defense. Not a single one. They left me to rot for that ungrateful, cursed woman."

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

But now, fate had handed him a chance.

With a sharp, almost frantic movement, Ariel reached into his cloak and pulled out a crumpled note. The edges were worn and smudged, but the message remained clear:

[Summoned one in the market. Kill her.]

A dark smile spread across his face, slow and cruel.

"Kill her," he whispered, savoring the words. "How poetic. You ruined me, and now I'll ruin you."

He slipped the note back into his cloak, his movements deliberate, almost reverent. Then, his hand moved to retrieve a small vial—a faintly glowing liquid swirling inside, its light flickering ominously like a dying ember.

The memory of her dazed expression earlier in the market replayed in his mind.

"Already breaking, aren't you?" Ariel murmured, his voice soft but dripping with venom. He tilted the vial, watching the light shift. "This hypnosis potion will finish what's left of you."

He could already imagine it: Cheska's strong-willed face slackened, her sharp tongue silenced, her body completely under his control.

"I'll make you beg," he hissed, his tone laced with sadistic pleasure. "Let's see how high and mighty you are when you're nothing more than a puppet at my mercy."

Slipping the vial back into his cloak, Ariel turned his gaze toward the bustling streets ahead. His sharp eyes reached for a certain shop where she was greeted by a server. Her blue eyes flicked around absently, smiling and chatting, seemingly unaware of his presence.

Licking his lips, Ariel changed his spot, his footsteps silent.

"Enjoy your freedom while you can," he whispered under his breath. "You won't have it for long."

For a moment, his manic grin faltered, replaced by something darker, more terrifying— a calm, cold determination.

This wasn't just about revenge anymore.

It was about claiming what was going to be his...

~

On a different alleyway, from the shadows, another cloaked figure stepped out. His movements fluid and deliberate. He waited until Ariel Bracken's figure disappeared around the corner before approaching the scene of the broken vial.

Crouching low, the man— his hood casting a deep shadow over his face— studied the faint fumes still rising from the ground. A gloved hand reached out, touching the liquid pooling on the cobblestones.

Under the hood, Sicilian's red eyes glowed faintly as he muttered a spell, "Track."

A subtle ripple of mana spread from his fingertips, moving through the liquid like a whisper of light. It hummed softly before shooting forward, following a faint trail invisible to the naked eye.

Sicilian's lips twitched into a knowing smirk. "Just as I thought."

The magic— the kind specialized for alchemists— was a rare ability that allowed them to trace chemicals imbued with mana. As expected, the trail led directly in the direction Ariel Bracken had gone.

He straightened with a sigh, dusting off his gloves. "Of course, he'd have another potion," Sicilian murmured to himself, his voice light with exasperation. "He's quite meticulous for a villain. How annoying..."

Scratching the back of his neck lazily, he cast one last glance toward the path Bracken had taken. "Guess it's time to switch places with the boss," he muttered.

Without another word, Sicilian melted back into the darkness of the alley, his figure vanishing as if he'd never been there.