The capital of the Kingdom of Brit, Ritten, began the summer with the sound of hitting tennis balls on lush green grass and the festive atmosphere of the Dublin Championship approaching.

As the capital approached, the enthusiasm could easily be felt even inside the moving train.

On every lamppost that quickly passed by the window, tournament emblems and championship trophies were printed in the wind.

“There it is! Look at that, Sara.”

“I told you I don’t want dust falling on me.”

Sara Pavlova’s manager, pointing out the window with fingers eating potato chips, rubbed his hands on his thighs with a puzzled expression.

“Oh! Sorry. Sorry.”

The manager muttered to himself like a soliloquy.

Sara Pavlova was already a bit nervous by nature, but as the tournament approached, her nervousness increased, making her difficult to manage.
Having finished reading the newspaper article, Sara turned her head. She didn’t need to ask what the manager had mentioned; it was evident at a glance. In the sky with white clouds scattered like a background, a massive green ad balloon floated. Judging by the emblem, which resembled the Dublin Championship emblem, it seemed that the newly unveiled Dublin Stadium might be in that direction.

“When Ranslot makes it, even the stadium stands out.”

“Is the quality of the grass important? What’s important about those balloons? Can’t we prevent littering?”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry.”

The manager, finishing the remaining potato chips in one bite, crumpled the paper bag. Sara, annoyed, clenched her fist, leaned against the backrest, and closed her eyes.

“Do you know this woman, Olivia Blanchett?”

“How could I? This is her debut in the Dublin competition. Is Ranslot sponsoring an untested player? Is she trying to secure a victory with her body?”

He spoke while brushing off salt and crumbs that had fallen on his chest and knees.

Sara recalled the photo of the woman she had just seen in the newspaper.

Olivia Blanchett.

The contours created by delicate and soft lines were incredibly beautiful, even in her eyes. Although it might be enough to captivate a man, she seemed excessively weak for vigorous physical activity.

Sara slowly opened her eyes.

The train was already passing through the town of Ritten.

Decorated in green, the city, bearing the emblem of the Dublin Championship, flowed rapidly with intensified greenery.

“I’m curious.”

“Huh?”

The manager, crunching roasted almonds, asked. This time, there was an abundance of powdered sugar.

“Forget it.”

Annoyed Sara closed her eyes on the road again. She had no interest in whether her opponent was an illegitimate child, a divorcee, or an adulteress. Her only interest was in the prize money, or something equivalent to it.

‘How much do you want?’

Even while manipulating the game, the princess was arrogant. How amusing it was. Then, she proposes to return only the prize money. Ridiculous.

‘Double the prize money. Since the original prize money was my share, I should at least receive that much, right, Princess?’

Ranked first globally and an ice flame that could not avoid a classic showdown in the Dublin Championship, Sara Pavlova. She did not care about such reputation.

What good is bringing honor?

In this damn country where women are not given inheritance rights, the only way Sara Pavlova could accumulate wealth in a short time was through tennis.

Having faced tough competitors from the beginning of the tournament, Sara, who was under the control of Princess Anblin, chuckled at the heavily intended draw.

But this time, it seemed that the opponent targeted by the princess’s arrow had changed.

“That woman is a problem.”

“Huh?”

Sara ignored him.

Regardless of the princess’s intentions, Olivia Blanchett seemed destined to be shattered by her. There was no regret.
She just wants to negotiate with the princess as usual this year.

This time, maybe I’ll demand three times. Or perhaps four.

Sara Pavlova’s lips curled up refreshingly at the end.

The train had arrived at Ritten Central Station without her noticing.

The door of the first-class compartment Sara Pavlova was in opened. Camera flashes went off simultaneously, piercing flashes assaulting her eyes.

Sara squinted her eyes.

“Have you seen the draw? Miss Pavlova!”

“Miss Pavlova. What are your thoughts on player Blanchett?”

As Sara Pavlova, with silver hair tied high in a bun, descended from the train, reporters rushed towards her like a swarm. Sara Pavlova, who got off on the platform, casually passed them by.

With every confident step, strands of silver hair swayed and wrapped around her neck.

Instead of responding, Sara Pavlova’s manager shouted.

“Please ask your questions formally during the press conference.”

Sara Pavlova boarded the carriage. The noisy clamor diminished as the door closed.

The flashing camera lights, too, disappeared when Sara drew the thick curtain.

“These things are amusing.”

Sara Pavlova, closing her eyes with a fist raised habitually, chuckled.

“Really amusing folks.”

The manager played along reasonably, observing Sara’s mood. He munched on almonds left from the train ride.

“Stop eating!”

Sara shouted. She was annoyed.

The pouring questions and flickering camera lights, as always, were directed at Princess Anblin, the protagonist.

The spotlight she sold for twice the prize money.

The attention directed at her because her opponent player was Olivia Blanchett was not amusing to Sara Pavlova.