30. New
The trends in high society are always changing—some say it only takes a blink to fall behind the latest craze. And today, a new trend had arrived.
Audrey glanced around in her elegant party dress—the very same one she and her mother had gotten from the last dressmaker they visited, which had already made quite a splash.
To be honest, it was them who caused the wave to happen, but that didn't really matter. She stood quietly on the sidelines, eyes observing everything. If someone looked closely, they might spot a golden retriever lying on the balcony, watching the party with the same calm, attentive gaze as Audrey herself.
"It's a pleasure to meet the most dazzling gem, Miss Audrey."
A gentleman in a black tuxedo and crisp white shirt approached, his smile bright enough to light up the entire room. Many ladies stole glances at him, though he seemed completely unaware, maintaining a perfectly calculated posture and angle—confidence radiating as if he stood even higher than the sun.
"My name is August Sunhaven. Would you do me the honor of a dance?"
Audrey bowed elegantly in response to the invitation. "It would be my pleasure; however, I'm feeling a bit faint and need to rest for a while," she said, politely declining before scanning the room for a quiet place to settle.
Lust, of course, lingered in the air—but even stronger was the gentleman's desire for validation, the hunger to claim a dance with someone of her stature. It was clear to her discerning eyes.
Unfortunately, the gentleman had come with misplaced confidence. Though he understood the prominence of Audrey Hall in society, his own arrogance blinded him.
When will the package from Mr. Hanged Man be ready? she wondered, anticipation bubbling inside her. So caught up in waiting for the promised item, Audrey barely remembered the invitation moments ago.
***
I'm currently in the midst of opening a new shop. With the buzz surrounding Peytra's latest dress, we decided it was the perfect time to launch a boutique dedicated exclusively to the ladies of high society. Father has been busy organizing staffing and guiding new interns, while Mother is still swamped with the influx of recent orders. So, the task of opening the shop has fallen to me.
The new boutique is located in the western borough—not quite as extravagant as the Empress Borough, but refined enough to cater to the upper class. It's a charming two-story building, with the second floor reserved for tailoring and measurements, while the first floor is designed for showcasing—perfect for window shopping.
The initial interior design was entrusted to me, with Mother planning to refine it later if she sees anything worth improving. I decorated the space to resemble a high-end modern boutique, reminiscent of luxury brand stores from the world I used to know. Considering everything my past self had already shared with my parents, I figured there wouldn't be any issues presenting it this way.
To keep the budget manageable, we asked some of the household staff to help with the decorating.
There were two servants helping me—twins raised within our household. The boy's name was Alex, and his sister was Tear. Their skills and appearance were nothing particularly remarkable, but having been raised under our roof with no other family to speak of, their loyalty was absolute.
The three of us continued cleaning and decorating the boutique, each focused on our assigned tasks, when—
"Kyaa!" Tear suddenly let out a sharp yelp, slipping on the wet floor she had just finished mopping. I barely managed to catch her in time.
But I had no time to breathe.
Startled by his sister's cry, Alex—who had been standing on a ladder while arranging decorations near the ceiling—lost his balance and fell.
Without thinking, I extended my other hand and caught him too.
For a moment, the three of us were frozen in place—Tear in one arm, Alex in the other. I let out a sigh.
They weren't bad. The only downside was their baffling tendency to mess up at least once a week. Big mistake or small mistake, one was always guaranteed. And the strangest part? Whenever one of them made a mistake, the other inevitably followed suit.
It didn't matter who started it. If Tear slipped, Alex stumbled. If Alex dropped something, Tear would soon knock something over. Even when they were assigned to completely different parts of the house, the pattern remained unbroken—as if their blunders were mysteriously synchronized by some twin telepathy dedicated solely to causing chaos.
"Be careful. Safety first," I muttered, half advising, half sighing. I wasn't even mad at them.
No, it wasn't their fault this time.
It was this.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is brimming with excitement.]
I groaned internally while helping them regain their balance.
Still, I gently patted Tear on the head. "Don't slip again, alright?"
Nothing happened.
Then I turned to Alex and gave his head a firm pat as well. "And you—try not to tense up so much when you're working."
A moment later—
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is too excited and is now wiping a nosebleed.]
This is… the reason!
She's a demon—but a different kind of demon!
Well, actually, she's not a demon at all… but in a way, she still is. Her name is Uriel. Apparently, she's an archangel from Eden—or so she claims. And how do I know that?
Because she told me.
Whenever I focus on using her stigma, it creates a temporary link between us, allowing her to send words directly into my mind—and me, back to her.
The only issue is… it's not easy to hear her voice.
Sure, I can hear her clearly enough, but it feels like my brain is splitting apart each time.
According to her, it's because the incarnation's body—mine, in this case—can't withstand a constellation's true voice. She was honestly surprised we could even manage a conversation, even if it was only for a few sentences.
I assume it's thanks to the Occlumency skill I learned, which boosts my mental defenses. Originally, I thought it only protected my thoughts and memories from being read—something very important to me—but it seems to have a bonus effect in this case. A happy miscalculation.
Hopefully, as I grow stronger, hearing her true voice won't be such a migraine-inducing experience anymore.
The stigma she bestowed is powerful—far more than just an ordinary high-temperature flame. Her flame is the nemesis of evil itself, capable of burning anything malevolent, whether tangible or intangible. It purges not just flesh, but malice, corruption, and intent.
The only drawback? Her consent.
If she denies the judgment, the flame won't even burn. It'll just feel warm—like a cozy fireplace in winter. Completely harmless.
The first day I returned to this world, my vision was flooded with messages from her.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' expresses her curiosity…]
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' expresses her curiosity…]
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' expresses her curiosity…]
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' expresses her curiosity…]
They popped up once, sometimes twice, every single minute.
Non-stop.
From what I remember, constellations need to pay something—some form of energy or currency—to send each of these messages. Which could only mean one thing:
She's filthy rich.
A wild thought crossed my mind:
Should I just let her sponsor me fully? Let her pamper me like some divine sugar mama?
I quickly shook the idea off.
Then another thought struck me like lightning.
Wait a second… I'm not even connected to the Star Stream anymore.
So if she's still sending messages—does that mean she's still paying? And if so… who is she paying?
I narrowed my eyes at my own system, feeling an irrational wave of suspicion. Was it… pocketing funds behind my back?
Eventually, her curiosity began to wane, and the message flood slowed.But just as peace returned, a new, far more insidious problem emerged:
She really, really likes comradery between men.
Whether it's a wholesome bromance or something more… suspicious, I don't even know anymore. But every time there's a moment of male bonding, I can feel her eyes sparkle through the screen.
"Haa" I let out another long sigh.
The twins flinched at the sound and immediately bowed their heads in unison, voices overlapping in apology. "We're sorry!"
"It's not your fault," I told them, waving a hand. But they didn't seem convinced. They kept bowing, scrambling to make up for their mistake in any way they could.
Just as I was about to sigh again—
Chi-ring
The doorbell chimed softly, signaling a visitor at the entrance.
"We're sorry, the shop isn't open yet…" I started, only to stop mid-sentence as I caught sight of who it was.