#69. Northern Social Circle (3)
If the glass had broken and the drink had spilled, people nearby could have been hurt and the servants would have had to clean it up.
Thanks to Sasha’s quick reaction, only a few drops fell. She even handled it neatly.
“It seems our diligent servants cleaned the floor too well. I’ll have to tell them to be a bit less thorough next time, so accidents like this don’t happen.”
The young ladies who tried to cause trouble had nothing to say. She had already apologized first and even said she would manage the servants better—there was no excuse left.
“…Tch!”
The lady who dropped the glass trembled, her face burning with shame. She had to hide behind her fan.
This kind of thing happened about five more times.
One lady claimed she found a hair in her food.
“Strange… No one in our castle has hair the same rose-like color as this,” Sasha said, staring right at the red-haired lady who complained.
The red-haired lady, flustered, had to leave without another word.
Another said the servants were rude.
“Were they? I’ll have to train them better. …You, go tell the head maid what just happened and await proper discipline.”
The “troublemakers” kept trying, but Sasha never looked troubled. Her calm, noble way of handling things even impressed the onlookers.
The repeated failures only made them angrier. The most upset was Count Shavirin’s daughter, who had ordered most of these tricks.
“Isn’t there something to really humiliate her?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Then Barmaseba, a brown-haired lady, took out a small pouch with a silver case inside.
“It’s medicine for hiccups,” she explained—if taken one pill at a time. But two pills caused flushing and coughing, and three caused dizziness or even fainting.
Her plan: pretend to collapse after eating it, and blame it on the food, forcing the hostess to take responsibility.
Shavirin liked the idea. When asked who would do it, everyone looked at Barmaseba. She reluctantly agreed, asking for their help.
The plan began. Barmaseba drank champagne, swallowed three pills, and soon her face reddened and vision blurred.
“Ah…!”
She collapsed with a thud, her head hitting the floor. The music and voices stopped.
Her body shook violently, eyes rolling back—too realistic, even for the ladies who knew the plan.
“Lady Barmaseba?” Shavirin called, but there was no response except for her gasping and trembling.
Only then did they realize—this was no act.
“Someone has collapsed!”
“Call a doctor!”
People murmured, but no one rushed to help. The ladies involved went pale with fear.
Then—
“What’s going on?”
Sasha pushed through the crowd, quickly grasped the situation, and knelt beside the woman.
“Excuse me,” she said, though the patient probably couldn’t hear.
After checking her, Sasha frowned.
“She’s consumed Paru fruit.”
Paru fruit disrupted mana and was once used as poison. In ordinary people without much mana, an overdose could be fatal.
“Bring some Ruplong juice,” she ordered a servant, then held Barmaseba’s hand, working to calm the violent mana inside her. Sweat formed on Sasha’s brow.
When the servant returned, Sasha fed the thick orange liquid to the patient, knowing it would reconnect the broken mana flow.
Barmaseba’s breathing steadied, and Sasha finally relaxed.
“Move her to a nearby guest room,” she told the servant. She also instructed the doctor to follow.
Then Sasha addressed the guests:
“I’ve finished the emergency treatment, so there will be no problem. Please enjoy yourselves.”
Music and conversation resumed. Sasha continued socializing until a servant came to say the patient had woken up.
She excused herself and went to the guest room, where several young ladies huddled around the bed. They went silent at her approach.
“Recovery needs quiet,” Sasha told them, making them step back. She examined Barmaseba—her color had improved, though she still looked pale.
“I don’t know why you carry that, but you should be careful. Taken often, it can ruin your health. Something worse could happen next time.”
Sasha stood and noticed the other ladies watching her, pale and biting their lips. Pretending not to notice, she said gently:
“You must have been startled. Please rest until you feel calm again.”
She turned to leave, telling the waiting maid to look after them.
Her calm care for even those who had tried to harm her made her seem almost saintly.
The young ladies felt their jealousy dissolve into shame, gratitude, and admiration.
Then—
‘We can’t just let her go like this!’
One finally gathered her courage.
“Um…!”
Sasha stopped.
“Sorry!” came the high, urgent voice.
