WTSP - 28

“This is definitely beyond anything I could’ve imagined.”

“Your Highness, Madam Ruavle’s dresses have arrived! Oh my, they’re absolutely dazzling…”

For days, the entire palace had been abuzz with news of the upcoming hunting tournament.

It was a grand festival eagerly anticipated by both nobles and servants alike. As it only took place once a year in the spring, excitement was palpable throughout the halls.

The four-day-long Carlot Spring Festival would kick off with a hunting competition among the royals and nobility. For the following three days, lavish banquets and performances would follow, creating an atmosphere of opulence. During this time, even the common folk paused their work to revel in the empire’s prosperity.

“That part I can understand… but preparing for the hunting tournament?”

My vision blurred momentarily as the sea of dresses overwhelmed me. Even choosing one outfit for the event felt exhausting.

And yet, dresses for a hunting tournament? It didn’t make sense.

Though they were technically closer to gowns than formal dresses, the thought of wearing something like that while hunting already made me sigh.

“Your Highness, how about this blue gown? Among these, it’s relatively modest!”

“I recommend this pink one! It matches the color of your eyes perfectly.”

“Evlin, Lena… Are there no other options besides these dresses?”

My question, tinged with exasperation, earned tilted heads from the two attendants, who clearly didn’t grasp what I meant.

Evlin, holding a lace-heavy blue dress, cautiously asked, “Shall we look for another designer, Your Highness? Though time is tight, it might still be possible!”

“No, I like the clothes. But they just don’t suit a hunting tournament. I’d be fine with something like my knight training uniform.”

“Oh dear… That outfit?”

Evlin looked utterly shocked. Lena, however, knowing I trained daily with Sir Rovair, simply nodded in understanding.

After skimming through the dozen or so dresses, I plopped down at the edge of the bed.

Shopping wasn’t something I typically disliked, but doing it here was utterly exhausting.

“Lena, tell me—do noble ladies or consorts usually wear dresses like these to the tournament?”

“They normally do. Those who prioritize mobility sometimes opt for looser gowns.”

“What about pants? Does anyone wear those?”

She hesitated before replying, “That… well, it would certainly draw attention.”

Her reaction confirmed that not a single woman had ever attended the hunting tournament in pants.

So I really had to choose one of these dresses? My gaze drifted to the unopened shoe boxes.

“Are those for the hunting tournament?”

“Yes, Your Highness. They’re designed with lower heels compared to your usual shoes. These days, noble ladies prefer almost flat footwear.”

“That’s somewhat reassuring. Still, they look quite uncomfortable.”

Noticing my glance, Lena pulled out a pair of elegant flats from one of the boxes and showed them to me.

While definitely more comfortable than high heels, they weren’t entirely satisfying.

Memories of my fencing days surfaced—how I used specialized uniforms and shoes for training.

Even during the hunting tournament, it seemed I couldn’t abandon my dignity and pride as a noble lady.

“Especially in the Carlot Empire, where rivalry among nobles runs deep.”

Though called a hunting tournament, it was essentially an extension of high society—a stage for gossip and falsehoods.

I pressed my temples firmly, shaking my head.

“Your Highness, if you have a specific style in mind, I’ll speak with the designer.”

“Oh, right! Madam Ruavle sometimes custom-makes outfits based on her clients’ preferences.”

“Really? Then…”

Hearing this, my eyes lit up, and I smiled. Suddenly, memories of past outfits I’d loved came flooding back.

“These dresses are too impractical. Let’s request pants instead.”

“You can’t mean something like your knight training uniform, do you?”

“Similar, yes… Do you happen to have paper and a pen?”

Taking the pen from Evlin, I quickly sketched out a design resembling modern flared trousers.

Would this work?

After adding some details, I handed the sketch to Evlin.

Though question marks practically floated above their heads, I shrugged it off.

“Think it’s possible?”

“I’ll pass the design along to the designer. This type of pants is new to us, though…”

“Thank you. Lena, Evlin, I think we should return these dresses and shoes to Madam Ruavle.”

Still baffled, the two women began packing up the gowns.

Once they left the room with the dresses, Pompoo floated in through the open window.

Covered head to toe in mud, his once-white fur was nowhere to be seen. Shocked, I gasped loudly.

“Pompoo! Where on earth have you been to get this dirty?”

“Poom, poom, poo!”

Pompoo chirped happily, landing on the pillow and leaving muddy paw prints everywhere. Before he could roll around further, I hastily scooped him up with a heavy sigh.

“Pompoo, you need a bath.”

“Poom? Poo?”

“It’s beyond what a towel can fix. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

Unaware of his impending fate, Pompoo remained blissfully cheerful.

I’d hoped to avoid this method, but memories of bathing my childhood dog flashed through my mind.

“He hated water so much back then…”

Entering the bathroom connected to my bedroom, I placed Pompoo in the tub.

“Stay still, Pompoo. It’ll be over soon.”

“Poong?”

“Yes, bath time. I’ll give you a treat afterward—if spirits even eat treats…”

Accustomed to bribing with snacks, I started filling a large bowl with water.

Unfortunately, my assumption that Pompoo, being an elemental spirit, wouldn’t mind water was completely wrong.

As soon as the water touched him, his fluffy fur melted away like cotton candy dissolving.

Startled by the sudden shower, Pompoo fluffed up his tail.

“Poooooom? Poom!!!”

“There’s no helping it. Who told you to get this dirty?”

Struggling to escape the tub, Pompoo was held firmly with one hand as I poured water over him.

Drenched within moments, he now resembled a wet rat—or a freshly bathed Bichon Frise.

Seeing Pompoo’s true form, all soggy and pitiful, made me burst into laughter.

“So you really were a fuzzball, Pompoo. Time for soap. Let’s finish quickly and dry you off.”

Rubbing pink soap into a lather, I noticed Pompoo’s sharp protest as he let out a shrill cry.

But with 15 years of experience as a dog owner, there was no way he could outwit me.

Though he could’ve easily floated away, thankfully, Pompoo refrained from drastic measures.

“Good boy, Pompoo. You were much worse with Serdel.”

“Pooom… Po…”

Realizing escape was futile, Pompoo slumped against the tub wall, signaling his reluctant cooperation.

His defeated posture was so adorable it made me want to tease him further.

Pouring more water, I scrubbed every inch of his fur, washing away the remaining suds.

“All done! Now let’s dry you off. You’ll catch a cold if we leave you wet.”

Do elemental spirits even catch colds? Grabbing a large microfiber towel, I wrapped Pompoo snugly.

He truly looked like a drowned mouse.

Comforted by the soft towel, Pompoo began purring softly, his contentment evident.

Elemental spirit or not, he had a surprisingly simple side.

“Taking care of you reminds me of home. My dog was just as mischievous as you.”

From disliking baths to loving towel-drying sessions—Pompoo mirrored my old companion perfectly.

Lost in memories of my fluffy white dog, I dried Pompoo thoroughly while muttering to myself.

“I hope everyone’s doing well. I miss them.”

The human capacity to adapt was terrifyingly efficient.

Though only a few weeks had passed since becoming Ophelia, I was already accustomed to her life.

“All dry, Pompoo. Feel free to roll around on the bed now.”

“Poom! Pangpang!”

Energized, Pompoo leapt onto the bed, making a sound I’d never heard before.

Glancing at my training uniform, I remembered I was meeting Rovair later that afternoon.

With the tournament just days away, I needed to maximize my stamina through intense training.

Winning first place in my current state seemed impossible, but my competitive spirit surged nonetheless.

Having rarely lost in sports, I smiled faintly and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Pompoo, busy playing with his tail, approached me with affectionate antics, nuzzling close.

“It’s not the life I expected, but maybe this is happiness.”

With that thought, I closed my tired eyelids, planning to nap for an hour before heading to the training grounds.

Even Pompoo yawned sleepily after his warm bath.

A gentle spring breeze flowed through the slightly open window.

Soon, the room filled with soft snores, warm and peaceful.