Someday everyone will. Pendlore resisted the urge to push an ivory cue ball into the mouth of his friend who was emotionally babbling obvious things.

Cherse was quite a good friend, but occasionally he would transform into a poet drunk on moonlight. The nonsense he spouted, attaching all sorts of flowery phrases with tears welling up in his eyes, was always a chore to listen to.

“So Pendlore! Even now, fall in lo—ugh!”

The tip of the cue stick that slid elegantly from Pendlore’s fingertips mercilessly stabbed Cherse’s abdomen.

“You crossed the line.”

Pendlore pulled back the cue stick. With a light tap, the white ball rolled, hit the red ball, bounced off the cushion three times, and cleanly knocked in the yellow ball.

“However, out of respect for the amateur poet, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.”

“Ugh…… I understand your stubbornness well.”

Cherse narrowed his brows while rubbing his abdomen, which would surely bruise.

“And your terribly firm views on marriage too.”

“I simply refuse to do the stupid thing of passing on titles, property, and business to an insignificant bloodline.”

He had already grown sick of the disgusting pretense of bloodlines and family names.

“Yes. I know well that our Sir Duston doesn’t want to have descendants and instead seeks a capable successor unrelated by blood.”

“It’s a rational and reasonable decision. I see no reason why an idiot who can’t distinguish between a head and a boiled pumpkin should sit atop decent people and ruin everything just because his parents have a long and glorious surname.”

A deep cynicism formed at the corners of Pendlore’s mouth as he raised his cue stick at an angle.

“Why should I participate in that circus act?”

Cherse shrugged his shoulders as if he had nothing to say. Then he looked into his friend’s stubborn blue-gray eyes and smiled amiably.

“Pendlore, I respect you as always. I’m only asking for a small attempt.”

“An attempt?”

“Or a test of love, if you will. Listen, Pendlore. Don’t make that stiff face like you’ve met a peddler.”

“A peddler would be better. I could just chase them away.”

Cherse persistently followed his friend who turned and walked toward the dark window.

“Yes, perhaps being single fits Sir Duston as comfortably as a tailor-made suit. But shouldn’t you also consider the possibility of the opposite?”

Pendlore turned to look at Cherse with a long sigh. If he wasn’t going to completely cut off his unnecessarily affectionate friend, pretending to listen properly would be the quickest way to end that meddling.

“So have a meeting with a woman.”

“I refuse.”

Pendlore answered firmly.

“Don’t you know well that it’s difficult for such a simple test to end there?”

A wealthy bachelor with a title. Moreover, he was more than old enough, so a meeting with a woman would make not only the woman herself but also those around her expect marriage.

“That’s why I brought you here.”

Cherse grinned and stretched one hand toward the railing overlooking the first floor.

“The Plumen Party. A 120-year tradition of widow support.”

In the past, numerous young women were left alone due to successive wars. Unlike now, it was difficult for women who lost their husbands to remarry back then, and proper jobs were also hard to find. This happened because a married woman going out alone was considered a flaw in itself.

The Plumen Party was a banquet hosted by the Empress for widows isolated in the middle of the city. A gathering where women who became single could attend freely without male guardians. Victims outside the battlefield could interact with people there, find work, receive support, and even meet remarriage partners.

“Though it has changed a lot now.”

However, as the wars subsided and times changed, with women’s activities becoming more active than before, the support purpose of the Plumen Party gradually faded. The remaining purpose of the current banquet was.

“A place for casual meetings. Isn’t that right, Pendlore? As you said, if you start interacting with unmarried women, many things will become troublesome from your position. But the ladies of the Plumen Party are different.”

They were women who remained alone but had already been married once. Even if a light first meeting became prolonged, there was no need for either party to take social responsibility. Even if they parted ways after forming a deep relationship, no blemish or fault would be attributed to either the man or woman.

“You don’t need to do more than engage in a relationship with a woman. Also, I want my friend to have a bridge to time outside of work and a warm home—”

“Skip that part.”

Pendlore sharply cut off the words that were about to lengthen. Cherse sighed, “Eh,” and opened his mouth again.

“A perfectly grown adult man who neither marries nor even has a romance with the opposite s*x will inevitably be talked about.”

Pendlore’s brows slightly narrowed. That kind of problem was already bothering him.

“……You mean I should have a meeting with a woman I don’t need to be responsible for?”

“At least the letters piling up in your mailbox and the approaches from pimps will be reduced by more than half.”

It would also help improve his image in social circles.

“Have gentlemanly dates with appropriate sponsorship. Even though it’s changed a lot from the past, the Plumen Party still advocates support for unfortunate women, so it’s all gain and no loss for you.”

Ignoring the nonsense about how it would be even better if he could realize the sweetness of love in the process, Pendlore lightly stroked his chin.

Listening to it, it wasn’t a bad method at all.

“I hate anyone who requires my attention, whether woman, man, child, or elderly.”

“As expected, Sir Duston lacks love.”

“But a widow would indeed be less troublesome in many ways.”

If a young virgin was like a flower in a greenhouse, a woman who lost her husband would be like vegetation in a field. With a tougher shell and stem strengthened by experiencing the rough storm of losing a companion.

“I also like that I can cut it off cleanly anytime.”

“You have no sense of romance.”

Ignoring Cherse’s grumbling, Pendlore slowly turned around. Standing in front of the railing overlooking the first floor, his eyes caught the figures of the party attendees.

Men and women of various ages. Unlike an elegant banquet hall with a set dress code, this was a disorderly scene where everyone fully displayed their tastes and wealth through clothes and accessories. It looked like toys a child had played with and thrown away, roughly collected in one box.

‘Not bad at all.’

Better than a glass display case arranged monotonously with excessive formality.

His deeply sunken blue-gray pupils moved slowly as if searching for prey. Someone who could maintain a dry relationship that would benefit both parties, appropriately and cleanly.

He passed over excessively flashy attire. Vigorous sociability that constantly mingled with many people didn’t fit either. A woman like a dry shrub under shade, with few words, not trying to stand out, and above all, possessing quiet patience.

Yes, like that one.

Pendlore’s closed lips curved faintly.

A woman standing quietly with her back against the wall. Her straw-like faded blonde hair and pale, thin body looked plain. Even her full bosom had lost its shape from being tightly bound. Perhaps the only thing that could be called beautiful was her large green eyes.

Despite the deep shadows, they had a clear and clean light, a rounded shape, lowered eyelashes, eyelids that drew beautiful lines, and eyebrows that settled lightly. They were perfect eyes as if drawn by an excellent painter with great care.

‘Could she be presentable enough to accompany me if polished up?’

Though she stood frozen in a corner like a lost child unfamiliar with the banquet hall, her gaze wasn’t wandering but calm. As if she had experienced this kind of difficulty many times before.

That woman would not be troublesome.

Pendlore was certain. A woman who was quiet, modest, kept boundaries without excessive greed, and possessed the experience of weathering life’s hardships.

She was appropriate.

“Has that lady, I mean, that woman caught your eye?”

Pendlore carelessly brushed off his friend’s hand that was slipping onto his shoulder. Cherse grumbled something, but he ignored it and walked toward the stairs.

Gazes followed him one by one as he descended to the first floor. Low whispers could also be heard. Familiar sensations that always circled around him.

Pendlore crossed the marble floor like the protagonist of the banquet. Precise intervals, steady echoing sounds of heels. Those sounds stopped abruptly in front of the hem of an outdated old dress.

Blink, green eyes filled with bewilderment looked up at Pendlore, and the corners of his lips smoothly turned upward.

“You look shabby.”

The pale face turned even whiter, losing all color at his bluntly thrown words.

‘You’re just receiving support, aren’t you? Anyone watching would think a mother-in-law told her daughter-in-law to sell her body.’

The cold voice circled around Radilt’s ears.

The Plumen Party that supported widows in difficult circumstances. It certainly was that in the past. But nowadays, a widow attending that party usually meant she was seeking remarriage or s*xual encounters with men.