August 22, Wednesday, 3:00 p.m., hazy weather.
Snow, clutching the invitation Lady Norma had sent to his home yesterday, arrived at the luxurious villa in Queens District.
As a young noble who inherited his title early due to his father's death, Viscount Glaint was practically the social hub for his generation's aristocracy.
Not everyone liked him, but only he could host salons and balls with such carefree abandon.
Balls thrown by other noble heirs were either politically motivated by their elders or formal affairs for social obligations. Middle-aged nobles' gatherings brimmed with constraints.
Thus, Viscount Glaint's mansion became a haven for Backlund's trust-fund youths, drawing ambitious young writers, painters, and designers reliant on high society. A single noble's favor could catapult them to success.
These talented, dashing youths, in turn, attracted nobles intrigued by their fields, sparking investments and partnerships. Glaint's seemingly prodigal salons turned profitable.
It felt like an upscale club luring elite patrons, which drew skilled social climbers with enough capital, creating a cycle that attracted more wealthy "connoisseurs."
Today, the guest list was particularly packed.
Thanks to his impossibly handsome face, the doorman waved Snow through without checking his invitation, giving him a fleeting sense of "pretty girls get free entry to high-end bars."
He didn't mind the perk. Though it seemed like a favor, owing one could grease social wheels.
"Little Snow, you're here?" Lady Mano, who, for obvious reasons, hadn't arrived with him, spotted him and hurried over, introducing him to familiar noblewomen.
Snow's predecessor was a veteran of such scenes, and he quickly shed the "outsider" awkwardness—
Aided, no doubt, by the many familiar faces present.
Weaving through the spacious banquet hall, Snow occasionally sipped a low-alcohol drink, chatting with approaching ladies and misses. Though JoJo's Bizarre Adventure was just starting its run, his "writer" status wasn't yet noteworthy. But who could resist his looks?
Grabbing a delicate pastry from a long table, Snow scanned the hall while eating. His predecessor's network was frankly intimidating. Of the women here—writers, dress designers, jewelers, painters—Snow recognized a staggering 30%.
And that recognition rate roughly matched his client list.
Covertly tapping into a Sequence 7 ability, he cloaked himself in a "none can see through" state. It shielded him from potential Spectators or other Beyonders while masking the ripples of his extraordinary powers.
With precautions set, Snow approached one of the few familiar yet unknown women.
She lounged in a corner, lazily sipping a cocktail. Her fingertips bore faint nicotine stains, her fluffy, slightly curled hair framed pale blue eyes that lacked focus, giving an air of detachment—as if she were waiting for someone.
"Well, this 'none can see through Psyduck' comes with a 'everyone can read Mudkip' bonus?" Snow quipped inwardly about his borrowed ability. As expected of a pathway advancing through Psychologist potions, even a passive skill carried sharp observational perks.
Handing his plate to a passing waiter, Snow approached with measured steps, flashing an affable smile.
"Greetings, lovely lady. I'm Snow, Snow von Panredax. May I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?"
Fors furrowed her brow at the man who'd appeared before her. He was undeniably attractive and polite, but something about him felt… forgettable. One glance away, and she'd struggle to recall his face.
She wasn't keen to engage, but literary salons demanded a degree of warmth—especially when she couldn't name every guest.
Viscount Glaint had bailed out Xio. This man could just as easily land her in trouble.
"Ugh, why does Miss Audrey insist on meeting here? Can't that dog… er, that dog-like extraordinary creature pass a message?"
Grumbling inwardly, Fors forced a smile.
"Hello, Mr. Snow. I'm Fors, Fors Wall."
"Miss Fors! Your Stormy Villa left quite an impression. I happen to have a novel serializing in the Tussock Times. Could we perhaps discuss it?"
In his past life, Snow was mildly socially anxious, but his predecessor? A social dynamo with a knack for… charm.
"The Tussock Times? I recall a novel by a Snow… Xio quite liked it. Phantom Blood, was it?"
Fors's head throbbed as she pondered. Though he wasn't a noble, a cold shoulder wasn't wise. Mustering energy, she donned a social mask, cobbling together scraps from Xio's chatter to keep up with Snow's small talk.
Snow knew not to overstay. Leaving a faint impression, he excused himself with a smile. As he walked away, Fors exhaled in relief. But before she could slip back into her languid pose, a figure entered the hall.
For a moment, the hall's chatter paused. As Backlund's brightest gem, this young lady was undeniably the salon's most distinguished guest.
Yet, seasoned in social circles, Miss Audrey deftly blended in, quelling the stir her arrival caused. Few noticed that, after brushing past a certain handsome man, her smile grew subtly more "genuine."
From that moment, any Spectator could only read from Miss Justice what they wanted to see.
(End of Chapter)
Author's Notes:
[Snorlax everyone thinks they can read.jpg]
I: Guess what Sequence 7 is called?
II: On Faceless losing control—Faceless's key is not forgetting who you are, not avoiding appearance changes. Do you forget yourself when cosplaying? In a way, cosplaying on a stage is less risky than impersonating someone in life. No matter how many details or backstories you add, you at least won't forget you're you…