The ballroom still shimmered faintly with the residual magic of chaos. Glitter floated in the air like traumatized confetti. A perfectly sculpted chocolate tower leaned suspiciously to the left. Nobles clung to the edges of the room, clutching silk fans and half-spilled champagne, whispering like they'd just witnessed a divine trial—and maybe they had.
In the center of it all stood Arila Vellion, barefoot, dressed in a cocktail-length swirl of starlight and rebellion, licking custard off her finger with all the concern of someone who had not just vaporized a wyvern in front of the royal family. Ninko, her divine nine-tailed fox familiar, sat beside her—visible, smug, and crunching on a stolen truffle like he had earned it.
Which, technically, he had.
Lira approached, holding Arila's discarded navy wedge heels like they were explosive devices. "My lady," she whispered through a polite grimace, "please, put your shoes back on. People are still staring."
Arila glanced at her, eyes narrowed with the weariness of a woman who had fought sky-lizards and court fashion in a single evening. "I obliterated a flying fire-breathing lizard barefoot. I've earned the right to disrespect footwear for the rest of the century."
"You can't dance with the Crown Prince barefoot!"
"I must. I am now an elemental ballerina of vengeance. There is no turning back."
Lira groaned into her gloves.
Around them, the nobles continued whispering, not-so-subtly pointing in their direction like Arila was a rare zoo exhibit. One lord in plum velvet gasped when Ninko delicately pawed another canapé off a plate. A noblewoman fanned herself so aggressively she almost achieved lift-off.
Someone muttered, "She must be a divine sorceress."
"She tamed a kitsune!"
"Or she is the kitsune—disguised as a noble girl!"
"Did you see how she insulted that wyvern before she destroyed it? That's royal-tier savagery."
Arila, overhearing all of it, internally screamed into the void.
Outwardly, she took another bite of lemon tart and muttered to herself, "This is why I stay inside. I sneeze near royalty, it's a scandal. I summon lightning and it's divine intervention. Logic. None of it."
Prince Lucien, meanwhile, stood in the distance with his personal knight, Darian, and the Vexhart brothers, watching the unfolding dessert-centric debrief with expressions that ranged from awe to "what the hell."
Julian was the first to speak. "That girl just vaporized a wyvern in a cocktail dress, barefoot, and is now feeding a legendary fox god custard. I'm in love."
Vincent didn't look up from the disaster zone. "She's clearly not normal. She shouldn't be underestimated."
"She stole a royal spotlight, destroyed a ballroom ceiling, and I think her fox winked at me," Darian added grimly. "She's dangerously unpredictable."
Lucien, quiet, eyes still locked on the barefoot girl who just insulted a tart like it owed her money, smiled faintly. "She's extraordinary."
Then, as if fate itself enjoyed throwing plot twists like flower petals, Lucien stepped forward, leaving his royal entourage behind. He stopped just short of Arila's pastry perimeter and bowed slightly.
"Lady Arila," he said smoothly. "May I have this dance?"
Arila looked up from a slice of chocolate opera cake with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to clean up confetti with a toothpick.
Internally: Of course. Of course it's the ballroom dance tutorial. This is the worst kind of mid-boss encounter.
Outwardly, she straightened, placed her fork down with exaggerated care, and gave a tiny curtsy.
"Of course, Your Highness. However, I must inform you—" she gestured to her tragically shoeless state, "—I am dancing barefoot. Consider it... avant-garde."
Lucien's smile deepened. "It suits you."
Lira inhaled like a woman experiencing five heart attacks in one moment.
Evelaine Vellion dabbed her eyes with a satin handkerchief behind a pillar and whispered, "My daughter, the barefoot icon of elemental supremacy... I've never been prouder."
As the ballroom cleared for the royal dance, Arila took Lucien's hand with the grace of someone resigned to her fate. The music resumed—slow, elegant, perfect for public embarrassment.
They began to move.
To her surprise, Arila found the rhythm easily. She wasn't exactly trained, but it helped that Lucien was competent, tall, and didn't ask her to do anything absurd like spin into a quadruple pirouette of doom.
Lucien leaned in slightly. "You're remarkably graceful."
"I am faking it very convincingly."
"That wyvern didn't seem to notice."
"I was fueled by sugar rage and vengeance. It's a dangerous mix."
Lucien chuckled. "Do you always destroy apex monsters in formalwear?"
"Only when they interrupt dessert. There are lines, Your Highness. And that thing crossed it."
Near the wall, Julian dramatically clutched his chest. "Look at her. Spinning between sarcasm and savagery like a deadly sugarplum fairy."
Vincent crossed his arms. "She's clearly a threat."
"To your emotional defenses," Julian teased.
Darian remained silent for a moment before nodding. "She's capable. That fox didn't choose her randomly. She's hiding something."
"Dignity, probably," Julian offered. "And snacks."
As the music came to a gentle close, Lucien gave Arila a respectful dip—nothing extravagant—and she landed lightly, still barefoot, still balanced like a magical ballerina who'd obliterated aerial threats before dessert.
"I'm impressed," Lucien said, releasing her hand. "You're full of surprises."
"Try living with me," Arila deadpanned. "I confuse myself daily."
With royal niceties fulfilled, she retreated quickly back to her family. Ninko joined her halfway, munching on something suspiciously golden and probably reserved for dignitaries.
Caelan placed a proud hand on her shoulder. "Well done, Arila. Efficient wyvern elimination. Very clean technique."
Evelaine sniffled again. "You were perfect, darling. Even barefoot, you radiated aesthetic defiance."
Lira just handed her back the shoes silently. Arila responded by placing a macaron in her palm. "For your suffering."
Finally, as the night wound down, nobles began filtering out—still whispering, still casting glances at the barefoot girl with the divine fox and the unstable pastry addiction.
Arila took one last bite of something sweet, nodded to Ninko, and announced, "Alright. I've traumatized enough of the aristocracy for one evening. Time to go."
The carriage ride home was blissfully quiet.
Back in her room, Arila face-planted onto her bed with the grace of a collapsing bookshelf. Ninko jumped up beside her, curling around her shoulders like a soft judgment coil.
"I danced with the Crown Prince barefoot," she mumbled into the pillow. "I vaporized a wyvern. And I didn't even get to finish that cherry tart."
Ninko licked frosting off his paw.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "This isn't a quiet background NPC life. This is some kind of cosmic dating sim on nightmare difficulty."
Ninko sneezed, curled tighter, and began to snore.
"…I'm bringing backup shoes to the next ball."
To be continued...