The truffle risotto arrived at the table like a work of art.
Impeccable presentation: wide plate, gold detailing on the edges, subtle aroma floating in the air like instrumental music made of expensive mushrooms and promises of noble cholesterol.
Luna looked at it...
Then at the silverware.
Then at the waiter, who withdrew with a silent bow.
She cleared her throat.
Straightened her posture.
And froze.
On the table:
Three knives.
Four forks.
Two spoons.
A tiny trident that looked stolen from a gourmet gnome.
An auxiliary plate that was probably just for resting one's soul.
"Okay..." Luna whispered. "This is like a culinary boss fight."
She picked up the largest fork, hoping it was the right one.
Ivy appeared in miniature floating by the crystal glass, dressed like an old-fashioned British teacher - complete with half-moon glasses and a tight bun.
"Tsk tsk tsk... Miss Luna, this is a crime against risotto. You're about to stab European refinement with a roast beef fork."
Luna froze mid-air. "There's... a difference between food forks and fancy food forks?"
"Absolutely. The second one judges you more intensely."
Ivy enlarged a holographic table image before Luna. "Let's begin, quick lesson: basic etiquette for filthy rich former beggars."
Luna raised an eyebrow. "That was offensive and completely accurate."
Ivy adjusted her glasses. "Rule one: outside in. Start with utensils farthest from the plate and work your way in as courses arrive."
"So this fork here..." Luna pointed.
"Salad fork. For salads costing minimum wage. Next one's for risotto. Correct."
"This smaller side fork is for delicate dishes like... say... poetry tartare."
Luna laughed with closed lips. "That exists?"
"Not yet. But I've heard rumors in France."
With the System's help, Luna's mental interface activated.
She blinked and instantly a floating window appeared with complete etiquette protocols.
+100% visual understanding of aristocratic utensils
+150% muscle memory for crystal glassware
+Moderate resistance to public laughter when hearing "vegan beetroot sparkling wine"
Luna took a deep breath, held the correct fork, cut the risotto elegantly, and brought a bite to her mouth with the grace of someone born to it.
Silence.
Savoring.
"...my God, this is better than therapy."
Ivy smiled approvingly. "Now you're behaving like a proper high society lady."
Luna dabbed her lips with the linen napkin. Raised her crystal glass with perfect posture. "High society lady, yes. But with a survivor's soul."
Next course: filet mignon with wine reduction and flower-shaped roasted potatoes.
Luna slid her knife like cutting silk.
The silverware didn't even clink.
At another table, a wealthy woman observed intently. "She must have trained in Switzerland. See how she holds her glass? That's French etiquette."
Luna smirked. "Thank you, Ivy."
"Of course. You're a quick learner. Basically: your etiquette is now at assassin-duchess-from-reality-TV level."
The waiter returned with dessert:
Belgian chocolate tower with 24k gold, salted caramel cream, artisanal lavender ice cream, and a mint leaf harvested by vegan Himalayan monks.
Luna's eyes sparkled. "If this isn't redemption, I don't know what is."
As she savored each layer while maintaining perfect composure, she found herself gazing at the city through the window.
On one side: past hunger.
On the other: present delicacy.
The fork with the last bite of dessert hovered inches from Luna's lips when three overwhelming presences approached her table.
"Presences" was an understatement.
It was like three Dior campaign models had materialized straight from a fashion magazine.
Silky hair. Perfect posture. Perfumes smelling of inheritance and imported champagne.
Luna felt them before seeing them.
Then heard: "Excuse us..."
She looked up slowly, fork still in air.
Three women stood before her.
The first was Tall, porcelain skin, black hair like night velvet cascading to her waist.
Glacial blue eyes - as if Scandinavian winter had incarnated as a duchess. She wore an elegant black dress with sapphire details.
Her flawless European accent spoke: "Forgive the boldness. I'm Lumine von Edelweiss, and... well, we simply had to meet you."
Her charming smile continued: "You're absolutely dazzling."
The second was Shorter, delicate porcelain face, straight ink-black hair.
Deep black observing eyes - analyzing every millimeter of movement. She wore minimalist white with gold accents.
Her calm voice introduced: "I'm Nikoly Takahira-Hoshinami. I heard you never refuse matcha prepared with soul... but today, we prefer gold-dusted chocolate."
Her enigmatic smile suggested she knew more than she let on.
The third stood like a movie star, smooth tan skin, long dark violet wavy hair.
Vibrant green eyes always in "internal party mode". Her emerald dress had a thigh slit and amethyst accessories.
Her upbeat American accent declared: "I'm Victória Lancaster-Monroe. Seriously, you've been glowing so brightly I thought this was a secret Chanel shoot."
Luna raised an eyebrow at their direct approach.
She analyzed them coolly. They were beautiful - clearly ultra-wealthy. Polite but accustomed to being the center of attention.
Yet... there was a difference.
Luna shone effortlessly.
With her mysterious aura, System-enhanced beauty, and calm demeanor of someone who could buy the entire hotel with pocket change.
She set her fork down gently, dabbed her lips, and smirked: "Well... since you've interrupted my mystical dessert trance... you might as well sit down and make it worth my while."
They smiled eagerly.
"With pleasure," Lumine said smoothly, sitting.
"I love direct people," Victória commented.
"Your inflection suggests a soul... disciplined by life," Nikoly analyzed, crossing her legs.
Luna simply chuckled. "Waiter, more glasses please. Tonight I want good company - and zero judgment."
Minutes later...
The four women were gathered around the table, glasses in hand, discreet laughter in the air, dessert plates forgotten for conversation.
"Do you live in the imperial capital?" Lumine asked curiously.
"Recently," Luna answered with intentional mystery.
"Fascinating. Your accent is so... neutral and polished," Nikoly observed.
"Can't place your origins. Makes you even more intriguing," Victória added, eyes sparkling.
Luna maintained her smile.
They were clearly probing her background, but without malice - pure curiosity.
"Let's say my past is more discreet than my present," she replied with a delicate sip.
They laughed elegantly.
"That's good. I'm stealing that line for interviews," Victória said.
The conversation flowed lightly.
They discussed fashion (where Luna pretended to know designers Ivy whispered to her).
Compared exotic destinations (Luna said "haven't been yet" to places she'd only dreamed of last week).
Talked charity galas and fashion shows.
With each exchange...
Luna felt herself mastering this world.
Not just visiting - becoming part of it.
As they prepared to leave, Lumine touched Luna's arm lightly. "You must join us for Le Bal des Étoiles next Saturday."
Nikoly added: "By invitation only. No new attendees in years. But with your presence..."
Victória smiled: "...the ball needs a new legend. My vote's for you."
Luna blinked, surprised.
She'd barely entered this world, yet they were offering her a throne.
Luna smiled. "Saturday then. Save me a special spot."
The three women smiled back.