"It's an invitation."
That modest yet resounding answer quietly echoed through the now silent hall, as if ti itself had paused. Mary gazed quietly into his dark eyes, illuminated by the light. No trace of his usual languor or façade remained—only pure, utter seriousness.
Then, Mary smiled. Gone was the formal, flawless smile of Miss Morstan. Now, it was a smile from Mary's very heart, as genuine as the first thaw of snow. The instant she smiled, the lighting in the entire hall dimd for just a mont, making the starlight shining once again in her eyes all the more vivid.
"An invitation…" she said softly, slowly reaching out her right hand to rest gently in Russell's palm. Cool, delicate fingers t a warm hand, like a lost bird desperately soaking up the comfort of its ho.
"In that case, I'll accept with no hesitation."
And so, amid glances filled with shock, surprise, jealousy, and disbelief, he led her, slowly, to the center of the empty dance floor. The crowd instinctively parted for them, like the Red Sea before Moses. The surrounding whispers and Timmy Roy's near-exploding indignation vanished in an instant, like snowflakes touching a pot of boiling tea.
Russell cared little for how high the malice Points soared, and Mary paid no attention to the discussions around them or the music that had abruptly stopped. All that mattered was that they held hands and danced—there was no need for background music or applause.
Russell's left hand rested gently on Mary's slim waist, while his right intertwined with hers; the girl tensed up for a second, as if soone had touched upon her secret.
"What is it?" he asked in a low voice.
"It's nothing." Mary answered softly, her eyes lowered, voice faintly betraying a trace of panic.
"I never would have guessed that Mr. Watson could dance."
"I learned on the spot. If you compare to Miss Morstan, it wouldn't be wrong to say I knew nothing at all." Russell replied with a good-natured smile. "If I accidentally step on your feet, please forgive ."
"Just call Mary," she whispered kindly. Russell looked a little surprised, but then smiled aningfully.
"In that case, you can call Russell."
He truly wasn't trained in dancing. Before arriving, Russell had spent 300 Malice Points to unlock the system's [Dance D ] skill. Though still at a rookie level, it was more than enough. For him, this mont—holding her hand and dancing with her in the spotlight of the night—was already extraordinary.
While they quietly chatted, Charlotte set down her glass and strode straight over to the band. "If you're not using this right now, may I borrow it?" she asked a violinist, and, without waiting for a reply, picked up the precious instrunt. In the next mont, an unfamiliar, lodious, and slightly odd improvised lody flowed quietly from Charlotte.
The tune wasn't structured like a waltz, nor as tranquil as a slow waltz. Instead, it moved with the energy and freedom of an impromptu ballad. The prelude resembled a brook bubbling under the afternoon sun—beautiful and pure, tinged with naïve curiosity.
In the center of the dance floor, Russell guided Mary in their first step to the lody. His movents were anything but standard, sowhat awkward, but filled with rhythm. Mary didn't need to think; her body followed his lead instinctively. Their dance echoed like a hesitant conversation:
You advance, I retreat.
If you turn, I follow.
Her moon-white skirt and his black trousers spun on the polished floor, weaving like the first embrace between day and night.
Russell gazed at Mary's blue eyes—illuminated by lamp and starlight alike—and inhaled the nostalgic scent of white tea and ink that seed to linger around her. At that instant, the surrounding envy and the frantic scrolling of numbers on the system panel lted away into insignificance.
[Timmy Roy is enraged at Mary's exclusivity: Malice Level 50]
But who cares about malice Points? In this mont, all Russell desired was to dance well.
The orchestra conductor, after staring for a mont in confusion, at last realized what was happening. Listening to Charlotte's playing, he raised his baton and began to lead the others in.
Then ca the cello's soft whisper, the flute's clear note, the piano's gentle arpeggios… An entirely improvised ensemble quietly ca alive, centered on the two dancers.
Charlotte's violin lody swelled slowly, like tributaries flowing into a river, expanding and sweeping the room with emotion. Russell's steps grew bolder, guiding Mary into an elegant spin. Her moon-white skirt swirled in the midnight light like a night-blooming cereus.
Mary's body was so light—her waist so slender it seed a touch would break her. Yet, she moved skillfully, and for a mont, Russell couldn't help but chuckle.
"What are you laughing at?" Mary, a little breathless from spinning, looked up.
"Oh, it's nothing," said Russell, shaking his head. "Just that you are even lighter than I imagined, Mary."
At that, Mary's cheeks flushed softly in the orange glow.
"Silver tongue," she accused gently.
The dance continued. A sheen of sweat appeared on Russell's brow. He wasn't a professional dancer, and besides, he'd just run here at top speed. Several tis he nearly faltered. Sensing his embarrassnt, Mary subtly slowed their pace by half a beat in the next turn. No longer rely following, she picked up the baton, guiding his rhythm with her hand on his back and with warning glances when he faltered.
Their awkward conversation slowly beca smooth. It felt like two strangers growing closer day by day through practice and conversation, their monologues blending into a harmonious duet.
And just then, Charlotte's violin soared to a climax, sweeping the hall in waves of emotion. The orchestra's music grew more powerful—brass and strings entwining, as if crowning the dancers for their performance.
Russell took a deep breath, leading Mary into their final, grandest spin. As her skirt billowed out, he drew her gently into his arms. Mary placed her hand perfectly on his shoulder and leaned back, causing a mont of utter stillness.
The entire hall fell silent. Every guest held their breath, gazing at the couple in the center, like figures stepping out of a painting.
One second… two… three… Then, without warning, thunderous applause erupted from the crowd, enveloping the whole hall.
Spotlights belatedly flickered on, casting beams upon the two. Russell gently helped Mary to her seat. They exchanged smiles and, as a silent acknowledgnt, bowed lightly toward the band—like two actors at a grand award ceremony.
…
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