The truffle risotto arrived at the table as if it were a work of art.
The presentation was impeccable: a wide plate, gold detailing on the edges, a subtle aroma floating in the air like instrumental music made of expensive mushrooms and promises of noble cholesterol.
Luna looked at him…
Then to the cutlery.
Then to the waiter, who withdrew with a silent bow.
She cleared her throat.
He straightened his posture.
And froze.
On meat:
Three knives.
Four forks.
Two spoons.
A tiny trident that looked like it had been stolen from a gourmet leprechaun.
A side dish that was probably just to rest the soul.
"Okay…" Luna whispered. "This is like a culinary boss fight."
She picked up the biggest fork, hoping it was the right one.
Ivy appeared in miniature, floating beside the crystal glass, dressed like an old-fashioned British schoolmistress—right down to the half-moon glasses and tight bun.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch... Miss Luna, this is a crime against risotto. You're about to stab European refinement with a roast beef fork."
Luna stopped in midair, motionless. "Is there… a difference between a fork for eating food and a fork for eating expensive food?"
"Absolutely. The second one judges you more intensely."
Ivy zoomed in on the holographic table in front of Luna. "Here we go, quick lesson: basic elite dining etiquette for wealthy ex-homeless women."
Luna raised an eyebrow. "That was offensive and completely accurate."
Ivy adjusted her glasses and began. "Rule number one: from the outside in. Start with the utensils furthest from the plate and move closer as the dishes arrive."
"So this fork here…" Luna pointed.
"It's a starter. Used for salads that cost the minimum wage. The next one is for risotto. That's it."
"That smaller fork on the side is for delicate dishes like… for example… poetry tartar."
Luna laughed with her mouth closed. "Does that exist?"
"Not yet. But I've heard rumors in France."
With the System's help, Luna's mental interface activated.
She blinked, and in an instant, a floating window appeared with data on the complete tag protocol.
+100% visual understanding of aristocratic utensils.
+150% muscle memory for crystal glasses and cups.
+Moderate resistance to laughing in public when hearing words like "vegan beetroot sparkling wine."
Luna took a deep breath, held the correct fork, cut the risotto elegantly, and brought a portion to her mouth with the lightness of someone born for it.
There was silence.
He savored it.
"...my God, this is better than therapy."
Ivy smiled with satisfaction. "Now you're behaving like a true high society lady."
Luna wiped the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. She lifted her crystal glass with the exact posture she'd been taught seconds ago. "A high-society lady, yes. But with the soul of a survivor."
Next dish: fillet medallion with wine reduction and flower-shaped baked potatoes.
Luna slid the knife as if she were cutting silk.
The cutlery didn't even clink on the plate.
At the other table, a wealthy woman watched intently. "She must have taken a course in Switzerland. Did you see the way she holds her glass? That's French etiquette."
Luna smirked. "Thank you, Ivy."
"You're welcome. You learned quickly. Basically: your etiquette is now at reality TV murder duchess level."
The waiter returned with dessert:
Tower of Belgian chocolate with 24-karat gold, salted caramel cream, homemade lavender ice cream, and a mint leaf harvested by vegan monks in the Himalayas.
Luna looked at it with shining eyes. "If this isn't redemption, I don't know what is."
As she savored each layer, maintaining perfect composure, she found herself looking out the window at the city.
On one side: the hunger of the past.
On the other: the delicate taste of now.
The fork with the last layer of dessert floated inches from Luna's lips when a triple, overwhelming presence approached the table.
In fact, there was little presence.
It was as if three models from a Dior campaign had materialized directly from a haute couture magazine.
Silky hair. Perfect posture. Perfumes that smelled of heritage and imported champagne.
Luna felt before seeing.
And then he heard, "Excuse me…"
She looked up slowly, her fork still in the air.
Three women were standing before her.
One was tall, porcelain skin, hair as black as night velvet falling to her waist.
Glacial blue eyes—as if the Scandinavian winter had come to life in a duchess. She wore an elegant black dress with sapphire accents.
And he spoke with an impeccable European accent.
"Sorry to be so bold. My name is Lumine von Edelweiss, and… well, we just had to come here."
She smiled with charming grace. "You are absolutely stunning."
The second was shorter, with a delicate porcelain face, straight hair like black ink running over silk.
Deep, observant black eyes—as if every gesture was analyzed with millimeter care. She wore a minimalist white outfit with gold details.
Every step was controlled. Every gesture, silent.
"I'm Nikoly Takahira-Hoshinami," he said calmly. "I knew you wouldn't refuse green tea brewed with soul... but today, we prefer chocolate with gold."
She smiled.
It was an enigmatic smile. Subtle.
From someone who knows more than they let on.
The latter was tall, like a movie star, with smooth tanned skin and long, slightly wavy, dark violet hair. Her green eyes were bright and lively—as if they were always in "inner party mode." She wore an emerald green dress with a side slit and amethyst accessories.
"And I'm Victoria Lancaster-Monroe," she said in a cheerful voice with that American sitcom accent. She leaned in with a teasing smile. "Seriously, you shone so brightly here at the restaurant, I thought they were filming a secret Chanel commercial."
Luna, surprised by the direct approach, raised an eyebrow.
She studied the three of them with neutral eyes. They were beautiful—very wealthy, clearly. Polite, but with that air of someone accustomed to being the center of the table.
But… there was a difference.
Luna shone effortlessly.
With its mysterious aura, its absurd beauty driven by the System, and that tranquility of someone who could buy the entire hotel with the change on their card.
She gently put down her fork, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and said with a smirk, "Well... since you broke my mystical concentration with the most expensive dessert of the week... at least sit down and make it worth your while."
The three of them smiled excitedly.
"With pleasure," Lumine said, sitting down gently.
"I love straightforward people," commented Victória.
"Your intonation suggests a soul...disciplined by life," Nikoly analyzed, crossing his legs.
Luna just laughed lightly and gestured. "Waiter, more glasses, please. Today I want good company—and no judgment."
A few minutes later...
The four women were gathered around the table, glasses in their hands, discreet laughter in the air and dessert plates being ignored in the name of conversation.
"Do you live here in the imperial capital?" Lumine asked curiously.
"Recently," Luna replied with a slight, deliberate mystery.
"I think it's amazing. You have such a… neutral and polished accent," Nikoly commented, intrigued.
"It's impossible to decipher where you came from. That makes you even more fascinating," Victoria added, her eyes shining.
Luna kept her smile.
They were clearly trying to discover his origins, but without hostility—it was pure curiosity.
"Let's just say my past is more discreet than my present," he replied with a delicate sip from his glass.
The three laughed elegantly.
"That's a good one. I'm going to steal that phrase to use in an interview," said Victoria.
The conversation continued light and lively.
They talked about fashion (where Luna pretended to know the names of designers that Ivy mentally whispered).
They compared exotic destinations (Luna said, "I haven't been yet, but it's on my list," even though her list was just "survive" until last week).
They discussed social events, charity dinners and upcoming fashion shows.
And in every exchange of words…
Luna felt like she was in control of it.
She wasn't just a guest in that world.
It was becoming a part of him.
Before they said goodbye, Lumine leaned over and lightly touched Luna's arm. "You have to come with us to Le Bal des Étoiles next Saturday."
Nikoly added, "Only select guests. They haven't accepted new guests for years. But with your presence…"
Victoria smiled. "...the party needs a new legend. And I'm voting for you."
Luna blinked in surprise.
She felt like she had barely begun in this world, and they were already offering her a throne.
Luna smiled. "Saturday, then. You can save a special place for me."
And the three women smiled back.