The truffle risotto arrived at the table as if it were a work of art.
The presentation was impeccable: wide plate, gold detail 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 cutlery.
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 elf.
An auxiliary plate that was probably just to rest the soul.
"Ok…" 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 next to the crystal glass, dressed like an old-fashioned British teacher — even with half-moon glasses and a tight bun.
"Ai, ai, ai, ai… Miss Luna, this is a crime against risotto. You're about to stab European refinement with a beef roast fork."
Luna froze in the air, motionless. "There's… a difference between fork for eating food and fork for eating fancy food?"
"Absolutely. The second judges you more intensely."
Ivy enlarged the image of a holographic table in front of Luna. "Come on, quick lesson: basic etiquette for elite dinners for super-rich ex-beggars."
Luna raised an eyebrow. "That was offensive and completely accurate."
Ivy adjusted her glasses and began. "Rule number one: from outside to inside. Start with the utensils furthest from the plate and move closer as the dishes arrive."
"So this fork here…" Luna pointed.
"Is for starters. Used for salads that cost minimum wage. The next one is for risotto. That one."
"That smaller fork on the side is for delicate dishes like… for example… poetry tartare."
Luna laughed with her mouth closed. "That exists?"
"Not yet. But I've heard rumors in France."
With the help of the System, Luna's mental interface activated.
She blinked and, in an instant, a floating window appeared with data about the complete etiquette protocol.
+100% visual understanding of aristocratic utensils.
+150% muscle memory for glasses and crystal cups.
+Moderate resistance to public laughter when hearing words like 'vegan beet sparkling wine.'
Luna took a deep breath, held the correct fork, cut the risotto with elegance, and brought a portion to her mouth with the lightness of someone born for this.
She went silent.
She savored.
"...my God, this is better than therapy."
Ivy smiled satisfied. "Now you are behaving like a true lady of high society."
Luna wiped the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin. She raised the crystal glass with the exact posture taught seconds ago. "Lady of high society, yes. But with the soul of a survivor."
Next dish: filet medallion with wine reduction and flower-shaped roasted potatoes.
Luna slid the knife as if cutting silk.
The cutlery didn't even clink on the plate.
At the other table, a rich woman watched attentively. "She must have taken a course in Switzerland. Did you see how she holds the glass? That's French etiquette."
Luna smirked. "Thanks, Ivy."
"You're welcome. You learned fast. Basically: your etiquette is now at killer duchess of reality show level."
The waiter returned with dessert:
Belgian chocolate tower with 24-karat gold, salted caramel cream, handcrafted lavender ice cream, and a mint leaf picked by vegan monks in the Himalayas.
Luna looked at it with shining eyes. "If this isn't redemption, I don't know what is."
While savoring each layer, maintaining perfect composure, she found herself looking at the city through the window.
On one side: the hunger of the past.
On the other: the delicate flavor of the now.
The fork with the last layer of dessert floated centimeters from Luna's lips when a triple and overwhelming presence approached the table.
Actually, presence was an understatement.
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 like inheritance and imported champagne.
Luna felt it before seeing.
And then, she heard. "Excuse me…"
She slowly raised her eyes, the fork still in the air.
Three women stood before her.
One was tall, porcelain skin, black hair like velvet night falling to her waist.
Icy blue eyes — as if Scandinavian winter had incarnated into a duchess.
She wore an elegant black dress with sapphire details.
And spoke with an impeccable European accent.
"Sorry for the boldness. My name is Lumine von Edelweiss, and… well, we simply had to come over."
She smiled with enchanting grace. "You are absolutely stunning."
The second was shorter, delicate porcelain face, hair as straight as black ink spilling over silk.
Deep black eyes, observant — as if every gesture was analyzed with millimetric care.
She wore a minimalist white outfit with gold details.
Each step was controlled. Each gesture, silent.
"I'm Nikoly Takahira-Hoshinami," she said in a calm tone. "I heard you don't refuse green tea prepared with soul… but today, we preferred chocolate with gold."
She smiled.
It was an enigmatic smile. Subtle.
Like someone who knows more than she lets on.
The last was tall like a movie actress, soft bronzed skin, long dark violet hair, slightly wavy.
Bright green eyes, alive — as if always in 'party mode activated.'
She wore an emerald green dress with a side slit and amethyst accessories.
"And I'm Victória Lancaster-Monroe," she said in an animated voice and that American elite-series accent.
She leaned in with a provocative smile. "Seriously, you shined so much here in the restaurant that I thought they were filming a secret Chanel commercial."
Luna, surprised by the direct approach, raised an eyebrow.
She analyzed the three with neutral eyes. They were beautiful — clearly filthy rich.
Polite, but with that air of being used to being the center of the table.
But… there was a difference.
Luna shined effortlessly.
With her mysterious aura, her absurd beauty boosted by the System, and that calm of someone who could buy the entire hotel with loose change from her card.
She placed the fork down gently, wiped her mouth with the napkin, and said with a faint smile, "Well… since you broke my mystical concentration with the most expensive dessert of the week… at least sit down and make it worth it."
The three smiled, excited.
"With pleasure," said Lumine, sitting down smoothly.
"I love direct people," commented Victória.
"Your tone suggests a soul… disciplined by life," analyzed Nikoly, crossing her legs.
Luna just chuckled lightly and gestured. "Waiter, more glasses, please. Today I want good company — and zero judgment."
A few minutes later…
The four women were gathered around the table, glasses in hand, discreet laughter in the air, and dessert plates being ignored in favor of conversation.
"Do you live here in the imperial capital?" asked Lumine, curious.
"Recently," answered Luna with a touch of purposeful mystery.
"I think it's amazing. You have such a… neutral and polished accent," commented Nikoly, intrigued.
"You can't decipher where you came from. That makes you even more fascinating," added Victória, eyes sparkling.
Luna maintained her smile.
They were clearly trying to discover her origin, but without hostility — it was pure curiosity.
"Let's say my past is more discreet than my present," she replied with a delicate sip from her glass.
The three laughed with elegance.
"That's a good one. I'm stealing that line for an interview," said Victória.
The conversation continued light and lively.
They talked about fashion (where Luna pretended to know the names of designers that Ivy whispered mentally).
Compared exotic destinations (Luna said "I haven't been yet, but it's on the list," even though her list was just "survive" until last week).
Discussed social events, charity dinners, and upcoming fashion shows.
And with each word exchanged…
Luna felt she was mastering it.
She wasn't just a guest in that world.
She was becoming part of it.
Before saying goodbye, Lumine leaned in and lightly touched Luna's arm. "You must come with us to the Le Bal des Étoiles next Saturday."
Nikoly added, "Only selected guests. They haven't accepted new people in years. But with your presence…"
Victória smiled. "…the party needs a new legend. And I vote for you."
Luna blinked, surprised.
She felt like she had barely started in this world, and they were already offering her a throne.
Luna smiled. "Saturday, then. You can save a special seat for me."
And the three women smiled back.