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“Surely you don’t mean the kind of indie artist who, right before the summer or winter convention, naturally says, ‘Sleep? Once every eighteen hours for thirty minutes is plenty. I’m fine, so you’ll be fine too,’ and then forces their assistants to work through sleepless nights doing base colors and screentones, right!?”

“N-no, nothing like that… w-well, you know, a lot of… various things.”
“Y-y-yes, various things.”

For some reason, both Branch Master Eraldo and Caldina grew suspiciously flustered, giving nothing but vague and evasive answers.

“I don’t quite understand what these summer and winter conventions are, but… ah, that reminds me—speaking of festivals, isn’t it about time for the Founding Festival? Are you and Lord Lucas making progress on preparations, Jill?”

It was clear that Lady Lieselotte was changing the subject, but leaving that aside—what exactly is the Founding Festival?

Luke seemed just as lost as I was, a puzzled look on his face.

Seeing our confusion, Lady Lieselotte blinked, thought for a moment, then clapped her hands in realization.

“Ah, yes. Now that I recall, last year’s Founding Festival was canceled because of the chaos surrounding the field study and the aftermath.”

She nodded to herself in understanding.

“The Founding Festival, in short, is the school’s Founding Festival—an academy-wide event held next month. It celebrates the school’s founding with parties and performances, and for that day only, the school is opened—though only to affiliates and students’ guardians—to enjoy together.”
““Huh, I see.””

So there’s such an event, huh. This was news to me.

“Students normally wear their uniforms, but on this day, casual attire is permitted. Thus, it’s customary for the noble girls, especially, to wear their finest dresses.”

“Oh no! If that’s the case, we must contact our dressmaker immediately, or it won’t be ready in time!”

Monika cried the moment she heard that, but if uniforms are still acceptable, wouldn’t it be fine to wear mine?
Tailored dresses typically take three to six months to complete—trying to order one now seems unrealistic. We could always go with an off-the-rack semi-order or repurpose something already owned.

When I suggested that, Monika grew furious.

“Unthinkable! Lady Jill’s shame is our family’s shame—nay, His Highness Lucas’s shame! How could we possibly fail to provide the latest, finest, strongest dress!?”

Her maid’s pride was ablaze.
I could understand “latest” and “finest,” but what on earth makes a dress “strongest”?

“Well, naturally. At the end of the festival, a Princess and Prince are chosen by guest and student votes, and they dance together before the crowd.”
“Oh, really?”

I gave a polite nod, thinking, *That sounds like quite a hassle.* For some reason, everyone else sighed in unison and gazed into the distance.

“You nod like it’s someone else’s concern, but according to predictions—and even the betting pools—you’re guaranteed to be this year’s *Princess*. All the other candidates withdrew once your name came up. I’m a judge myself, so I’m excluded, but I’ve never been so relieved to be one.”
“Ehhh!? Really!?”

I’d thought the whole “Shrine Maiden Princess” craze had died down, but apparently not yet.
Well, they say gossip dies in seventy-five days; give it three months, maybe it’ll settle.

Lady Lieselotte sighed again as she watched me.

“There was even talk of excluding you entirely and instead choosing a Sub-Princess…”

““Ehhh!? That’s ridiculous (That’d be terrible, nya)!””

Cried Coppelia and Chaton in unison.

“We’ve already placed massive orders for limited-edition goods, nya!”
“We even prepared autograph-signed Champion Belts, Flags, Rings, and Caps!”

I decided to ignore those two—for now. We’d have a *very* long talk later. Lieselotte went on.

“But that would’ve killed the excitement. So instead of judging only dresses, dances, and music as usual, the idea was to expand the criteria—to assess broader feminine qualities, perhaps by adding more competitions. Once that was proposed, more girls volunteered to join.”

That sounded reasonable. We aren’t dolls, after all—if we’re to be judged, I’d prefer it to reflect ability and character too. Otherwise, it would be an insult to womanhood and to the dignity of a lady.

“As a result, by request of the young ladies, this year’s Princess candidates will compete not only in dress, dance, and music, but also in horseback riding, archery, swimming, shot put, the thousand-mertes endurance run, and juggling—culminating in a one-on-one duel to decide the winner.”
“Those have to do with being a lady?! You just listed every event you think you can win!”
“Incidentally, you’ll be competing alone in every event, Jill. The challengers will form teams, and each event will have a representative. Their slogan is, ‘Even if none of us can win alone, together our strength will prevail!’ Touching, isn’t it?”
“Am I being treated like some final boss here!?”

The concept is clearly everyone pooling their strengths together against a powerful foe in the hopes of weakening me even a little, just so that the Hero can deliver the final blow!

As I fumed, the others ignored me.

“Fools wasting effort. No one could ever defeat Lady Clara.”
“Well, yeah. Jill can do all those things anyway.”
“That goes without saying, you peasant! Lady Clara could ride a horse through a ring of fire, shoot arrows at targets, play the flute, and juggle all at once! Right, Lady Clara!?”
“Well, I suppose I *could* do that much normally. But that’s not a lady or a princess anymore—that’s a street performer!”

Coppelia and Cestlavie were far too entertained by the idea, and I immediately snapped at them.

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “…She can actually do all that…” ” ” ” ” ” ” ”

Everyone else whispered, visibly trembling.

“As for the Prince, Lord Lucas is the favorite, but this pervert (Viola) is close behind, and there are a few other strong contenders. We’ll see how it goes.”

Then Lielosette concluded with a shrug, “Well, the Prince’s role is usually just to highlight the Princess anyway.”