Near the entrance to the temporary tent, figures of young men and women passed.

Their clothing ranged from expensive to plain, but all were immaculately neat. The men stood tall, the women lovely, each emphasizing their physical advantages to the fullest within their means.

These people were either practicing with their partners, oblivious to their surroundings, or standing tall and proud while looking towards the center of the dance floor, faces brimming with confidence.
...I have to dance with them later? Damn it, I'm the stepping stone or comic relief character from novels, aren't I?

Sylvia's voice sounded beside my ear, interrupting my runaway thoughts.
She was extorting the staff.
"Hey, long time no see. Considering I'm not beating you up on the spot, waive the registration fee, okay?"

The staff member was Darian, the future lord of Silverleaf Town's thousands, and even tens of thousands in the surrounding areas.
This lord was currently surrounded by layers of bodyguards, though they were all just shivering together.
As expected of a noble family's heir? Even scared like this, his tone remained fairly calm.
"Considering I found your contractor a tutor, please pay at least half."
"Oh, was there such a thing...? Then, Adam, you discuss it. I'll go take a look inside first!"

Sylvia hopped into the tent cheerfully. Seeing her leave, Darian finally let out a sigh of relief, his whole body going from a tense potato to mashed potatoes. This pathetic sight made me relax a little.

I took the registration fee from my money pouch and handed it to Darian.
He had a guard accept it, looked at me, his eyes showing sympathy, and said,
"Truly a formidable and terrifying elf. Young man, you've never attended the festival in previous years—your sister said you stayed home to care for your mother—what kind of threat compelled you this time?"
"I invited her. My sister will be home in the afternoon to help."
Darian fell silent, scrutinizing me with a rather unsettling gaze. He waved his hand, had the guard return the fee to me, and said quietly,
"...I see. Do you have confidence in forming a union with her?"

...What is he suddenly talking about?!
"What's it to you?!"
"It matters greatly. Your elf is powerful and self-willed. Such a person won't stay long in Silverleaf Town, and no one can force her to stay."
"But if you, a member of my future Mage Corps, can form a relationship with her beyond just contractor, then our town becomes her town. She would have a reason to stay."
"In other words, your romance could be said to be intricately linked to the town's prosperity and safety!"
Don't attach such high stakes...! I'm breaking out in a cold sweat!

Darian laughed.
"Young man, you seem quite tense."
"Don't worry. Allow me, representing House Goldflame, to personally escort you, help you win the cheers of the crowd at this dance, and shoot through her heart! Jackson! Take our young man to the premium tent!"

Following Darian's command, a large guard immediately approached, half-pushing, half-guiding me into a tent.
The light inside was somewhat dim, but enough for me to see the setup.
Unlike the outside smell of earth and sweat, here lingered a faint, incredibly expensive fragrance.

The burly guard approached and gently, yet firmly, pressed me down into the velvet-cushioned chair in the room's center.
Darian crossed his arms, looked at me as if appraising an artwork, and chuckled twice.
"Height around five feet ten inches, good. Shoulder width about seventeen inches, a bit thin, but shoulder pads can compensate. Then skin, hairstyle... I have a plan."
"Don't be nervous, young man. Your features are basically regular, body well-proportioned. It's just your clothing and sense of style are shockingly poor. Jackson, remove this pitiful linen shirt."

The guard grinned as he approached, his large hands twitching eagerly.
"No, I'll do it myself!"
I had no choice but to take off my shirt myself. Weird, it's all men inside. Why does it feel so dangerous?
As I hurriedly removed my shirt, almost simultaneously, another guard silently presented a silver tray.
On the tray, a set of clothes was folded neatly. The fabric still emitted a soft, understated sheen in the dim light, obviously priceless.
"Made from moon-silk and mithril thread. Light and splendid, the top choice for youths in the royal capital. Try it on!"
"Th-this is expensive, isn't it?"
"Don't mind it. I still have three houses I can sell."
Houses...?

I nervously put on the shirt. The garment felt weightless against my skin, yet it made me feel like it weighed a ton. As soon as it was on, more new clothes appeared on the guard's tray as if by magic.
Next, I put on a form-fitting, deep blue vest, embroidered with complex insignia I couldn't decipher in silver thread. Even the buttons were polished obsidian.
Finally, a jacket of the same color scheme, its material equally impeccable. Its lines were smooth. Though slightly large when first put on, it terrifyingly conformed to my body perfectly moments later... Definitely enchanted at great expense.
Emily, Sylvia, I'm sorry. I might have to work for the Goldflames for the rest of my life.

Darian asked,
"How does it feel?"
"Huh? V-very good."
"Far from it. Jackson, the hair oil and powder puff!"

The guard took an intricately carved wooden box from a room drawer.
When opened, it revealed rows of various small porcelain bottles, crystal jars, and tools I couldn't name, emitting an elegant floral scent that gave me goosebumps.
"Wait, let's skip those!"
Hearing my refusal, Darian was silent for a moment.
"...You're right. I was being hasty."
"Huh? Oh... Good that you understand."
"How could these mediocre products help you win an elf's heart? Jackson! Bring me that treasured bottle—the 'Morning Dew Floral Essence' condensed from Ambergrass flowers under the first rays of dawn!"

I resisted in every way possible, but in the end, the two of them gave me a complete makeover.
"Not bad. Finally taking shape. Here, look in the mirror. Thoughts?"
Ah, so that thing they placed in front of me was a mirror. I thought it was some magical artifact.
Come to think of it, is that guy in the mirror—with hair combed perfectly smooth and slick, wearing a set of clothes that look outrageously expensive and exquisitely crafted, emanating the aura of a standard "spoiled noble scion"—me?
"Th-this... Will it work? I just think it looks so pretentious."
Darian snorted disdainfully, confident.
"Ha! How many philandering playboys do you think I've seen? You now look like a top-tier example. Walking circles on the street would require a mask to avoid causing respectable young ladies to lose their heads and disrupt traffic."
I-Is that so? I can't appreciate it, but maybe women like this style?

Just then, Sylvia's voice came from outside the tent.
"Adam, Adam~ Adam~ Are you done over there? So slow—that fatty didn't do anything to you, did he?"
Darian chuckled.
"Alright, adjust your cravat and go see your beloved."

I stood up carefully, afraid of tearing one or two houses worth of fabric on my body, and walked out of the tent with a massive sense of incongruity.
Seeing me emerge, Sylvia—who had merely tied her hair into a ponytail—immediately looked over. Her expression went blank.
Suppressing my now-aching stomach, I gathered my courage.
"Well?"
Her face was serious as she opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to say something nice. However, after just two seconds, her expression crumbled, and she burst out laughing.
"S-Sorry... Pfft... Adam, I didn't mean to... It's just... the contrast is just too strong... I couldn't, couldn't help it for a moment... Ha ha ha ha!"
She hurriedly tried to apologize, attempted to stifle her laughter, but ended up laughing even harder.
Her shoulders shook up and down. Finally, she could only awkwardly turn her head away, staring at the empty ground beside her while speaking, but suppressed giggles still leaked through intermittently.

...Alright, it's over.
Someone, anyone, hit me on the head and knock me out until a week from now.

After my consciousness drifted away for a bit, Sylvia looked back at me, her face still bearing traces of laughter.
Her eyes were curved, her mouth corners twitching—clearly trying hard to suppress her amusement.
I said expressionlessly, changing the subject,
"Let's not talk about that. We should practice what we're going to dance to later."
Honestly, wearing this outfit, I've almost forgotten how to walk. Need to review quickly.
"Practice? What are you talking about?"
Sylvia finally stopped laughing. She pointed towards the dance floor, where many men and women had already gathered. I realized only Sylvia and I remained near the tent now.
She gave despairing me a radiant smile and said,
"The dance starts in 5 minutes. Let's go, my good partner!"