The Count Kallenberg gave her a look that seemed to say, "This is why ill-mannered girls are a problem." "Go seduce that man, and be quick about it." "From the moment it started, someone or other has been stuck to his side, there's no opening at all," Ilse retorted. Both women and men. Young and old, a mixed bag are welcome. As expected of the Prime Minister, he was tremendously popular. "If you have time to be giddy, then do the job you were raised to do." With that warning, Ilse resolved to watch Dietheardt closely. He was human, too. He'd need to take a break or use the facilities. She waited and waited for that moment, enduring the time. How long passed? Then Dietheardt moved. He walked briskly from the ballroom to an adjacent chamber. As she followed his back, she noticed the crowd gradually thinning. Now was the time to speak to him. (Before that, I need to make my eyes look teary, right?) She pressed her back against the wall, took out the small vial she’d been given from her pocket, and opened the lid. Just Drip, a few drip, she put the drops into her eyes, and the preparation was complete. Alright! she cheered inwardly. "Please wait, Your Excellency Dietheardt." Dietheardt, walking ahead then stopped. Ilse didn't slow down and approached him. Dietheart turned around. This was the moment for the full-frontal assault. "Oh kyaa!" Though it was slightly wooden, Ilse pretended to trip and stumbled into Dietheardt's chest. This knowledge came from the daily discussions among her colleagues on how to stage a "natural encounter" with a man. They'd argued over which was more effective that pretending to trip and falling into his chest, or dropping a handkerchief right in front of him. (If he shakes me off and looks at me like I'm garbage, the first part of the mission is complete.) She would just tell her half-brother, "I'll try harder next time." to obfuscate the failure. Five seconds. ...Ten seconds passed. (Huh...? Why isn't he trying to push me away?) If you're suddenly embraced person, you should instinctively move to make them let go. What was going on? He was completely motionless. Now she was stuck plastered to Dietheardt's chest! ...............It must have been about thirty seconds. She sometimes hugged Beate and her friends as a joke, but she'd had zero physical contact with a man (the frog incident was an exception and didn't count). She could feel the warmth radiating from where they were touching, and at the same time, she became acutely aware of the distinct firmness of a man's body and his larger build compared to a woman's. For some reason, the sensation of their palms meeting when they danced earlier vividly returned to her mind. A deep itchiness started in her chest. If this continued, Ilse felt she would be the one overwhelmed by this strange atmosphere. Why wasn't Dietheart moving at all, despite being suddenly hugged by a woman? (Could it be that he's been pursued too much by aggressive women and has gone beyond being wary of women to having a phobia?) Oh no! Maybe he wasn't choosing not to move, but couldn't move! She had to pull away immediately and sincerely apologize. "I am so sorry for suddenly touching you!" The moment Ilse tried to step back, then Dietheardt moved swiftly. For some reason, an arm wrapped around her back, and she was pulled tightly against him. "Eh?" She thought the arm's grip suddenly tightened. (Whoa! W-wait! What's happening?) Slightly confused, Ilse wriggled to break free from his chest. Right after, he suddenly let her go. "No, this is—I was just trying to help a lady who seemed about to trip—" Dietheardt said, his voice laced with fluster. "Y-yes, that's right. It seems my shoes aren't fitting correctly." Feeling guilty, she played along with his explanation. "That's terrible. I hope if it hurt. It would be awful if you had blisters." "N-no. It hasn't become that serious, so I'm fine. More importantly, Your Exce—Your Excellency Dietheardt, how are you feeling?" "Superb." "So it was awful... Huh? Superb?" She'd been thinking he'd be nauseated by contact with a strange woman, so why? "Um...?" Ilse, whose eyes were unintentionally moist thanks to the drops she'd put in, looked up at him in doubt. As she looked, Dietheardt let out another "Ugh..." that sounded like a breath. The lighting was dimmer here than in the ballroom, so she couldn't discern his complexion, but was he feeling unwell? She couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were focused with a certain intensity. "D-didn't you have business with me?" "Actually, I did... but if you're feeling unwell, Your Excellency Dietheardt, I'll wait until another time." Just as Ilse was about to cut the mission short for the day, Dietheardt leaned forward. "As you can see, I am perfectly fine! If you told me to run, I could run a hundred laps around the palace right now." Dietheardt, standing right in front of her, was clearly radiating the message, "State your business! He didn't look like he'd let her go until she told him her purpose." "Actually... I just wanted to talk to the man I admire, Your Excellency Dietheardt... I just couldn't help but follow you." Ilse gently lowered her eyes and adjusted her voice to sound fragile. "I-is that so? What exactly did you wish to talk about?" Dietheardt's voice seemed to catch. He might be annoyed, but since she hadn't been outright rejected, she continued. "Well... something about our future, perhaps?" "Understood." "WHAAAAAT?!" She let out a startled cry as Dietheardt suddenly swept her up into his arms. He walked briskly away! She had absolutely no idea what was happening. What in the world was going on? Dietheardt held Ilse, who was wearing heavy formal attire, without any trouble and proceeded calmly into the depths of the palace. The place he carried her to was one of the many guest rooms. She knew in theory that several guest rooms were opened on the day of a ball, but she never imagined she would be the one using one. Ilse was gently placed onto a sofa inside the room. "How is your foot?" Dietheardt knelt and removed the shoe from Ilse's foot. He looked exactly like a footman attending to his mistress. She knew that some women in society hired handsome footmen to attend to their personal needs. (I feel like I'm making him do something bad...) A sense of immorality ran up her spine. "I-I'm fine." "But you might have a blister." He was being strangely insistent. She hesitated to take off her stocking in front of a man. (C-could it be that he deliberately fell for my honey trap? Is this his way of signaling, 'I've known about your trap all along'?) Perhaps this was the method of a Prime Minister on the front lines of politics, "Spit out who's behind you immediately." However, she couldn't let it end here. If she didn't drag this out until Heidemarie's marriage, Ilse's life plan would be ruined. (Ugh! Ilse, you have no choice but to do this!) Resigned, Ilse leaned forward and gently placed her hand on Dietheardt's shoulder. "Look at me, not my foot..." She made her voice sound delicate, and Dietheardt's body shook ever so slightly. "I... I want to know you better." Ilse smoothly took his hand and squeezed it tightly.