By noon the next day, Simon arrived punctually at the agreed spot.

He looked up. The signboard displayed *Golden Orchid Harp* in flowing, elegant calligraphy.

A renowned restaurant in the commercial district—Simon had long heard of it but never visited.

Stepping inside, the melodious cello reached his ears, followed by string instruments whose origins he couldn’t place.

He’d heard a band performed here all day. True or not, the soothing music eased his tension in this unfamiliar space.

“Are you Mr. Simon Drait? Miss Rod is waiting for you on the third floor,” the hostess said with a smile. After a quick confirmation, she led him upstairs.

“This is it. Please go ahead.”

Simon pushed the door open—and froze. Azure sky stretched above him.

Were they dining outdoors?

He glanced back. The hostess’s smile remained unchanged. He stepped inside.

If the first two floors resembled an ancient, elegant palace, the rooftop was a vibrant little garden.

Butterflies and bees flitted among lush blooms, evoking the wild.

A grayish-white stone maiden, arms raised with a pottery vessel, poured water into a uniquely shaped fountain.

In one corner, an oak balcony extended beyond the building. Pristine white tables and chairs were set. Leaning against the railing stood a black-clad girl gazing into the distance, lost in thought.

Simon approached, offering his practiced bow and polished greeting.

“Though a bit early—good afternoon, Miss Viana. You look even more…”

Hand over heart, bowing smoothly, his tone calm and cheerful—until he lifted his head. Words vanished.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Simon?” Viana turned, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Simon stood frozen, gaze utterly captivated.

Today, she wore a black off-shoulder dress. The wide round neckline, trimmed with white fur, drew subtle attention to the clean line of her collarbones.

Her exposed skin glowed ivory-white. The cut revealed just enough shoulder and décolletage—a hint of allure, elegant yet never vulgar.

Silver-buckled straps cinched her slender waist. Sheer black stockings hugged her long legs. Every detail whispered mature grace.

Compared to her last conservative outfit, this bold look shattered Simon’s usual composure.

“Do I look good?” Viana asked openly, meeting his eyes without shyness. Simon’s gaze darted away.

“Very… good-looking.” His mind went blank. Even those four words made his ears burn.

Cards? He could lecture for hours. But complimenting a girl so directly? He’d take card theory any day.

Viana let out a soft, delighted laugh, as if amused by his fluster.

“Please, have a seat first, Mr. Simon.”

She stepped behind him, hands resting gently on his shoulders, guiding him down. The motion was so tender he didn’t resist.

She returned to her chair.

The hostess poured tea. Simon waved off sugar; Viana dropped in a cube and stirred slowly. A faint, warm aroma drifted across the balcony.

“So, Mr. Simon—do you like the view?” Viana didn’t rush to business. She rested her chin in her hand, tilting her head slightly outward.

Following her gaze, Simon saw the bustling commercial district below—students strolling in groups. Farther northeast, a tower of unknown stone rose above an architectural complex starkly different from the shops.

“I always choose this restaurant for guests. This balcony offers a panoramic view of the entire academy—my favorite spot. Count three intersections left to find your card shop, Mr. Simon. Where the white tower stands? That’s the academy district…”

Viana wove in lively anecdotes—nearly missing class from getting lost, spotting a hidden couple mid-whisper. A skilled storyteller.

Soon, Simon, new to the area, felt the academy’s layout click into place. The faint tension in his chest melted away.

She leaned back slightly, gaze returning to him.

“I’d planned to host you at home, Mr. Simon, but to spare you the travel, I chose here. Rest assured—we’re the only guests today.”

Simon inwardly whistled. No wonder the place was so quiet. Privileges of the wealthy? Truly beyond his imagination.

Then his eyes caught her posture—and his cheeks flushed again.

Viana stretched languidly. Arms raised high, the motion accentuated her curves. The already snug dress tightened across her bust.

For a fleeting second, Simon’s rationality evaporated.

He’d learned: the moment things turned even slightly flirtatious, his calm vanished.

His past-life senior was right—card enthusiasts really shouldn’t pursue romance.

To escape the heat, he seized the conversation.

“Um… ahem. May I ask, Miss Viana—what was the reason for inviting me today?” He sipped tea to hide his fluster.

“So eager, Mr. Simon?” A pause. “…Very well. Let’s get to the point.”

The air shifted.

She brought her feet together, spine straightening away from the chairback. Not rigid—but every subtle adjustment radiated seriousness.

If moments ago she’d been a drowsy maiden awakening, now she stood as a businesswoman sharper than Simon himself.

“The reason I invited you, Mr. Simon, is to discuss collaboration. Would you be interested… in making the cards you create renowned throughout the entire kingdom?”