I had the day off today. After my daily routine of tending the plants, I took the clothes from my dresser and laid them out on my bed.
“Hrmm…” I groaned.
I only brought one dress from home. I purchased it a year ago and made several adjustments to make it last. It was decent enough for a gathering with a few folks out in the countryside, but it wasn’t fabulous enough for a leisurely stroll in the royal capital.
I needed a nice dress because Alice invited me for a cup of tea today. Back in Lawlife, I would’ve never thought about joining a tea party since it was expensive to warm up even a cup of tea in those snowy lands. I’d never been invited to a tea party before. Of course, these occasions had a proper dress code, even if it wasn’t explicitly stated. The standard attire was a feathered hat, some gloves, a tea dress, and a lacy parasol. Women generally wore lavish dresses as the feather in their hat wavered around, an intricate lace parasol in one hand, while elegantly enjoying a cup of tea. Unfortunately, I had no such attire.
If I wore the shoddy dress I had, people would doubt Alice’s taste in friends, and I couldn’t let that happen. I’ve got no dress! I internally shouted, but I had an ace up my sleeve—my school uniform. It was proper attire for any occasion, and I was genuinely glad that I was a student.
In Japan, “students” generally referred to those in college. Elementary, middle, and high schoolers were called “pupils.” But in this world, everyone who went to school was a student, and there weren’t any strict rules on how we were called.
I wore my school uniform and grabbed the handkerchief that I had worked hard to embroider the night before. As I shoved it into my pocket, I asked Gem if it wanted to tag along. It wobbled from side to side—it was staying back this time around.
And so, I headed to the Leaf dorm by myself. The campus was incredibly large, to the point where one had to use a carriage to head from one side to the other. I walked half an hour to the dorms instead to get some exercise, and when I reached the entrance, a young female instructor glared at me. I showed the entry permit that Alice gave me.
“You have to leave in three hours,” she warned. “Don’t forget it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
Autumn roses were planted in the greenhouse-esque entrance of the dorms, and their aroma hung thickly in the air. When I glanced around, taken by the tall ceiling, Alice approached me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Misha,” she called.
“I just arrived,” I said.
She wore a gorgeous, crimson dress. I guess she wears dresses on her days off, too.
“That looks lovely on you,” I said.
“Thank you,” Alice replied. “I see you’re in your uniform, but did a professor call you out on a day off?”
“No, I just like uniforms, that’s all.”
“I see…”
She didn’t pry further, much to my relief. I’d assumed that the tea party would be held in her room, but she instead guided me to a door that stood straight from the entrance.
“What room is this?” I asked.
“A reception room,” Alice answered.
She placed her hand on the door, and a magic circle popped up. It automatically made way for us, revealing a sunroom where gentle rays trickled in. The carpet was plush, obviously, and the elegant low tables and sofas added a pleasant touch. The marble mantelpiece, however, caught my eye the most; the upper area had a large mirror, and when I peered into it, it reflected the shimmering chandelier above. They must’ve carefully calculated the positioning.
“Misha, do have a seat,” Alice said.
“Thank you.”
A few finger foods and snacks were prepared for us, including violet cake, a berry tart, a chestnut pie, and other baked sweets, along with fruit, cucumber, and ham sandwiches. This was a lavish spread by itself, but I also noticed minced meat pie, stew, roast beef, and other savory dishes.
The fine china was also opulent with engravings, reliefs, and filigree. I didn’t see any layered cake stands, an item that I’d often spotted for teatime back in my past life. I recalled some elegant ladies in the hotel lounge chatting away that tiered cake stands allowed one to display as many foods as possible in a tight space, providing variety for guests. Hence, celebrities and the extremely wealthy had no need for cake stands since having enough space for food without cramming it in one place was a sign of wealth. These women loudly expressed surprise at the cake stands, so it left a lasting impression on my mind.
Even with that knowledge in mind, today’s tea party was extremely extravagant and expensive. As I gazed at the spread, a woman in a maid’s outfit arrived—apparently the assistant to the dorm parent. She carried a silver tray with freshly baked scones and poured a fresh cup of tea from the china teapot. As the aroma hit my nose, I felt like an elegant noble. I felt like I was in a fairy tale and almost lost sight of reality for a moment.
“Misha, let’s enjoy ourselves,” Alice said.
“Y-Yes,” I replied.
This is actually my first time enjoying afternoon tea like this. I’d seen it in hotels before, but I’d never experienced it for myself. This event was like a dream come true for people with a sweet tooth. A proper one would cost around 5,000 yen per person. I lived a rather frugal life, and I would’ve fainted if I heard of a little afternoon treat that expensive. Thus, in my past life, I could only gaze at the wealthy ladies from afar. I didn’t think I’d get to experience it here.
“Misha, how do you like your scones?” Alice asked.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“People are rather split on how they’re eaten.”
“Er, um… I haven’t really had many scones.”
In Lawlife, dairy products were precious, and I rarely got to eat scones that had a ton of butter in them.
“Then what do you usually enjoy with your tea?” Alice asked.
“Bread baked with a ton of dried fruits,” I said. “I’d shave off small slices and savor that.”
Because it was a waste of firewood to reheat food, I usually placed the bread atop my teacup to warm it up before eating.
“I see…” Alice said.
“So, I’m really looking forward to these scones,” I replied. “But how are people split on how to eat them?”
“Some like to spread some clotted cream first, while others like to do it later.”
The first method was to spread the clotted cream onto the scone and add some jam on top. It was tough to spread the cream on top of the jam, so this was the simplest and most effective way. The second method was to spread the jam first, then the cream on top. Supporters of this method claimed that the cream would melt on a hot, fresh scone and would lose its aroma; a layer of jam was needed as a buffer to protect the cream.
“I like to spread the cream first and then the jam,” Alice said.
“Huh…” I murmured.
I decided that my first bite would be plain. It was crispy on the outside and moist on the inside. It’s like a sata andagi treat!
“No, not quite…” I muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, nothing.”
The two seemed similar but couldn’t be more different, though both treats made my mouth turn dry. I then took a bit of clotted cream and layered the jam on top. I had another scone the other way around—the jam was on the bottom. I ate both, switching between bites, but couldn’t decide.
“Both methods are delicious!” I cried.
I spread the clotted cream and jam, took a bite, then took a sip of my tea. The aroma of flour remained in my nose for just a moment. This must be the scone that those wealthy ladies in Japan ate!
“Watching you eat the scones makes me feel silly for picking a side at all,” Alice said.
“The most important thing is to enjoy your food,” I said firmly.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
We enjoyed a lovely tea party as the minutes ticked by, and I savored my time with Alice.