4 Mr. Lonely vs. the Hubris of Man

The last thing she remembered was coming home from one of the biggest anime conventions of the year. It was an event that drew people and brands from all over the world, and one that she attended yearly.

This particular year she had geared up in an immaculate lolita coord, complete with petticoat, one piece, headwear, and gloves. Her heels were a dangerous choice because she knew she'd be walking around for hours, but like every other self-respecting pursuer of fashion out there, she was more than ready to sacrifice for the sake of looks.

After hours of browsing, bargaining, and cosplay photo-snapping, she was on her way back, praying that her aching feet would hold out for just a bit longer.

There was a boba store open nearby that had most likely anticipated the swarm of people rushing back after the convention and knew that they'd be able to lure in at least a few of them. Bolita, or Bianca as she was known back then, had joined the throng of mindless weebs gathering inside the shop and ordered the sugariest, syrupiest concoction the store offered, complete with 16 add-on toppings, an extra pump of caramel, and cream cheese foam on top.

The cashier had almost passed out taking her order and repeating it back to her, for the exhausted lass had listed every single item in one long breath with dead eyes that reflected how dead she felt after dragging her weary self to the storefront.

As soon as she was able to get her hands on her pint of liquid diabetes, she had sat down on a set of steps next to a slow moving river to guzzle the good. After a short ten minute rest period, she was back on her feet and lugging her haul back home.

But just as she'd feared, her heels let her down. The sugar went to her head and weakened her feeble knees, and she'd tumbled into the river, weighed down by at least five pounds of skirts and about twenty pounds of anime merchandise.

Her last thought had been unintelligible screaming at the state her prized posters were going to be in. They were exclusive to the event and she had waited over two hours in line for each one.

Thinking back to that moment caused the duchess unbearable pain. All that money she had spent...down the drain in a single instant. And it was hard-earned money too.

Lost in her reverie, Lady Bolita barely noticed the maid returning with a full cup of tea. The duchess took a sip of tea, her pinky as high as humanly possible just because it made her feel more posh, and set the teacup down on the saucer with a clink. The tea was boiling hot, just how she liked it.

There was no use worrying about her past misfortunes now, however. She had bigger fish to fry. The upcoming tea party was to be hosted by a particularly important member of the nobility, and she had not the slightest idea of how she was expected to act.

She hoped the rest of the upper crust were as unresponsive to any possible blunders as her maids had been, although she highly doubted that would be the case. Perhaps it was time to crack open an etiquette book just in case?

Back in her old world, she'd been somewhat of a studious person. She fondly remembered all the times her name had graced the top of the school's rankings in academics--every year, of course--and her most recent claim to fame was a certificate detailing her as a nationwide achievement student.

Perhaps she would think of the tea party as a practical exam and her fellow noble ladies as the test proctors. Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have the motivation to study for it.

Duchess Bolita had always longed to attend a real afternoon tea party or an evening soiree. As an otoge otaku who was into lolita fashion, tea parties and fancy gatherings with people dressed in fancy clothing were right up her alley.

However, she'd never been able to find any such gathering and the closest she had gotten to a tea party were butler cafes. Duchess Bolita hoped very much that at least the silverware at the tea party would be similar.

She wondered if there were any etiquette books in the library. The duchess wasn't quite brave enough to ask her maid for lessons, especially since she had a feeling that basic etiquette was something she was supposed to know. Yet still, even if she were able to find an etiquette book, there would be the issue of reading it without the judging eyes of her maid watching her.

"Um, could I have some alone time please?" Duchess Bolita asked hesitantly.

"Of course, My Lady."

With the maid gone, Duchess Bolita was able to go book hunting to her heart's content. The only problem was figuring out where to start. The Schmancys were wealthy, so wealthy that she was honestly surprised the people of the duchy hadn't revolted due to the immense wealth gap. Thanks to that, the Schmancy library was stacked wall to wall and ceiling to floor with books about every niche subject in the history of niche subjects.

Duchess Bolita knew the task before her wouldn't be easy, but it had to be done. The maze of dresses she shied away from earlier was nothing compared to the monster that was the library. But the duchess wasn't about to clown herself in front of her fellow aristocrats. That was out of the question.

The library was surprisingly modern for a world she'd assumed to be stuck somewhere in the late 17th century. She recognized quickly that it was organized according to the Dewey Decimal system, and her familiarity with public libraries allowed her to scuttle her way right over to section 390, where the etiquette books were sure to be.

Unfortunately, the books were at the very top of an extremely high shelf, and though she had gained inches, she was not tall. A kind passerby might say she was a couple meters off, while a more accurate observer would say that even with a ladder the odds of her getting to the book she wanted were as high as her mastering the art of baking a souffle in a day.

But Duchess Bolita was not an average duchess. She saw the power in her tightly coiled drills, and as part of the Science Olympiad team back in her old world, she knew exactly how to propel herself to the height she needed to get to.

The amount of potential energy in the springs was boundless, and the duchess was sure the kinetic energy would be more than enough to take her to the top.

Duchess Bolita bent backward like an uncooked piece of elbow macaroni, in a pose she was sure was called the bridge. Flexibility was not one of this body's strong points and she was pretty sure she heard something crack.

With great effort, she lowered her head to the floor, compressing the ringlets to the floor as far as they would go. The effort made her neck muscles bulge, and she was certain she was going to be feeling it the next day.

Then, she raised her legs and bunched her copious skirts together, ensuring that she would not be hampered in her journey.

She ran a couple of quick calculations in her head to measure the distance and angle of elevation, to make sure she would get the best possible trajectory.

The trigonometry she had learned was proving to be significantly more useful than she had ever expected, and she was suddenly thankful to have memorized the unit circle.

Finally, she inhaled and made a show of respect to whatever deity would be overseeing her journey, hoping that they would allow her to reach the book she sought relatively unscathed. And then she let her curls propel her up, up, and away.