Mission accepted. Yet, when it came to winning the title of "Queen" in the hearts of the boys, Xanthia found herself completely at a loss. Her mind raced, suddenly realizing she could draw upon memories from her previous life.

  Despite having been a downtrodden exam candidate and an overworked corporate drone in her past life, she had once secretly nursed a quiet crush during her student days.

  After graduating from high school, she naturally lost all contact with the Queen of Hearts—a title she mentally assigned to her unattainable ideal. The image she had of this Queen remained forever perfect in her mind: a divine being untouched by the mundane, like a flower kissed by the sun, elevated beyond mortal reach.

  This flower was the Queen of Hearts.

  In truth, the ck of interaction with her idealized figure was critical. Had she met the Queen of Hearts years ter only to find her diminished or disillusioned, the ethereal image would have shattered.

  Thus, she thought of a saying: “The perfect Queen of Hearts is the one who stands above all else.”

  A girl worthy of being the Queen of Hearts must be dazzling, unwavering, and exude a magnetic presence. She would excel in all things, conduct herself with grace and elegance, and captivate others with every gesture and smile.

  Such a girl would be kind and understanding, but anyone attempting to grow closer would find her aloof, like a star just out of reach.

  The more Xanthia pondered, the more her expression shifted. Wouldn’t such a ‘Queen of Hearts’ need to excel in the art of tea as well?

  It seemed boys found this particurly charming. Despite their outward disdain for tea culture, most couldn’t resist the allure of a skilled Tea Sommelier.

  Xanthia considered the ‘fragile little flower’ aura she currently exuded and realized that adopting the role of a Tea Sommelier would align perfectly with her persona.

  It was said that noble dies of the modern world mastered the art of tea and used it to captivate even the most powerful men. Organizations like the World Tea Masters Association were composed of elite, world-css women who elevated tea culture to an art form.

  Suddenly, Xanthia felt she had found a direction to pursue. But as a first step, she decided she needed to grow out her hair.

  She was tired of her pin, straight bck hair. Long, flowing locks would better suit the image she intended to project.

  The body’s original owner had never learned how to dress or groom herself due to her mother’s early passing, and she had little interest in self-care. Xanthia resolved to take charge of her appearance and prioritize her own happiness moving forward.

  Unfortunately, growing long hair wasn’t an overnight endeavor. For now, she set aside the goal of becoming the Queen of Hearts and focused instead on embracing the Tea Sommelier persona at school.

  Xanthia knew she had an advantage in this new role: her understanding of boys, even their hidden desires.

  It was mid-morning break—a twenty-five-minute reprieve. Xanthia turned her attention to her desk mate, Dematero.

  During previous breaks, Dematero seemed restless, struggling to accept the widening gulf between himself and his old friend Glen. On two occasions, he had approached Glen to ‘rekindle the past.’ However, this may have also been linked to Glen’s proximity to Elena La Loannou.

  Whenever Glen spoke, his manner was fmboyant, like a peacock dispying its feathers. Yet part of his attention remained on Elena, hoping to impress her with his ‘talents.’

  Glen, perceptive as ever, noticed but did not expose Dematero’s intentions. Glen himself had no romantic feelings for Elena and was entirely at ease around her. They shared a good rapport, chatting after css and discussing various topics.

  Dematero, however, became visibly uneasy around Elena. Although talkative by nature, he tried to maintain an aloof facade, perhaps believing it preserved his image.

  In truth, Dematero was quite handsome, with well-defined features—a cssic pretty boy. His humor and wit often left a favorable impression on those around him.

  During this break, however, he remained quiet, slumped over his desk. His gaze was fixed on Glen and Elena, who were seated in the fourth group, a picture of forlorn abandonment.

  Dematero’s seat was in the first group, near the cssroom corridor. The window seat belonged to Xanthia, who decided to act.

  She gently tapped Dematero’s arm. Startled, he looked at her, his reserved desk mate, with surprise.

  Xanthia offered him a warm smile, her lips parting slightly as she asked softly, “Hello, may I ask if your name is Dematero?”

  Her Social Butterfly skill worked wonders, creating an excellent first impression.

  Dematero froze. He hadn’t expected the quiet girl beside him to start a conversation. What caught him off guard even more was her voice—soft and melodic. Who was this unexpected gem?

  “Yes, I’m Dematero. Hello, Xanthia!” he replied politely.

  In the past, Dematero had thought Xanthia’s appearance unremarkable, cking any standout features. But now, as he looked closer, his perception began to change. Her delicate, fwless skin, lively doe-like eyes, long shes, soft voice, and gentle demeanor carried an undeniable charm.

  “Dematero,” Xanthia began, her tone tinged with a faint grievance, her eyes meeting his. “Do you dislike having me as your deskmate?”

  Her gaze—soft, watery, and mencholic—was enough to melt stone.

  Dematero hurriedly looked away. “Of course not! Xanthia, I’m happy to be your deskmate. It’s just that… I’m not very good at talking to girls.”

  Once he began, Dematero couldn’t stop. He rambled about how a previous female deskmate had bullied him, leaving him with lingering psychological scars.

  Trying to sound upbeat, he added, “But you’re different, Xanthia. You seem gentle and kind. Actually, your voice is really nice. You should talk more—or even sing! I bet your singing voice would be amazing.”

  While maintaining a polite smile, Xanthia inwardly sighed at his loquaciousness. Did he truly have literary talent, or was it just babble?

  “Singing? I’m not sure, but if you’d like, I could learn for you,” she replied demurely. “My mom always told me to make more friends, but I’ve always been too shy. Meeting you, Dematero, makes me want to try.”

  Her shy, modest demeanor perfectly embodied the Tea Sommelier mode, though it felt a bit forced. Xanthia wasn’t yet a professional, but her attempt was sufficient for testing the waters among high school boys.

  For once, Dematero was rendered speechless, utterly at a loss.

  Is she a noble dy?