* * *

“If you accept the bouquet, you are obligated to meet the lady in private. If you wish, you can wrap the bouquet in your handkerchief, tuck it into your lapel, and attend the event together as a pair. While it doesn’t signify a formal engagement, it can cause rumors to spread, so unless absolutely necessary, rejecting the bouquet is advisable. However…”

The system’s second trap lay here.

“If you refuse the bouquet, you are required to dance with the lady who offered it.”

It was a lose-lose situation. Accepting meant going on a date, and refusing meant dancing.

For someone interested in a specific partner, the system could be advantageous.

Accepting their bouquet would prevent further proposals and provide clarity.

But what if you weren’t interested in anyone?

For popular unmarried men, rumors about them dodging noblewomen just to avoid bouquets were common.

Accepting a bouquet spared them from dancing, but it tied them to a date.

Conversely, leaving the event with only a handkerchief symbolized availability, inviting endless dance requests.

“I remember my first ball… It was a nightmare.”

I’d experienced the chaos firsthand.

Back then, I wasn’t yet infamous for my disinterest in romance and marriage, which later earned me the reputation of being “a eunuch.”

On my first ball as an adult, I naïvely mistook every dance proposal as genuine and felt obligated to accept them.

By the end of the night, after sweating through over ten dances, I snuck out, overwhelmed, and fled the scene.

Only later did I realize many of the proposals were just playful gestures.

Some ladies aimed to dance at least once even if their bouquets were rejected.

Balls were rare opportunities for women to take the lead in courtship, and I, being the mysterious, handsome duke, had been a prime target.

Thinking about Hernan grinning with a bouquet pinned to his chest made my blood boil again.

I raised my foot to stomp him one more time but stopped.

This is ridiculous.

What kind of childish tantrum is this?

“Anyway, if you’re not interested in a lady, it’s better to refuse the bouquet outright. As much as possible, socialize with married women or men, and quietly avoid single ladies.”

Ignoring them entirely was the best strategy.

It might come off as rude or aloof, but such was the price of popularity.

After concluding the basic briefing, I signaled the musician.

The pianist removed the cover and placed their foot on the pedal, preparing for the lesson.

“I’ll do my best to assist you, but fully avoiding trouble will be difficult. Let’s start with a familiar tune and work on the basics.”

I moved closer to Hernan, naturally taking the lead, and offered a polite bow.

“When a dance proposal is accepted, it begins with a bow like this. It’s the standard male greeting. The lady will curtsy in response like so.”

I demonstrated a graceful curtsy, pretending to hold the hem of an imaginary dress.

Hernan mimicked my earlier bow.

“Like this?”

I nodded. “Yes, well done.”

Now came the slightly awkward part.

Normally, a partner would be present to demonstrate the movements.

However, given the lack of suitable candidates, I had no choice but to take the female role myself.

“Then, we start with the basic steps. Once the music begins, you don’t start dancing immediately. The first measure is for finding the rhythm. Most pieces are in a slow 3/4 time, so keeping the beat shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Reluctantly, I stepped closer, grasping Hernan’s dry hand to guide him through the movements.

“During a dance, the basic placement of hands is as follows: lightly hold your partner’s left hand with your right, and place your left hand gently from the back to just above the waist.”

When I naturally guided Hernan’s opposite hand up to my waist, he hesitated for a moment before resting it awkwardly near the top of my hips.

“If you’re uncomfortable touching someone’s waist, it’s fine to lightly hold the embellishments near it.”

This was considered a “polite hand” in situations where intimacy was not the norm.

My formal attire included a belt, suggesting he could use it for comfort.

However, Hernan didn’t seem to catch the nuance, firmly gripping the area above my hip instead.

“Now, step forward with your right foot naturally.”

As I lightly pulled Hernan’s hand, he stepped forward, his face stiff with tension.

It felt more like military drill practice than dancing.

I almost laughed but managed to suppress it just in time.

“Not like that. Relax. No one’s ever been devoured while dancing.”

When I stepped back again, Hernan, now overly focused on relaxing, followed so limply that he was practically dragged along.

“Like this?”

Does he really think that’s correct?

No woman, no matter how graceful, could manage to support and lead a man standing at nearly 190 centimeters tall.

“No, not so limp. Try to be fluid and soft, as if you’re guiding your partner gently.”

As the soft music began, Hernan adjusted his grip on my hand and took a step forward.

His posture was marginally better this time.

“Yes, like that. Next, lightly raise your arm and step back with your right foot.”

Hernan’s sudden motion of pulling his body back while gripping my waist threw me off balance, and I barely managed to stay upright.

“Not like that.”

At this rate, we wouldn’t finish within an hour.

Suppressing an exasperated sigh, I tried to release his hand.

Or, at least, I attempted to.

Hernan’s refusal to let go thwarted my efforts.

“Let go of my hand for a moment. I’ll lead and show you directly. Just follow my movements and try to pick up the feel of it.”

As a trained fighter, physical activity shouldn’t be an issue for him.

For someone struggling with theory, practical demonstration was usually the quickest solution.

“Understood.”

Hernan’s voice was subdued, as if embarrassed to show such inexperience.

It was amusing how the normally composed Duke suddenly turned bashful.

I couldn’t make sense of his shifting demeanor but nodded lightly and repositioned myself to place my hand above his waist.

“Let’s begin.”

It wasn’t as if we were preparing for a sparring match, but the atmosphere felt similarly tense.

There was no time to dwell on that, though; fumbling during the ball would be a much bigger issue.

“Relax and step where I guide you.”

Following the rhythm, we moved in a slow, circular motion, and Hernan began to nod as if he understood.

His steps gradually became more natural.

“One, two, three. One, two, three.”

As I counted aloud, Hernan’s movements seemed to loosen up, and his steps lightened.

“Yes, like that.”

Now that the basics were flowing smoothly, it was time to attempt a turn.

But with Hernan towering over me, the idea of raising my arm to match his height felt ridiculous.

“Now, let’s try a turn…”

“Yes.”

When I glanced up, Hernan’s face was flushed crimson, as if it might catch fire.

‘Why does he look so mortified? Now I’m getting self-conscious.’

Turning my gaze away, I cleared my throat and explained, “You don’t need to practice this much. Just follow my lead and spin when I pull your arm.”

When I gently guided his arm for the turn, Hernan responded with four painfully deliberate steps.

‘What…’

He marched in a stiff, rhythmic “one, two, three, four,” and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Gripping my stomach, I sank to the floor in laughter.

“Your Grace. Was this really your first time?”

I’d assumed that, as a duke, he’d have practiced at least once within his household.

But as soon as I saw his face, red as a tomato and looking ready to explode, I couldn’t stop laughing.

* * *