During this time, people talked about only one thing: the competition.
After the registration deadline ended, it was announced that, except for the nobles, all other young women had to prepare for the first stage. In every city, examination halls were set up according to the available facilities. Arthur had personally arranged everything so carefully that even his own father couldn't figure out how the stages worked.
On the first day of the week, young girls could be seen leaving their homes, heading toward the examination sites while their families wished them luck. None of them had any idea what awaited them.
Especially because this stage didn't include the nobles. Some believed this separation was due to class differences and that it was intentionally held separately. But there were also those smart enough to realize that the stage was probably an exam. Shirley Hill was one of those girls.
Shirley hadn't been able to attend school because of her family's situation. But when her father noticed her love for reading, he asked a shopkeeper to teach his daughter the alphabet and a bit of writing in exchange for a week of free labor. The shopkeeper, impressed by Shirley's intelligence, continued to remind her even after that week to come to the shop every morning at seven with a pencil and paper.
Later, Shirley worked at the same shop to save money and buy books for herself. One day, when she was ten, she saw a noble for the first time.
She was crossing the street on her way to the bookstore when she noticed a very luxurious carriage stopped in front of a dress shop. The street was full of clothing stores and tailors, so seeing carriages wasn't unusual. But Shirley was only ten—she hadn't seen much of the world yet. Curious, she crossed the street to take a closer look at the shiny object.
When she got within a step of the carriage, a man shouted at her harshly to get lost. The little girl, wearing her ordinary clothes dirtied from playing, froze in place. Growing up in a poor neighborhood, such voices were nothing new to her. So she calmly stayed where she was and stared at the carriage. When the man saw she was still standing there, he approached to make her understand she needed to leave—when the shop door opened.
From Shirley's eyes, the woman who stepped out looked like an angel. A long red dress, a large matching hat, heavy makeup that made her lips and eyes stand out—everything about her was dazzling. The woman turned and looked at the little girl. Shirley met her gaze and saw the pride radiating from her. If it had been any other child, they would have burst into tears. But Shirley wasn't that kind of child.
The woman seemed to realize she was being judged by the little girl's stare. She turned to the man:
"What's going on here?"
The man quickly bowed and apologized:
"This child keeps staring at the carriage and won't move."
The woman looked at the little girl—round‑faced, with tangled orange hair—who was silently watching her.
"Why are you here?"
Shirley answered honestly:
"Your wagon is really pretty."
The woman burst into genuine laughter:
"Wagon?! Ahhh… oh my goodness."
Shirley sensed that the woman liked her comment, so she continued:
"And the lady is pretty too. You look like an angel."
The woman stopped laughing and gave her the most beautiful smile Shirley had ever seen:
"Thank you, dear."
A little while later, Shirley was sitting inside the carriage, looking out the window. The woman had decided to treat her to a short carriage ride.
Of course, the whole ride wasn't silent. The woman began asking the girl questions—like what her name was, where her family lived, whether she had gone to school.
By the end, she realized that despite never attending school, Shirley's way of speaking showed politeness and a genuine effort to learn. Seeing how the girl was trying to find her own path deeply impressed her, and she decided to help.
She knew that more than food or clothes, what Shirley needed was books—books that could be the best teachers in her situation. So she took her to a bookstore and told her to take as many books as she wanted.
Shirley, overjoyed, ran from shelf to shelf, practically emptying them. The woman added a few etiquette books for noblewomen to the pile as well.
On the way back, the carriage moved slowly under the weight of all the books. Shirley expressed her happiness by talking nonstop. Suddenly, she noticed an unfamiliar box:
"What's in that box?"
The woman said:
"Oh… that's the dress I bought from the shop."
Shirley stared at the woman's red dress:
"Are you going to a party tonight?"
The woman was surprised:
"No, why?"
"Well, you're wearing such a pretty dress. I also have a pretty white dress, but I can only wear it when we go to the temple or to a party."
The woman smiled:
"No, dear. This is my everyday dress. I always wear clothes like this. For parties, I have to wear something more formal. This one is too simple."
Shirley's mouth fell open in shock:
"Your party dress is even prettier than this?"
"Yes, dear. All nobles wear things like this."
From that point on, Shirley's questions were endless. By the time they reached her house, she had learned almost everything about a noble's life.
Not to mention how shocked her parents were when they saw an expensive carriage stop in front of their home and the coachman unloading boxes that apparently belonged to their daughter! The woman didn't step out of the carriage, but she waved to Shirley from the window and respectfully bowed her head to her parents. They bowed deeply in return.
Shirley told them everything. She read the books over and over—so many times that she had memorized them all.
And now Shirley was seventeen. Her orange hair was tied up, and she paid much more attention to her appearance than she had as a child. As she walked down the street with her friend, they looked at the shop windows together.
Her friend asked:
"So, Shirley, how did things go with Tom?"
Shirley said absentmindedly:
"Tom? Who's that?"
"What do you mean? He proposed to you just yesterday!"
Shirley waved her hand casually:
"Oh, him. I turned him down."
Her friend was so shocked she practically screamed:
"What?! You turned him down? That handsome guy?!"
"Yeah, so what?"
"How can you say it so casually?"
Her friend sighed in despair:
"Tell me, if you don't like guys like him, then what does your dream man even look like?"
Shirley made a face as if she were thinking, then said:
"No idea."
"What do you mean no idea?"
She glanced at the book in Shirley's hand:
"By the way, I know you love reading, but you've been reading even more lately. Why?"
Shirley's eyes sparkled:
"I'm preparing for the university entrance exam."
"Which university?"
"The Central University of the Capital."
Her friend looked at Shirley's excited face:
"And how exactly are you planning to get all the way there?"
Shirley answered as if it were the most normal thing in the world:
"I've been saving money since last year. I still have a whole year before the exam. I can manage it."
"There's no doubt you'll pass, but… what about the tuition?"
Shirley straightened proudly:
"If I make it into the top ten, I'll get a scholarship."
Her friend scoffed:
"You're the strangest girl I've ever met."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Her friend raised both hands and shook her shoulders dramatically:
"Of course. From someone who dreams about the capital, I guess rejecting suitors is normal!"
Shirley blinked in confusion:
"What do you mean?"
A mischievous smile spread across her friend's face:
"Well, obviously, the boys in the capital are way better, right?"
Shirley kept staring in confusion, then suddenly turned bright red:
"What are you talking about?!"
Her friend, now that she had found a weak spot, continued even louder:
"And when you go to university? Even worse! The place is full of noble boys who bathe every morning in rose-scented water, wear perfectly ironed clothes, and stroll down the hallways like they own the place…"
Shirley pressed her finger to her lips:
"Shhh! Keep your voice down!"
"And then one day, when a bunch of girls are bullying you because you're a commoner, suddenly a boy appears and defends you. He tells you that you deserve the best…"
But before she could continue, Shirley slapped her hand over her friend's mouth. Her face was so red it looked like steam might come out:
"Stop… I never think about noble boys."
Then she looked straight into her friend's eyes and said quickly:
"I don't want to marry a noble. Even if one likes me. I can't understand their lifestyle. You always have to stand straight, drink tea in a specific posture, even control how you laugh!"
Shirley was getting worked up:
"Did you know they go everywhere by carriage? I mean everywhere! The carriage stops at their door and drops them off right in front of the next one. And worse, girls aren't allowed to run. All their shoes have to be high‑heeled. They don't clean their own rooms. They don't wash themselves. And if they want, they can even eat in their rooms! I don't understand how they stay so thin…"
This time, her friend was the one who stopped her:
"Okay, okay, I get it!"
Shirley was breathing hard from all the ranting she had just done.
Her friend said:
"I thought you liked that kind of life. You were always curious about them."
Still catching her breath, Shirley replied:
"I was. But the more I looked into it, the more I realized I could never tolerate that lazy kind of life. And besides, I don't want to continue living like this either. I want to study and go into business."
They continued walking until they noticed the road ahead was blocked by a crowd. Shirley decided to wait while her friend went to see what was happening. Five minutes later, she returned, grabbed Shirley's hand excitedly:
"Come on, you have to see this!"
They pushed through the crowd, and Shirley's eyes fell on a huge poster covering half the wall:
A competition to choose the Empress.
Shirley realized that opportunity had come knocking right at her door.
On the day of the exam, Shirley was the only one who had brought her own pen and ink—though she didn't need them, since each desk already had a set. When she saw the questions, she understood that the only way to reach the capital was to get a perfect score.