Chapter 22

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: An Unexpected Escort
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Was she pleased with my answer?

Her expression softened, easing like a spring breeze. It was a stark contrast to the people around us, who were sneering at my response.

“Oh? And?”

“It lacks refinement, but with continued study, I believe the artist could become quite good. They seem to have talent.”

“And do you find this painting to your liking?”

“You may think it rude of me, but I must say no.”

“Why is that?”

“I prefer paintings with conviction. The work of someone who can paint in their own style.”

“Meaning, you believe this painting lacks the artist's philosophy? Are you able to discern a painter's style?”

I replied in a polite voice.

“Is that not why you brought me here, so that I may cultivate such discernment? I simply felt that this was a painting made for show. Has my ignorance caused you offense?”

“…What an audacious girl.”

Madame de La Vallière wanted me to possess the character and knowledge befitting the Vischwartz name, yet at the same time, she hoped I would have shortcomings she could scold and correct.

The peculiar pleasure of educating a young girl, one little more than a beast, and turning her into a lady had captivated her.

To her, I was likely nothing more than a tool to affirm her own abilities and a diversion that brought vitality to her life. So all I could do was grovel and carefully cater to her whims.

“Yes, you are correct. Most of the paintings here are nothing more than forgeries meant to attract a patron. A proper lady must know how to find the genuine article among them. You have a sharper eye than you let on.”

I bowed my head deeply, feigning embarrassment and the sense that her praise was undeserved. All the while, I felt a sense of pride in myself for not letting my guard down, even amidst my inner turmoil.

In truth, I could be described as duckweed, drifting aimlessly on the water. No, it might be better to say I was a reed, swaying helplessly in a fierce wind.

My pathetic state, crumbling to pieces over a single wicked attachment, was utterly ridiculous—the very image of a mangy beast.

I stood there, struggling to hold on, terrified of a man who could shake me to the depths of my soul with just his name, with a single glance.

And he had no idea what feelings I harbored, or with what resolve I had spurred myself on. I was just putting on a ridiculous show, sizing things up and fretting all by myself.

Ah, if only I could pull out my heart and slice it open, I would cut away all my feelings for you, even if it shortened my life….

Who was it that said that?

[Unrequited love is like a shadow. It cannot be easily caught, but the more the object of your affection shines, the darker it becomes.

What’s most frightening is that it follows you against your will, constantly reminding you of your current reality.

You cannot grasp that light. When your light vanishes, your heart, too, will vanish just as meaninglessly.

The sad thing is that the only way to erase the shadow is to give up the light.

Ah, can you imagine it?

The terrible reality of turning your back on your own sun.]

Was it because of the voice of someone I could no longer even remember?

I found myself looking down at my feet. Had my shadow not disappeared?

Was it just an illusion, my belief that it had been erased?

The noonday sun was scorching, casting a long shadow across the exhibition hall floor. It was a terrifying sight, enough to make me stifle a scream. Fragments of the past became sharp spears, piercing my heart.

So I tried desperately to maintain my composure. I clung to my fraying sanity as if testing the limits of my endurance, smiling and smiling like a doll. I felt I would go mad if I didn't.

Fortunately, for me in this state, Madame de La Vallière's test was like a ray of light. Her actions—wandering tirelessly through the exhibition and showering me with questions—were the solid bedrock that supported me.

You must not lose your composure. You are a beast that cannot crumble over something like this.

The silent reprimand that poured from her eyes whenever we met was so sharp it sent a cold sweat down my spine.

It was to the point that the gazes of the wildcats prowling around, looking as if they would tear me apart, felt as refreshing as ice water poured over my head.

In truth, to appear at an exhibition—a microcosm of high society—with a person of Madame de La Vallière's stature meant I was considered someone who could represent her.

In other words, my every action was directly linked to her honor. Therefore, I needed to steel myself and bear the heavy responsibility of saving her face with clever turns of phrase.

Was it that these thoughts and efforts were not in vain?

Fortunately, the people who had initially looked at me with reluctance upon hearing my name soon began to hover around me, showering me with praise as if their lips were coated in honey.

It was only natural that amidst them, respect and admiration for Madame de La Vallière, who had brought me to the exhibition, flowed freely.

“My lady, you have such excellent discernment and a fine eye.”

“A voice as beautiful as a singing bird. My ears are enchanted. I wish to hear more of your stories, my lady. Please, I hope you will spare a little more of your time.”

The sun was now hidden behind the top of the building, and the shadow at my feet had vanished without a trace.

Roena had long since left La Vallière's side to find a masterpiece to her liking. Escorting her was Rustein Halberd. Then and now, he was Roena's sword.

***

Dealing with people is difficult, now as it was then. It takes seasoned experience to gauge each person's intentions and provide a fitting response.

Fortunately, it wasn't as difficult as I'd thought, as the eyes of those surrounding me held nothing more than ‘curiosity’.

After all, who would dare mock a girl who appeared with Madame de La Vallière?

But beneath their gazes lay the nature of a beast, growling quietly as it waited to tear at my leash, so I could not help but be extremely wary. For high society is a place where one can be ruined by a single word.

It was difficult to stay sane amidst the endless flood of questions and compliments, but I was able to endure it because of La Vallière's watchful gaze.

She watched my every move like an examiner, maintaining a very cool demeanor for someone who had thrown a delicate lamb into a pack of starving hyenas.

Her eyes shone sharply, as if she were evaluating even the number of breaths I took. And yet, whenever I was in a difficult spot, she would naturally step in and draw their attention to herself. It wasn't out of consideration for me, but a sacrifice solely for the honor of the Vischwartz family, and I couldn't help but give a bitter smile.

I thought the only things I'd gained from my past hellish life were a few manners and how to deal with people, but in reality, I was no different from an inexperienced child.

In any case, thanks to La Vallière's favor-that-wasn't-a-favor, I was able to catch my breath. I watched the group recede—La Vallière disappearing with the others as if the test was over—and sank blankly into thought.

Thinking it was over, a sigh of relief washed over me. Utterly exhausted, I wanted to sit down somewhere and rest. And I might have done just that, had he not spoken to me.

“You’re Lady Vischwartz.”

The voice was somehow unfamiliar, yet very familiar. I turned my head to see who had spoken. The man, impeccably dressed and holding a jewel-encrusted cane, was Theodore Beatrice.

He was exuding his unique masculine beauty and elegance, as if he had hidden away the rakish disposition he'd shown at our second meeting.

Was his childish behavior back then due to the drink? I had to swallow the scornful laugh that threatened to erupt at the sight of him greeting me politely in that kind, gentle voice of his.

“Lord Beatrice.”

“Yes. Have you been well? I hope my greeting hasn't disturbed your thoughts, my lady.”

“No, not at all. I was just about to move on.”

“Then, if I may be so bold, would you grant me the honor of escorting you?”

The man, bowing and extending his hand, was as beautiful as a painting. His softly spoken words were exceedingly polite, and the subtle look he gave me was dizzyingly charming.

From the dangerous air of our first meeting, to the rakishness of our second, and now this elegant demeanor—he was truly a man of a thousand faces.

Therefore, any ordinary young lady would have readily accepted his offer without a second thought. Even now, the passing women were stopping in their tracks to look at him, so what more needed to be said?

But I hesitated to answer. It was because of the sense of discord I felt from him.

“If you are hesitating because of my rudeness last time, I can promise you it will not happen again. So please, do not leave my hand hanging in shame.”

“Oh, it's not because of that. I am simply tired. But I lack the eloquence to express it, and I was just feeling troubled about how to tell you. I had no intention of embarrassing you.”

My intuition was telling me. That if I stayed with this man, our tones would inevitably become heated, and soon I would be snarling like a wounded beast, with my hackles raised.

Just as in our first meeting, the man and I had a remarkable talent for getting on each other's last nerve.

But Theodore Beatrice's obliviousness—though I couldn't be sure if it was genuine—had the power to make one feel ashamed. As if he hadn't understood the intention behind my words at all, he urged me on in a casual tone—much like a child begging for bread.

The manly demeanor he'd shown just moments ago had vanished, and once again, he wore the innocent look of a boy. As if he felt no shame for his behavior.

“Yes, I know. That you would not make me a man to be ashamed of. So please, will you take my hand?”

His beaming face shone as delicately as a sculpture crafted by the gods, but it also had the power to provoke the other person's rage.

His hand had already been hanging in the air for several seconds, drawing the attention of everyone—especially the women. If I were to walk away in this situation, I would become a rude, shameless, ill-mannered girl who doesn't know how to respect others.

Swallowing dryly at the stinging gazes on my back, I forced a smile. As if I found his smile so enchanting I couldn't bear it, I slowly lowered my head and replied shyly.

“Then, just for a little while.”

Contrary to my expectation that he would exhaust me, Lord Beatrice's demeanor once again became as dignified as it was at first.

He was a man who knew how to create a pleasant melody with his voice. His tone, as he spoke of various things in a low voice, was as soft and gentle as a lullaby. It was so sweet, it was almost seductive.

Was that why? Though his stories were trivial, everyday matters, I couldn't help but listen intently. So much so that I learned the small details of his life: that he enjoyed being a patron, that he had a great interest in the arts, and that he attended the exhibition every time it was held.

The conversation, a blend of light jokes and pleasant banter, was relaxing. His attitude, sparing no meticulous consideration in even the smallest things like matching my pace, was excellent.

As if to prove that taking his hand was the best possible choice I could have made, his escort was not just excellent, but satisfying.