Chapter 8

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Concerto of Malice
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Tea the color of a faint sunset swirled gently in the cup. A sweet aroma tickled my nose. When I took a sip, a surprisingly sweet and smooth flavor coated my tongue. It seemed even someone who didn't particularly like tea would enjoy drinking it.

“Cisse, I’m sorry about before.”

Roena said to me in a small voice. Like a puppy anxiously watching its owner, she was reacting sensitively to my every expression.

“Not at all. I’m just grateful you sent the maid. You must have been so sad. Are you sure you’re alright?”

When I asked casually, feigning ignorance, Roena’s complexion darkened rapidly. She cast her eyes down, her expression deeply melancholic.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“But you still look pale. Should I send her back? Marie is a bit unreliable, but if it will make you smile, then it’s fine.”

“No, really, I’m fine. Besides, Seril is an excellent maid. She’ll take good care of you.”

“Then please don’t wear that expression for my sake. It makes it hard to believe you’re really okay.”

At my words, Roena’s face flushed crimson.

“An expression?”

“That look of lingering regret. That’s what you have right now. It makes one worry, you see.”

Unless she looked in a mirror, she couldn't know what her own face looked like. But since I was insisting, she had no choice but to believe me.

Our mother's dumbfounded expression as she watched us was just a bonus.

Roena raised a hand to touch her cheek. Then she tried, however awkwardly, to smile. I added another comment, as if praising her.

“Yes, smile brightly like that. If only to prove the sincerity of your words.”

There was likely no situation more ridiculous than this.

In truth, a smile holds more power than a hundred words. It is softer than water and sharper than a sword. It is harder than a shield and even more steadfast than a fortress.

It contains more stories than an author's pen and possesses more spirit than an army of tens of thousands. Above all, every spear and every ounce of malice aimed at another can be concealed within this single act. Ah, what a terrifying, yet enchanting, weapon it is!

In my past, I never knew what a powerful weapon a smile could be. I merely vacillated between joy and sorrow at Roena's every action, revealing my hatred for her in its entirety. Little did I know that it would become a monster that would consume me.

Yes, I admit it. In my past, I was a child. A fool who couldn't control her own temper and brought about her own ruin.

I prided myself on having talent to rival Roena's and was confident I could beat her, but in reality, I was an idiot who couldn't even touch her shadow.

What good was it to accumulate as much knowledge as others? My actions were just like a frog in a well. I was a stupid woman, as boorish and naive as a country bumpkin, who believed the shallow world measured by her own gaze was all that existed.

That was why I never understood. The smiles the noble ladies gave me! The meaning behind their fluttering fans! The true intent of the words that flowed from their pretty lips! I didn't even realize how much malice and ridicule were contained in every situation and every word directed at me.

I simply acted triumphantly, as if I had become a member of their world, unaware of my own place. I believed their smiles were a sign of welcome and couldn't hide my joyful expression.

How foolish I was. How idiotic. How stupid. A reckless fool, I laid myself bare before beasts disguised as gazelles, dancing a dance of self-destruction on a slowly heating griddle.

I set my own body ablaze to give others a good laugh. So, hahaha, what a ridiculous affair!

It was the limitation of a narrow perspective. The cause of my own defeat, which I couldn't see because my eyes were stained with jealousy.

Well-intentioned tears are not the only weapon, yet I knew nothing of it. So very unfortunate. But what about now, after my return?

As the subtle atmosphere directed at Roena continued, our mother's face turned pale. Her beautiful eyes, cast in deep shadow, were brimming with concern for me.

I know what my mother fears. So frail and delicate that even her weakness is beautiful, she was fretting that I might fall out of favor with my stepfather.

After all, Count Vischwartz loves my mother, not the person named Cisse. That's why she's anxious that the rude words I uttered earlier might reach his ears through the maids. It's only natural for one to favor their own, isn't it?

But Mother, did you know that the passion called love can sometimes surpass the bonds of blood?

In the past, my stepfather was surprisingly loyal to my mother until the day he died. He always strove to accommodate her moods, as she was so fragile and emotionally volatile.

At times, he was so devoted that he would even overlook my behavior when I acted out like a spooked colt. So what reason do I have to be afraid? I know for a fact that he won't punish me for a few words like these!

Blinded by love, my stepfather would surely dismiss it as me being unable to shake off old habits. Thus, there was no reason to shrink back.

But it seems my mother is still anxious about all this. That must be why she is speaking to me now.

“Cisse.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Now that you are a member of the Count's family, you must be careful with every word you speak.”

Although her family had lost its noble title of Viscount in a previous generation, my mother had learned a rudimentary level of etiquette from her own mother, my grandmother.

Compared to other noble ladies, her level was far inferior, but it wasn't so poor that she couldn't adapt to this world at all. The charmingly clumsy etiquette she had learned in the past had been a great help in meeting my stepfather and securing a promise of marriage.

Having managed to set foot in high society this way, she must have caught a glimpse of the other side of that beautiful and cruel world. Since the 'tongue' is what one must be most careful with there, she was naturally worried about the tone of my words, as I would soon be making my debut.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, Mother. Roena, if I upset you, I hope you’ll understand.”

“No, not at all.”

I reached out and took Roena's hand. I intertwined my fingers with her long ones, trying hard not to let the smile on my lips falter.

“Thank you so much for understanding.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Even if I make mistakes in the future, can you keep understanding? I’m still more clumsy at everything than you are.”

“Hmm?”

“Is that too much to ask?”

“Ah, no. It’s not. Oh, yes. Of course.”

I was immensely satisfied with her words. Her inability to refuse properly in front of others, even while sensing something was off, seemed laughably pathetic. I felt a thirst born of ecstasy.

At the same time, I wondered. What kind of expression would she make when she realized that her greatest weapon was, in fact, an 'evil' that would bring about her own destruction?

***

The malice carried over from the past was consuming my body, pulling me down into an endless darkness. A venomous killing intent for Roena coiled around the persona of Cisse, controlling it. I felt like a marionette tied to strings.

And yet, the situation didn't feel unpleasant. What others would have loathed and feared was like sweet nectar to me.

Yes, if I'm going to fall, I'll fall all the way to the bottom of hell. I, who have returned from death—what is there to fear? I am a foolish soul, already drunk on the sweetness of defeating Roena, of dragging her down to the same depths I once tasted. An idiot, blind and deaf to all else.

But what does any of that matter? If I could see her face contorted in despair, I would sell my soul to the devil.

Therefore, the 'someone' who returned me to this 'present' will surely beat the ground and regret it. A change of heart? What nonsense. Don't make me laugh. I have no need for such a weak sentiment. I am still Cisse Vischwartz, struggling under the weight of my inferiority complex toward Roena!

My mother tilted her head at my subtly twisted words, but her expression showed she couldn't find anything specific to point out.

Which is why she only said, 'Try not to make things too difficult for Roena.' I nodded and deliberately replied with vigor.

“Of course. We’re sisters, after all.”

At my words, Roena blushed. A soft, peachy hue spread across her plump, fair cheeks. Her shyly lowered eyelashes were long enough to draw a gasp. She truly smiled like an angel. Damn it all.

“But please don’t make things too difficult for me, either.”

“That’s a difficult promise to make. But I will promise to try. Even if it takes a very long time for me to become like you.”

“No, I don’t think it will take that long. It didn’t for me. So I’m sure it will be the same for you, Cisse.”

Right. For you, who learns ten things from being taught one, what could possibly be difficult? With your natural talent as a foundation, everything must seem easy. So, how should I respond to this 'arrogance'?

“Well… please don’t assume everyone has the same talent as you. It’s a little upsetting, you know. Ah, I wish I were you. Then I could learn things easily without even trying….”

So, let us slowly begin. The delightful concerto of one who recognizes her own shortcomings and strives desperately, and one who relies on her innate talent and does not try at all.

In truth, I am as kind and gentle a person as any. I know how to speak sweetly to others and am a woman who can willingly offer kindness to those in need. No, I thought I could be. That was before I was twisted by a single existence.

Yes, this is all because of the girl smiling before me now, Roena Vischwartz. It is because of you, blinking your eyes as if nothing is wrong. The only ones to receive my malice are you and the maids you command.

And so I waited with anticipation, wondering just how broken she would look after what I had just said.

But there were no tears. No shocked gazes, no lips trembling palely with fear—none of it.

Instead, I nearly screamed at the sight of her giving me a shy smile. After so much sarcasm, she should have felt some dissonance, but Roena was taking even that as a sincere 'compliment.' The concerto I had played was the epitome of disharmony. Every instrument was creaking, singing only of 'despair.'

“It’s embarrassing when you put it like that. But Cisse, I hope you won’t think so little of yourself. If you try, won’t things work out somehow?”

I wore a bewildered expression. Glancing at the maids watching Roena and me, I gently lowered my eyes. I clenched my teeth so hard they threatened to grind into dust and, as if I could be no more ashamed, blushed shyly.

“Yes. I’ll try.”

Right now, my mother's maids were watching a 'comedy' unfold: the stepsister whose etiquette was so poor she spoke carelessly, but with no 'malice' in her heart, and the younger stepsister who understood and generously embraced her.

A scene so unfunny it was utterly unsightly, all wrapped up in the fine-sounding name of family. How repulsive. How nauseatingly sickening.

But thanks to this, I could now cover up my future mistakes with the excuse, 'It's because I'm not yet used to this life.' In other words, until my grasp of noble 'etiquette' reached a certain level, I could feign ignorance and attack her under the guise of 'I don't know anything.'

So, let me be relieved. Let me console myself that this is for the best. Otherwise, I would die of frustration first. No, in fact, this is something to rejoice about. Her actions, the way she trusts me so implicitly.