Chapter 2: Extremes are deadly.

The Royal Tanzanite Academy.
A prestigious institution where royalty, nobles, and wealthy commoners aged twelve to eighteen gather—one of the world’s foremost schools for the elite.
Unlike schools for commoners, it emphasizes not only academics but also specialized knowledge and etiquette.
It’s safe to say it encompasses all the education necessary for the scions of high society.
Violette is in her second year of the academy’s high school division, with roughly two years left until graduation.
Maryjune, newly welcomed into the aristocracy, will also attend this academy.
Being a year younger than Violette, she’ll transfer into the first year of the high school division.

It goes without saying that Maryjune, now part of the esteemed Varhan family, has drawn the attention of the entire academy.

“Good day, Lady Violette.”

“Good day.”

Since morning, the atmosphere around Violette feels as though an invisible barrier prohibits anyone from getting too close.
Once greetings are exchanged, everyone scatters like spiderlings.
Maryjune’s presence has already become the talk of the academy, and no one is so obtuse as to miss what her transfer implies.
Even if a mistress is acceptable in the adult world, it’s a different matter for teenagers.
For students, it’s a topic too awkward to laugh off or address casually.
In her past life, Violette reveled in playing the tragic heroine under such scrutiny.

‘But the second time around, it’s surprisingly bearable.’

Her classmates’ furtive glances elicit little more than a fleeting sense of guilt for making them uncomfortable.
She’s not the type to flash a cheerful smile and say, “It’s fine, don’t worry!”—so there’s little she can do.
Due to her mother’s wishes, Violette spent her early childhood raised as a boy, leaving her education as a proper lady far behind her peers.
Through sheer effort, she projects the image of a flawless ducal daughter, but she’s constantly on edge, fearing she’ll slip up.
This anxiety keeps her distant from her classmates, and she has few friends she can truly trust.
Many admire the Varhan name, but opening her heart to such people would only lead to it being trampled.
That, too, is a lesson learned from past experience.

‘This is tedious.’

She brought a book to pass the time, but pretending to read is unexpectedly exhausting.
It’s not that she dislikes reading, but her childhood has left her with a preference for outdoor activities.
To be loved, she suppressed that part of herself, striving to be a good girl, a perfect lady.

‘…But there’s no need for that anymore, is there?’

She’s given up on being loved or cherished.
There’s no point in keeping up appearances.
No matter how perfectly she played the part, she was never loved for it.
So why bother?
Who would care if she shed this facade of a perfect Violette?
Her past self would have clung to it desperately, but the current Violette finds it unnecessary.

This life is about atoning for Maryjune.
Living without interfering with her happiness—that’s her sole and greatest purpose.

In other words, everything else is up to Violette.
She doesn’t have to be a good girl or perfect.
She doesn’t have to force herself to read books she doesn’t enjoy when she’d rather be running outside.
No one has the right to complain, as long as she doesn’t disrupt Maryjune’s life or tarnish her own reputation too severely.
Violette can live as herself.

‘Besides, no one’s watching me anyway.’

Not her father, her mother, nor the man she loved ever truly saw her.
That’s why she once craved their attention so desperately, even if it meant selling her soul.
But this time, that’s her salvation.
No one watching, no one caring—it’s the perfect condition for Violette, who wants to live quietly, inconspicuously.

“…Alright, let’s do it.”

Muttering to herself unconsciously, Violette draws glances from those nearby—first surprise, then concern tinged with pity.
They assume the sudden appearance of her father’s mistress’s child has driven her to madness.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Violette, dulled by her past experiences and newfound indifference to others’ gazes, doesn’t even notice their looks, let alone their sentiments.