Chapter 21: I want you to learn to leave things alone.
The trembling, fragile voice, so unlike the lively impression from this morning, betrays fear and humiliation despite her attempt to stand tall.
“What do you know about us? What do you understand?!”
Her defiant stance, facing a crowd of adversaries, might seem admirable.
Her unyielding spirit, gazing forward despite her wounds, evokes a heroine from a novel.
“Ganging up on one person—aren’t you the ones who should be ashamed?!”
“How dare you… Do you even understand your place?!”
“Birth or status doesn’t matter! Judging someone by those things only shows how shallow your heart is!”
The escalating argument makes Violette want to clutch her head.
At least it’s not a rampage by her blind devotees this time—a small relief.
‘This is the worst…’
Her headache isn’t from the attackers but from Maryjune’s retaliation.
Being insulted, attacked, and slandered is bound to spark a fight.
There’s nothing wrong with standing up to those who hurt you.
“Both sides are at fault” is a phrase applied after the fact, not a reason to suppress the truth of being wronged.
But that’s only if Maryjune weren’t a noble.
Until recently, she didn’t carry the Varhan name, and her commoner sensibilities show in her simplistic claim that status doesn’t matter.
Prejudice and discrimination are indeed wrong.
Mocking someone for what they can’t control is undeniably ugly and shallow.
But for nobles, judging by birth and status is a necessary skill.
It’s not something to be dismissed with a single word.
“You’re the ones who are wrong!!”
She boldly proclaims her righteousness.
If she were just a high school girl, not bearing the Varhan name, she could’ve been a heroic figure.
A brave girl with firm convictions, trembling yet resolute, could’ve ended the scene admirably.
But Maryjune is no longer just a girl.
“What are you doing?”
“Big sister…!?”
Determined to stop Maryjune from wielding her justice further, Violette steps forward.
Five girls were surrounding Maryjune.
It’s similar to before, but thankfully, none are familiar faces.
The girls pale upon seeing Violette, clearly aware their actions are questionable.
“Lady Violette… um, this is—”
“Does the Varhan family owe you some explanation?”
“Uh…!”
Unclasping her hands, Violette places a finger to her cheek.
The theatrical gesture is deliberate—she knows it stirs emotions.
Embodying a doll-like, artificial beauty requires exaggeration, a touch of unnaturalness.
A bloodless facade carries more weight than warm flesh.
Beauty amplifies it.
No smile, no anger—just a blank question that feels like an intangible threat.
“There may be opinions about our family’s affairs… but your concern is unnecessary.”
Slowly approaching, she positions herself to shield Maryjune—or so it appears.
Despite her above-average height for a woman, Violette’s presence blocks Maryjune from the girls’ view.
All they see is her expressionless face—not stoic, but devoid of emotion.
It’s as if a lifeless mannequin stands before them, unsettling in its perfection.
“She is Maryjune, daughter of the Varhan ducal house, her blood tied to ours.
I vouch for her birth and status.”
Deliberately, clearly, Violette legitimizes Maryjune’s existence in their eyes.
Telling outsiders to mind their own business would be easier, but it’s not that simple.
Though tacitly accepted, the Varhan family’s situation isn’t warmly received.
Violette’s ability to sway emotions, for better or worse, is part of it, but the root lies in her father’s naive judgment.
Regardless, whether it’s her father or strangers, Violette would be happiest if they’d just leave her alone.
Yet everyone insists on meddling.
“B-but, Lady Violette, that girl—”
“Did you not hear me?”
“N-no, we’re sorry…!”
One girl steps forward, her plea cut short by Violette’s sharp dismissal.
No room for negotiation, no permission to linger—she tilts her head, implying further involvement is forbidden.
The girl pales and bows deeply.
Violette didn’t mean to intimidate so harshly, but a soft warning lacks impact.
It must be firm, thorough, stripping their nerve to try again.
“So, we’re done here, correct?”
“Y-yes…!”
The girls stumble away, moving so unsteadily they might as well crawl.
As the last one disappears, Violette finally turns to look back.
“Big sister… thank you for saving me!”
Maryjune’s face, brimming with gratitude as if her prayers were answered, rushes close, hands clasped, ready to embrace her.
Her joy, expressed with her whole body, contrasts with her earlier trembling fear.
She’s the kind of person others want to protect—a girl perfectly suited to the word “lovely.”
But the unwavering belief that Violette saved and protected her stirs guilt.
Ignoring this now will only lead to a repeat.
“Maryjune.”
“Yes, big sister!”
“I was asking you too.”
“Huh…?”
“What exactly are you doing?”