Chapter 10: All of these hands are for you.

Turning around, Violette finds Yuran, as expected.
His unique nickname for her made it clear even without seeing him, but why he’s here is a mystery.
She told him to wait and didn’t give him the plate, so he must have passed it off to someone—but why?

“Yuran… why are you here?”

Yuran does act impulsively at times, especially around Violette, whom he’s attached to.
But it’s not from a lack of awareness or disregard for others—it’s just the excitement of being with a friend.
When it comes to reading a situation, he’s perfectly capable of acting appropriately.
She thought he’d grasp the situation from a distance and decide it was best to stay out of it.

“I came to get you since you were taking so long.”

His warm smile contrasts sharply with the frigid atmosphere, and the hand on her back feels gentle, not forceful.
He didn’t need to come.
She wants to say it, knows she should, but the words catch in her throat—because, despite herself, his presence brings a flicker of relief.
It’s too soon to relax, but breathing feels noticeably easier.

“They just added some freshly baked sweets. Let’s go before they cool.”

“Go…?”

She hesitates, unable to nod at his words.
Honestly, she’d love to take his hand and leave this mess behind.
But she knows the situation won’t allow it, and Yuran must know that too.
Yet his smile, directed at her, seems oblivious to the circumstances.
Only then do the two arguing parties notice Yuran.
Claudia’s wide-eyed stare betrays his surprise at the unexpected arrival.

“Y-Yuran, since when…?”

“Just now. I’m only here to pick her up, so don’t mind me.”

“Let’s go,” Yuran urges, gently nudging Violette to escort her away.
But it’s not Violette who stops him—it’s Claudia.

“Wait…! We’re not done here.”

“…As I said, we outsiders are leaving.”

Outsiders.
The word clearly includes both Yuran and Violette.
His voice is so cold it could be mistaken for anger.
The soft smile from moments ago and the warmth of his hand feel like illusions.

“Yuran…?”

Her whispered voice fades into the tense air, unheard.
The Yuran she knows isn’t like this.
His voice, tone, and expression usually evoke the warmth of a sunny day.
He’s someone you want to pamper, skilled at comforting others, with a compassion as vast as his tall frame.
But now, he seems like a different person.
His hand shifts from her back to her waist, pulling her closer with a strength that’s firm yet gentle, as if handling delicate glasswork.
His voice, tone, and expression are unfamiliar, but his actions brim with the kindness she knows so well.

“Outsiders, you say? Violette is—”

“An outsider. She has nothing to do with this.”

His words are painfully accurate, a truth everyone here—including Violette—had overlooked.
Maryjune is the victim, the noble girls who ganged up on her are the aggressors, and Claudia, as a host, has the right and duty to intervene in a disturbance at the event.
But what about Violette?
What’s her role?
The aggressors used her name and acted out of misguided loyalty, but that doesn’t make her culpable.
This time, Violette hasn’t lifted a finger, a foot, or a word.
Even if their actions stemmed from an annoying affection for her, the ones who must atone are the perpetrators, not her.

“If their actions on behalf of Lady Violette are to be condemned… what reason is there to vilify Lady Violette, who was merely the object of their feelings?”

Tilting his head slightly, his questioning tone mocks the idea that an answer could exist.
She’s being protected.
Violette is, without a doubt, under his shield.
Never once has she received such protection—an illusion that reaching for only brought misery—yet now it envelops her gently, refusing to let go.

“To proceed without hearing Lady Violette’s side, to assume her guilt… Truly, Prince Claudia, your insight is remarkable.”

The venom laced through his words clearly reaches Claudia.
His expression, a mix of regret and sorrow, shows no strength left to argue.
The tension was already palpable, but somehow, Yuran, the last to arrive, has seized control of the scene.
Judging that no one can stop them now, he guides Violette away from the commotion with a hand on her back.

“In most cases, regardless of the conflict’s nature, outsiders only get in the way. It’s for the parties involved to resolve—not out of coldness, but for proper resolution.”

She doesn’t know what he means or why he’s doing this.
His voice carries none of the earlier coldness or scorn, only a calm, earnest sincerity.

No one calls out to stop them.