Chapter 14: Reflection is important.
“Yuran…?”
The unexpected name sparks curiosity more than surprise.
Violette doesn’t find it odd that Milania knows Yuran.
It wouldn’t be strange if they were acquaintances, and even if they’d grown close behind her back, that’s their prerogative.
The issue is why his name comes up now, in this context.
It makes her wonder if Milania witnessed something or already has some information.
“No, don’t get me wrong. All I know is that Claudia’s upset… down about something. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Then why mention Yuran?”
“Ha, so something did happen.”
“Could you answer my question?”
If he knows what happened at the tea party, there’s no way he’d keep it from her.
She’s unsure how much he knows, but she can’t let Yuran be blamed, even slightly.
“I was just fishing based on Claudia’s mood. I don’t know any details, so… relax.”
“Claudia’s… mood?”
“Yeah, he only gets like that when it’s about Yuran.”
What kind of state is he in?
She’s curious but knows asking won’t help.
She feels close to Yuran, but that’s just between them—she knows nothing of his other relationships.
She’s aware of the complexity between Yuran and Claudia, but that’s the extent of it.
Milania, as Claudia’s friend, sees things she doesn’t.
“And the only reason Yuran would get involved with Claudia is you, Lady Violette.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She wants to deny it, but Yuran’s actions were indeed for her sake.
It’s a relief that no consequences have fallen on him, but it seems Claudia took the hit instead.
Yuran would probably laugh it off and tell her to let it go, but to Violette, Claudia is another person dragged into her mess.
Another person hurt because of her.
“As you said… there was a bit of a commotion.”
If she hides it, Milania’s connections will uncover the truth eventually.
She should take responsibility for explaining.
The incident is simple when you know it fully, but partial glimpses—like seeing only fragments—can easily breed misunderstandings, turning into a distorted game of telephone.
Claudia assuming she’s the mastermind is the most likely outcome, and that’s fine; she’s used to some infamy.
But if someone paints Yuran as the villain, that’s another matter.
It’s not impossible—his words could easily be misconstrued.
That’s why she yelled at him before even thanking him.
“But don’t misunderstand. It’s not Yuran’s fault. It all stems from seeds I sowed.”
Yuran would insist it’s not her fault, no matter who he faced, just like he did then.
But that sentiment doesn’t reach her.
Her jaded experience fuels a relentless negativity, feeding her self-doubt.
“Because of it, I’ve caused Claudia trouble… and I’m sorry for that.”
It could’ve been avoided, but her carelessness led to this.
Next time, she’ll nip it in the bud—she’s regretful and reflective.
“I see… I don’t know the details, but don’t dwell on it too much. It’s probably not your fault.”
“Huh…?”
“Claudia’s not angry—he’s down. That means he’s reflecting on his own actions.”
Knowing his friend so well, Milania can’t fully take Violette’s words at face value.
Even without details, he can piece together the outline.
“He’s been moping all day, so I wanted to do something, but it sounds like I should let it be.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
“No, I’m sorry for springing this on you. You were heading to lunch, right? Hope the seats aren’t all taken…”
“It’s fine. I was planning to get takeout anyway.”
That’s partly a lie but mostly true.
She’d considered eating in the cafeteria if there were seats, but time has passed since meeting Milania.
There’s still enough time for lunch, but takeout is best for a quiet meal.
The cafeteria is spacious, but its size doesn’t match the number of seats.
The broader outdoors offers a more peaceful lunch in every sense.
“Some people might be back in the classroom by now…”
Glancing outside without thinking, Violette’s expression freezes.
Her eyes widen in shock, and her voice catches in her throat.
Framed by the window, the scene outside is a familiar one—manicured trees and flowers, unchanged since she started at the academy.
Nothing seems out of place.
“…Lady Violette?”
Milania’s voice carries concern for her halted words and the mix of shock and confusion on her face.
Before he can ask what’s wrong, her brow furrows deeply.
Her stunned, troubled look turns sharp, almost frightening, amplified by her natural features.
“Sorry, I have somewhere to be.”
“Wait, what—”
“Excuse me.”
Her polite bow is impeccable, but turning away without waiting for a reply is a misstep.
It’s jarring for someone as composed—almost rigidly perfect—as Violette.
Watching her retreating back with questions, Milania glances out the window she was looking at.
It’s the same serene view as always, nothing special to a man like him—unless a beautifully dressed woman were there to catch his eye.
“…Huh?”
His slowly scanning gaze snags on a single oddity.
Something stands out against the natural hues of the greenery.
It’s as if a living figure has stepped into a flat painting, their presence unnaturally vivid.
People in the courtyard aren’t unusual—it’s a place meant for relaxation, with enough space to keep crowds sparse and entry free.
Whether lounging elegantly or chatting in groups, it’s all up to personal choice.
But what Milania sees feels different.
Not the garden’s focal point, but a corner easily overlooked.
One person, cornered against a wall by a group, their harsh faces speaking heatedly.
Each time the lone figure tries to step forward or speak, they’re overwhelmed, shrinking smaller and smaller.
No voices reach him, and the context is unclear.
But it’s easy to guess this isn’t a pleasant scene.
“Could it be…”
He recalls Violette’s stern expression as she hurried off.
Did she see this?
Is that why she ran?
“Crap—”
Without a second thought, Milania bolts from the spot, knowing exactly where she’s headed.