Chapter 20: It’s a small price to pay if it ends up being a dark memory.

Violette knows that leaving mid-conversation isn’t praiseworthy.
Even just walking away carries layers of etiquette in the noble world, where cumbersome customs are dressed up as tradition.
She gave the bare minimum greeting, but whether it meets Milania’s standards is unclear.
Knowing his easygoing nature and tendency to overlook small slights, it’s probably fine.
But right now, there’s something far more pressing.

‘It couldn’t be a mistake…’

No matter how optimistically she views it, that possibility is slim.
The glimpse she caught through the window—a radiant pearl-white shimmer.
Unlike her own dull, ambiguous hue, it was a pure white that seemed to reflect a heart’s innocence.
She knows it.
She’s seen it before.
It’s the same as the person who smiled beside her this morning.

“Give me a break…”

Pretending she didn’t see, acting ignorant—that would be ideal.
But if this incident, too, is blamed on Violette, and if Maryjune reports it to their father this time…
The mere thought predicts a situation a thousand times more troublesome.
Their father, who judges solely by his love for Maryjune, would be far worse than Claudia’s sense of justice.
Words don’t hurt her, but as someone still under guardianship, she wants to avoid unnecessary conflict.
That house is suffocating enough—any more pressure might strangle her.
She hurries toward the scene, her pace barely faster than walking.
She’d love to run, heedless of her skirt, but her status forbids it.
Her mother wanted her to be her father’s mirror, and she’s confident in her athleticism, but there’s no place left to show it.
Marin praises even her active side as beautiful, but most nobles—and especially her father—demand only a refined lady from Violette.
Since childhood, she was forced into a boy’s role, only to be abruptly molded into a perfect lady once her sense of self solidified.
No one considers, let alone understands, the ordeal of crafting that mask.

“This place doesn’t need to be so huge…”

A complaint slips out at the sprawling grounds.
She’s long thought the campus is absurdly large for the number of students, and now, unable to run, she feels it keenly.
The school building and gardens are excessively vast, adding to her frustration.

“Where did they go…”

What she saw was a figure, likely Maryjune, surrounded in the courtyard.
It sounds simple enough to find, but the courtyard’s sheer size makes it daunting.
Ten minutes in, she hasn’t found Maryjune or even heard another voice.
Considering the time, they might’ve returned to the classroom.
The only sound is the rustle of grass and flowers in the breeze—normally calming, but now she craves noise.
Searching blindly won’t help, so she stops.
Commanding herself to think and recall, her memory opens obediently.
She’d rather forget, but it’s useful now.
She remembers what she once did to Maryjune—surrounding her, mocking her, even resorting to violence.
Not just a dark past, but a genuine criminal record.
A history she wishes to erase, technically erased in this life, but etched deeply in her mind.
That’s why she knows where to look.
Where would she have chosen?
She understands the mindset of those surrounding Maryjune now.
A secluded, inconspicuous spot.
Dark is ideal, but not filthy—nobody wants to linger there.
A place where approaching footsteps are noticeable is perfect, but such spots are rare here.
Plenty of places are empty and unvisited, but based on where she last saw them, they likely moved to the shadow of the school building.

“…There.”

The location in her mind is all too familiar.
To be precise, it’s where she once summoned and bullied Maryjune.
She thought she’d never return there, but perhaps this is fate.
Careful not to alert them, she muffles her steps and presence—a skill honed in her days as her father’s shadow, never expecting it to prove useful.
Her senses sharpen, ears straining for the slightest sound.

Then, she hears it.
The voice she sought, the one she wished wouldn’t reach her.

“Just a mistress, bearing a child and rising to a wife… truly a harlot.”

“My mother isn’t like that…!”