Chapter 25: Please forget about it.

Without a word, they walked, arriving at the expected destination.
Amid the academy’s ostentatiously adorned grounds, one door stood out, exquisitely decorated.
Befitting the student council president and royalty at the pinnacle of both students and the nation, its presence was undeniably fitting.
Opening the door revealed, as anticipated, a lavishly splendid room.

“Something to drink?”

“…Tea, with milk, if I may?”

“Got it.”

Claudia signaled to a butler-clad staff member by the wall, who bowed and left promptly.
This was the student council’s salon, with the council room beyond a door, off-limits to all but officers and faculty.
Supposedly, security restricted this salon to select butlers and those approved by the council, but in truth, the rule was more formality than strict enforcement—an open secret.
Council members, constantly under scrutiny, needed a space to breathe.
Allowing unchecked access would defeat the purpose, so the grand title was just a facade.
With Claudia, the council president, present, a mere student like Violette entering posed no issue.

“…Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Urged by Claudia, already seated opposite, Violette settled onto a plush red cushion.
Its enveloping softness almost made her forget she was in a school, offering a deceptive sense of ease.
She smoothed her skirt to avoid wrinkles, occupying a sofa spacious enough for two alone.
Claudia mirrored her, centered on his own sofa.
After a brief silence, a faint clatter announced the arrival of a tea cart, carrying the sweet scent of milk tea and the rich aroma of coffee.

“Stay outside until called.”

Claudia dismissed the butler who’d neatly set the table, and with a silent bow, they exited.
The butler’s unchanging expression felt almost artificial, slightly unsettling, but the academy’s staff adapted to their settings—warm smiles in crowded cafeterias, restrained neutrality in confidential spaces like this.
In such rooms, tight-lipped discretion was as vital as appearing harmless to overhear secrets.
The room held only the sound of their breathing—effectively silence.
Yet Violette’s ears rang with her own heartbeat, her fingertips cold, her chest tight with surging blood.
Afraid her unsteady fingers might fumble the cup, she cradled the steaming milk tea with both hands, savoring its warmth.
The sweet liquid soothed her dry, nervous throat, calming her slightly.
Claudia, it seemed, felt similarly.
After a sip of coffee, he set his half-full cup back on its saucer and met her gaze directly.

“Sorry for calling you so suddenly.”

“No, not at all. It’s a request from Your Highness.”

Refusing a prince’s summons without reason was unthinkable.
Even with a reason, his priority typically prevailed.
Claudia’s intent didn’t change that—for others, a prince’s request outweighed all else, and Violette, a noble, was no exception.
The old Violette would’ve been elated at his attention, misinterpreting it and clinging to him without regard for his discomfort.
Reflecting on her past self, she cringes at how outrageous she was.
Objectivity is a hard-earned lesson.

Then it hits her, recalling her earlier words.
For her, it’s been a year, but for Claudia, it’s recent.
Time may have rewound, letting her reflect and regret, but her past actions remain unchanged.
Her sudden shift in demeanor might raise suspicion—what could possibly reassure him?
The change is only within her; Claudia knows nothing of it.
To him, she’s still the obsessive, troublesome girl.
Saying she’d comply with his request—how might that be misconstrued?
The thought is chilling.
Already feeling out of place, she inwardly buries her face in her hands while maintaining a composed exterior.

“You’re… different.”

“…What?”

She braced for a sharp tone, a flash of displeasure, but his voice is unexpectedly gentle, his face wearing a wry smile.
It’s unlike his usual piercing gaze or low, irritable tone.
He seems troubled, yet… relieved, almost accepting.

“I don’t sense any of the feelings you once had for me.”

Her past words to him were steeped in every shade of emotion—not just affection but calculation, jealousy, faint hope.
Wrapped in the guise of love, those tangled feelings were far from beautiful.
Frankly, they repulsed him, sickened him.
She performed love, but her eyes didn’t see him.
Holding only the shell of love, the emotions filling it—her demands of him—were absurd, eerie.
Her blunt honesty, often called selfish or willful, made her a monstrous enigma to him.
Even when she stopped appearing, he couldn’t relax, suspecting ulterior motives—a bias born of experience.
To Claudia, Violette was someone to guard against, no other option.

Was.

“When you stopped showing up, stopped talking to me, I thought you were scheming. Then… I learned about the Varhan family.”

Her mother’s death, followed swiftly by a new stepmother and half-sister.
He assumed it left her too preoccupied to bother him and, though improper, hoped she’d lose interest entirely.
Then came that day.
Seeing only that moment, he was instantly disappointed, believing her core hadn’t changed.
The outcome… need not be said.

“I interpreted it to suit myself, decided it was fact, and condemned you.”

It’s easy to call it experience, but in that moment, it was inexcusable.
He could hold any impression as an observer, but choosing to intervene demanded fairness.
He should’ve viewed the facts objectively, not through subjective bias.
Especially as a prince wielding authority to protect a victim, he needed to understand the reasons for condemning the culprit.

“I acted on prejudice, pinned false blame on you, and stood smugly… I had no right to speak of justice then.”

As he stands, Violette’s gaze lifts naturally, expecting pale skin and golden eyes.
Not the sight of golden hair bowing low.

“…!?”

“I’m sorry… Truly, I regret it.”

“What are you…!”

For a moment, she can’t comprehend it.
When it sinks in, panic overwhelms her.
A prince’s head should never bow—his apology feels like it could scatter to the wind.

“Please, raise your head…! If someone saw this…!”

Royalty apologizing to a lesser is forbidden.
It’s a theory that might irk those valuing equality, but a royal apology carries immense implications.
A leader admitting fault is a form of arrogance, a critical principle of power.
Like obeying laws, a king’s legitimacy must be upheld.
If a prince’s apology were witnessed, the one “causing” it—Violette—would face punishment.
Claudia must know this.
No matter how narrow his sense of justice, he understands the weight of his actions.
If he didn’t, he’d be unfit to be king.

“Don’t worry. What happens here won’t leak out.”

“That… may be true, but…”

This room, used by the academy’s elite, balances accessibility with secrecy.
The sole outsider, the butler, was dismissed, and the room’s soundproofing should hold.
Only Violette knows of Claudia’s actions now.

“Once we leave, forget what I did. I didn’t do it to be forgiven. If you treat it as nothing, I will too.”

What’s the point of an action meant to be forgotten?
If forgiveness isn’t the goal, what’s the value of an apology?
It’s a childish, contradictory excuse, yet Claudia is utterly sincere.
No need to forgive.
Forget it.
Erase it all.
He’s not conveying regret, remorse, or guilt.

“Just know… the misunderstanding from that day is cleared.”

He can’t undo his actions or apologize publicly.
Yuran’s anger taught him a lesson for the future, but Violette isn’t part of it.
Faced with his powerlessness and unforgivable mistake, he sought a way to ease her heart, even slightly.
He considered doing nothing, letting time pass—perhaps the best option, though doubts linger.
But he acted because misunderstandings corrode the heart more than others realize.
Even the falsely accused find innocence a fleeting shield.
Breaking someone’s spirit is easy for the masses, regardless of justice’s truth.
Innocence itself becomes the sin.

“Just know that I know I was wrong that day.”

It might be foolish.
It might reignite Yuran’s anger.
Yet it’s a non-negotiable outcome, rooted in Claudia’s unyielding belief.
To never again hurt Violette with a mistake.

‘I was the one who didn’t see.’

She didn’t try to know or understand him.
She imposed herself, seeking only the comfort he could provide, ignoring the discomfort she caused.
Worse than the ladies enamored with his looks or title, she crafted an idealized Claudia and forced it on reality.
A dreamy maiden is charming, but crossing the line into obsession is just reckless, far beyond escapism.

It began with Violette.

Her dreams, her fanaticism, shaped his perception, leading him to label her a villain.
She was falsely accused, but not entirely innocent.
Yet Claudia bows, apologizes, genuinely acknowledging his fault, not seeking forgiveness but concerned for her wounds.
He’s endlessly earnest, sincere, perhaps foolish.
His flaws and excesses are countless; the perfect prince is a fantasy.
Claudia is too straightforward, and someday, that core might snap.
No matter how he resists, such rigid beliefs will harm both him and the nation as its leader.

The flawless future she once projected onto him is gone.

Her feelings were impure, calculating, full of lies.
She craved the happiness surrounding him, using his love as a stepping stone.
As he said, what he saw was her true essence, her sole purpose.
Too ugly to call love, too murky for romance.
Not a shred of purity existed in it, yet—

‘I… loved that version of you.’

Kind, honest, unwavering, a foolish, clumsy prince brandishing justice.
It wasn’t love or romance.
But undeniably, Claudia was the first person Violette ever loved.