Chapter 63: Pray to God.

Even with one more person added to the study session, nothing really changed.
There was no particular increase in efficiency, nor any decrease.
As Claudia had said, Mary-June truly needed only the basics; she asked almost no questions and worked silently on her own.

And yet, for some reason, Claudia stayed by Violet’s side the entire time.

He said it was because of his promise to Yulan.
She understood that, yet she still felt somehow restless; probably because this Claudia was so different from the one in her memories.

She knew how her pathetic love had ended.
It had concluded with nothing but the consequences of her own actions; she harbored no lingering attachment to that love.
Yet she couldn’t lie to herself about how much those contemptuous eyes had wounded her.

The Claudia of that time no longer existed.
She already knew her memories were useless in this rewound world.
Even when she predicted and tried to avoid things, she was simply struck from a different direction.

So she understood, in her head, that she had to treat the Claudia she remembered and the Claudia in front of her as two separate people.

Yet she still couldn’t forget the contemptuous gaze that had once been directed at her.

(Am I… somewhere in my heart… still hoping?)

If she could just forget everything—her feelings for him, her memories—she could probably let go easily.
If she stopped expecting anything, she wouldn’t get hurt.

The fact that she couldn’t meant that she still cared about how Claudia looked at her.

Was it because, pathetically, she was clinging to a hope that should have already been crushed?

At the very least, she couldn’t immediately deny the possibility.

(That would be bad… it would just repeat the same mistakes as last time.)

The worst-case scenario flashed through her mind, and she unconsciously pressed a hand to her forehead and hung her head.

If that happened, this precious second chance would end up as nothing more than a rerun.
What was the point of this extra year? What was the point of these memories?
One helping of that despairing ending had been more than enough.

She shook her head several times as if to shake off expectation and hope, and the motion made her brain sway, bringing a slight wave of nausea.
If a little vestibular disturbance was enough to reform her mindset, it was a cheap price.

Unfortunately, the location made it rather conspicuous.
In a hallway during break, of course, but even in a place where minor eccentricities were usually ignored, this seemed to draw attention.

“Are you… feeling unwell?”

“Eh…?”

“You seemed to be swaying.”

Her sliding gaze was caught and held by shades of violet.

Hair dark, eyes light.
A girl adorned with every hue of noble purple.
Elegant, lovely, sacred—someone who suited every form of purity.
Some people called her a saint.

Up close, the title felt entirely fitting.
She looked exactly like what Casablanca lilies would become if personified: pure white and beautiful.

Princess Rosette Megan.
Like Gear, a foreign exchange student, and a princess of the neighboring kingdom.

The way she lowered her brows in worry struck something in Violet’s chest.
When a beautiful person looked pained and let their expression cloud, it appealed to the heart far more than necessary.
Especially when that person was utterly pure and unblemished.

“If walking is difficult, shall I call someone for you?”

“Ah… no, I’m fine. I was just lost in thought.”

“I see… I’m sorry for being nosy.”

“Not at all… I’m the one who should apologize for worrying you.”

“Please don’t concern yourself.”

With a gentle smile and the lingering scent of flowers, even her retreating figure was beautiful.

She drew eyes just by walking, the same as Violet, but the gazes directed at Rosette held not a single speck of impurity.
That was surely a reflection of her virtue.

The attention Violet received was mixed with all sorts of vulgar things: lust toward the bewitching Violet, appraisal of her family status, and now suspicion regarding her stepmother and half-sister; a mishmash of negative stares.

(I’m… not envious, am I? We both get attention anyway.)

The feelings directed at Rosette—admiration and respect—were certainly better, but to Violet, attention was attention regardless of its nature.
Ideally she would be completely invisible, but she knew that was an impossible wish.

(Actually, the fact that people don’t approach me might make the present better.)

Because Rosette was so beloved, people naturally gathered around her.
In contrast, thanks to rumors and her somewhat unapproachable appearance, Violet was more often kept at a distance.

If attention was inevitable, the current situation—with its slightly negative impression—was more advantageous.

“Pure and upright, huh…”

The emotions people directed at Rosette were something Violet could never bear.

Last time went without saying, and even now, after deciding to start over, she was far from pure and upright.

She had resolved not to expect anything, had given up on her family and others, but she hadn’t forgiven them.
She couldn’t love her half-sister innocently, nor could she let bygones be bygones with her father, smiling as if everything were water under the bridge.
She knew hating and resenting achieved nothing; that was all.
She still harbored the same resentment and hatred.
If she didn’t keep her fangs sheathed, she would want to hurl plates at her father.

In the end, Violet’s nature hadn’t changed at all.
She had corrected her path, but she herself had not transformed.

(…I’m even trying to use God, after all.)

Wanting to enter a convent wasn’t because she wished to serve Him with faith.

It was simply to escape—from her parents, her family, that house.
That was all.
She was confident she could endure any lifestyle if it meant getting away from that house, but the reason was one that might enrage truly devout believers.

She believed she had been saved by God.
She tried to believe this chance had been granted by God.

Yet she never prayed for salvation.
Even if she wished upon a shooting star, she couldn’t truly believe it would come true.

In the end, while saying it was thanks to God—

(I might not believe in God at all.)