Chapter 7: Impressions are like labels that are arbitrarily attached to us.

Called to depart just before requesting a second cup of tea, Violette left the tidying to those staying behind and exited the room with Marin.
The carriage was already occupied by her parents and sister, waiting only for her.

“Well then, Marin, I’m off.”

“I’m sorry I can’t accompany you… Please take care.”

“Thank you.”

Turning away from Marin’s longing gaze, Violette boarded the stifling mode of transport.
Sitting beside her blood-related father, she couldn’t help but think breathing would be easier next to a complete stranger.
If only Marin could be by her side, it would feel far more reassuring.
At the very least, the current awkwardness would be lessened.
Contrary to Violette’s inner turmoil, the atmosphere in the moving carriage is light, buoyed by Maryjune’s cheerful mood.

“Oh, I’m getting so nervous…!”

“Hehe, it’s exciting, isn’t it?”

The soft smiles of the two are strikingly similar.
Combined with Violette’s resemblance to her father, they appear as a harmonious family: doting parents, a sister resembling the father, and another the mother—a perfect, carefree quartet on the surface.
Perhaps due to Elefa’s youthful appearance, Maryjune, dressed so elegantly, looks more like her sister than her daughter.
Her father’s profile, smiling with unconcealed warmth and happiness at the two, is one of the things Violette once yearned for him to direct at her.
Now, it’s a desire she has no attachment to, and the faint satisfaction she feels might stem from seeing them as part of a different world.

‘My wishes aren’t fulfilled by me…’

She’s felt this countless times, something her past self could never accept.
To view it so calmly now almost feels like excessive enlightenment.
She never imagined she’d feel such polar opposite emotions toward someone she once wished dead.
While she has no intention of acting for Maryjune’s sake, she does genuinely think:
If only she could avoid getting hurt.
That fleeting, soft thought crosses her mind as she watches her half-sister, excited by the approaching shadow of the castle.

Held under a beautiful blue sky, the tea party makes full use of the fine weather, its calm atmosphere mirroring the pleasant climate.
The breeze, gentle enough not to muss hair, feels refreshing against cheeks warmed by the dress’s lack of breathability.
The venue’s vastness, belying the number of attendees, speaks to the grandeur of the host—a testament to the greatness of a bloodline symbolizing the nation, regardless of public sentiment.
Adults sprinkle pleasantries as part of their work, but children need only mind basic courtesies and have little else to do.
Smiling beside their parents is only necessary at the start.

“Phew…”

Having found a spot away from her parents, Violette finally takes a breath.
This tea party, serving as a debut for the Varhan family’s new wife and daughter, likely required more effort from her father than usual.
Still, as expected of noble heads of house, they showed little curiosity about a widower’s swift remarriage or the mere one-year age gap between half-sisters.
Some likely have mistresses themselves, and even those who don’t are accustomed to the complexities of noble romances.
And her father, meaningless to Violette personally, is exceptionally capable as a noble patriarch.

Compared to the presence of Olde Roa Varhan himself, a new wife or daughter is as insignificant as a pebble.
The Varhan family’s domestic affairs are trivial enough for his prowess to overcome.

‘I knew that, so it doesn’t bother me…’

That indifference allowed her father to marry her mother without issue, despite her mother’s obsessive devotion surely interfering with his work.
And now, that same noble indifference has saved him, letting him marry his beloved.
In a way, it’s an action born solely from concern for appearances.

“Vio-chan, there you are.”

“…Yuran.”

Lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts, Violette’s attention snaps back.
She’s too accustomed to passing time alone, a habit of retreating into her own world at events like this.
Overthinking in endless loops is a bad habit of hers.
Raising her gaze from where it was fixed diagonally downward, she sees a white shirt collar and ribbon tie, then brilliant golden eyes.
Even looking straight ahead in her high heels, she can only see his neck or collarbone—his towering height is unmistakable.
Dressed as impeccably as she is, his fine physique and gentle expression are perfectly highlighted.

“I was looking for you. You’re really good at finding secluded spots, Vio-chan.”

“And you’re just as good at finding me in them.”

“I’m just skilled at finding you.”

Yuran, grinning cheerfully, holds a drink for himself and a plate of desserts, clearly picked from the table with her tastes in mind—a familiar gesture.
Not only does he find her hiding spots, but he knows her preferences perfectly.

“Here, there were tons of delicious-looking ones.”

“…Thank you.”

The plate he offers is filled with colorful sweets, sized to avoid dirtying hands or overwhelming a corseted waist.
While too small for Yuran, they’re perfect for Violette.
She picks up a glossy, round chocolate that looks cool to the touch and pops it into her mouth before her fingers can warm it.

“Sweet…”

“No bitter ones here, don’t worry.”

“Aren’t you eating?”

“I brought these for you, so I can’t eat them.”

Unlike Violette, who loves sweets, Yuran isn’t fond of them.
He might even say he dislikes them outright.
He’s fine with their aroma but can’t stand the cloying sweetness in his mouth, and even bitter flavors leave a sweet aftertaste he dislikes.
His soft demeanor might suggest a sweet-toothed boy, while Violette’s sharp beauty seems more suited to savoring bitter notes.
In reality, she’s such a sweet-lover that even a hint of bitterness in café au lait makes her grimace.
She’s been told countless times it doesn’t suit her and tried to overcome it, but to no avail.
In her first life, she hid it desperately, but now she neither boasts nor conceals it.
Come to think of it, Yuran has always known.

“Honestly… at least get something for yourself. It’s such a grand event.”

“You’re one to talk. You wouldn’t have eaten anything if I hadn’t brought these.”

“There are too many people around the food.”

“I figured, so I got them for you.”

Crowded places are already uncomfortable for her, but today, there are too many things she’d rather avoid.
Though she ended up in prison, Violette was once an exceptional lady.
Unlike Maryjune’s type of charisma, she easily draws attention but also unwanted expectations due to her appearance.
For someone who wants to live quietly, it’s an utter nuisance, but it’s beyond her control.
So, she chose to avoid it from the start.

“…Give me that.”

“Huh?”

Taking the plate with its sweets, she transforms into a lady enjoying the party.
Stepping out from her hidden spot into the bustling center, she glances back at Yuran.

“It’d be embarrassing if I were the only one eating. I’ll get something for you.”

She doesn’t actually care about such delicate sensibilities, but Yuran won’t budge unless she says so.
Just as he knows her well, she understands his personality.
He’s aware she’s avoiding attention but would never think of making her act for his sake.
Even if she offers, he’d likely refuse gently—it’s predictable.

“…Okay, thanks.”

“What food do they have?”

“I didn’t really look. I only went to the dessert table.”

With such a large venue, the food selection is likely extensive.
Yuran, who has no strong preferences beyond disliking sweets, should find plenty to enjoy.
Moving through the crowd isn’t ideal, but shrinking away feels wrong too.
Having resolved to embrace her freedom, she should enjoy occasions like this a bit more.

Honestly, she let her guard down.

In her first life, she acted foolishly here, letting emotions override reason.
Ashamed and repentant, she vowed to behave this time.
Knowing her past actions gave her confidence—she thought she’d never repeat them.
If she’s determined not to, what better assurance could there be?
It was a rational judgment.
With no intention of acting out, there was no need for caution.
It was, in a way, pointless.
Violette was correct, acting on the right answer.
But she overlooked one thing: her own influence.

“How dare you, considering your position!? Poor Lady Violette…!!”

She hadn’t anticipated that someone might act on her behalf, using her name as justification.