Chapter 115
Chapter: 115
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>Translator: penny
>Chapter: 115
>Chapter Title: Scarzapino (2)
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"Yes, that Prince Mores..."
>Ricardo nodded after hearing the full story from Isabella.
>"What a guy. To turn down my Bella, the flower among flowers boasting both beauty and intellect, the most stunning belle in the imperial capital. Looks like he's still not over the aftereffects of that fever."
>Isabella rubbed her arms, where goosebumps had prickled up, and scowled.
"...Brother, you say the creepiest things so casually sometimes."
"Can't you just call it having a rich sensitivity? And it's not wrong, is it? Even among the foreign dignitaries visiting, the rumors are rampant. In Delcros salons, there's that one elegant bloom that captivates every eye..."
"Ricardo brother!"
Ricardo flashed a sly grin at his younger sister, who was glaring at him with narrowed eyes, unable to stomach the cringe.
"Well, there have been rumors lately that he's changed quite a bit. I wonder if something shifted in his heart. He hasn't dropped by the townhouse at all these days."
"Have you not seen him recently either, brother?"
"Unfortunately, no. I can't go to him, so he should come to me, but even though I send out invitations every week for our gatherings, I get no reply at all."
In the past, Prince Mores had often visited the Scarzapino estate at Ricardo's invitation.
What puzzled Isabella was that fact. Prince Mores and Ricardo were friends who kept up a fairly steady exchange.
Despite the not-insignificant age gap and their reputations being polar opposites, she couldn't even guess what the two men—who seemed to have nothing in common—had bonded over.
"Why do you hang out with a wastrel like that, brother?"
At her question, Ricardo let out a hearty "Hahaha."
"You see him that way too, huh. But even if you learned what that prince sees in the world, do you think you'd still say that? The more you get to know him, the more fascinating he becomes."
Ricardo tossed out that somewhat cryptic remark, then stroked his smooth, handsome chin thoughtfully for a moment.
"Anyway. Right now, the important thing is finding a partner to escort you. It might be presumptuous to say in my place, but what about Archduke Sigismund of Orden? Wouldn't he be a fitting partner for the flower of high society, my beautiful Bella?"
"......"
Isabella was at a loss for words.
For a split second, she suspected her cheeky brother was teasing her again.
...That Archduke Sigismund?
"Yes. I've had chances lately to build a decent rapport with him too. If it's my recommendation, I doubt he'd refuse. What do you say?"
If Ricardo's words were true, Isabella had no reason to decline.
If the young noblemen of the capital swooned most over Princess Amelia and Isabella, then the young ladies dreamed most ardently of Prince Logan and Sigismund of Orden.
She hated to admit it, but frankly speaking, he was in a different league from her.
Unlike her—a parvenu's daughter from Ortona, exiled nobility who faced subtle disdain—he was the eldest son of a grand noble house, the continent's foremost knight, and Baltazar's direct disciple.
A genius swordsman who had consecutively dominated swordsmanship tournaments across numerous nations, he was an idol to the sons of Delcros and aspiring knights alike. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Prince Logan, who was tipped as the next likely Holy Emperor, as one of the realm's luminaries.
If she could attend with him, Isabella would undoubtedly be the most envied lady at the birthday gala!
The fact that Prince Mores had rejected her had already vanished from her mind.
"...Very well. I'm delighted if my lovely sister approves."
Ricardo chuckled knowingly at Isabella's flushed face.
And the next day.
Isabella received a letter from Sigismund of Orden requesting to coordinate dress codes and headed to Deste Street in high spirits.
* * *
From morning, the imperial palace buzzed with a peculiar excitement.
The 3rd Princess Cissley had returned the night before.
There was no grand triumphal procession like Prince Logan's homecoming, but the return of the empire's young saintess in her own right was joyful news to all.
And Seongjin blinked in surprise upon meeting the little girl who had come to see him that morning, accompanied by Amelia.
Clear gray eyes that felt somehow familiar.
Long hair shimmering silver.
A girl with a pretty face like a delicately carved crystal gazed steadily at Seongjin's face, clutching a small book preciously in both hands.
"Long time no see, brother Mores. You've changed a lot."
Brother.
The profoundly unfamiliar term gave Seongjin a fresh sense of novelty. Come to think of it, that Mores guy did have a little sister.
The twin siblings he'd met so far had only ever tried to match him.
"Uh, hi."
Seongjin awkwardly waved at the girl.
"So... Cissley, right? Sorry. Actually, I had that fever recently and..."
"I know. You lost your memories, right? Amelia sister told me. Must've been tough."
"......"
It was an odd girl who delivered kind words with a utterly impassive expression, creating a strange sense of dissonance.
"I heard a lot on the way here. Brother, they say you were amazing before."
"Huh?"
"Impressive. Even while you were bedridden and just getting back on your feet, you trained, managed the monster response division... I see you in a new light."
"......"
He just couldn't get used to the mismatch between her considerate words and her blank face!
What was this girl? A robot?
Then, Cissley tilted her head and asked,
"But brother, what's that thing next to you?"
"......!"
Oh no! Right, this kid's a saintess!
He felt the Demon King flinch in his soul within his mind.
High-ranking clergy like cardinals could apparently faintly detect the Demon King's presence, even within the Holy Emperor's barrier.
Logan had previously warned Seongjin that he sensed something sinister near him.
Then the saintess, boasting the greatest holy power among the Holy Emperor's children, couldn't possibly miss the Demon King!
What now? What if she charges in to exorcise him right here?
Seongjin tensed up. But contrary to his worries, the girl continued indifferently with her numb expression, as if it were nothing.
"You carry weird stuff around, brother. I don't remember reading about anything like that."
"......"
"Anyway, watch out for the high priests. Especially Cardinal Benitus. The old folks will notice right away."
Leaving a demon be like that—despite her title as saintess, Cissley didn't seem like a devout servant of the Lord God.
Well, even His Majesty the Holy Emperor, the proxy of the gods, was the same.
As he inwardly nodded in understanding, Cissley suddenly lobbed an out-of-left-field question.
"But brother Mores, what's your type, by any chance?"
...Huh?
"Do you like pure, kind, empathetic girls who really get your pain?"
...What?
"Are you drawn to women with exotic black hair?"
"...What did you say?"
He couldn't grasp the context at all!
As Seongjin floundered in confusion, Cissley continued saying whatever she wanted, her expression still statue-like and inorganic. Just looking at her face, she could pass for a chatty Holy Emperor.
"You need to be careful with girls like that. Got it? Clinging desperately to a girl popular with everyone won't help if she doesn't look your way. That's the tragedy of the side character."
"...Um?"
"Oh, I just stopped by to say hi. I went to the main palace and have to head straight to the Grand Cathedral for work, so I'll get going."
"Ah, okay. Go on ahead."
"See you later, brother."
With that, Cissley finished what she had to say and trotted off.
She still clutched her small book tightly to her chest.
...What the heck was that?
Seongjin stared blankly in the direction the girl had vanished, utterly bewildered, when Amelia—who had been quietly watching them—beamed brightly.
"You two chatted so warmly like that for the first time. Family really is wonderful."
...Glad it looked that way, sis.
* * *
With the birthday gala approaching, the busiest spot in the imperial capital was undoubtedly Deste Street, lined with ateliers.
Designers and seamstresses with dark circles down to their chins slaved through the night altering and perfecting gowns, keeping the street lit like a city that never sleeps even at dawn.
Typically, ball attire was ordered well in advance, but the problem was that overlapping gala schedules often forced last-minute tweaks to already-fitted pieces. Partners changed right before events—due to personal reasons or family matters—far more often than not.
In such cases, designs were usually adjusted around the atelier of whichever of the pair held higher status. And Isabella Scarzapino, the flower of high society, was no exception.
Isabella entered Salon de Mershi, a men's formalwear specialist, alongside her atelier's designer.
"Oh my, Lady Scarzapino!"
Some young ladies gathered in the atelier, gossiping, spotted her and jumped to their feet in surprise. Like Isabella, they were ladies whose partners had changed abruptly.
They seemed to guess why she was at a men's shop and asked,
"You're not attending the birthday gala with Prince Mores this year?"
"Yes, that's how it turned out."
"Oh......"
The ladies' eyes sparkled.
For her to come to a men's atelier, her new partner was surely no lowly figure.
"I'm dying to know. Who is the lucky gentleman escorting the beautiful Lady Scarzapino?"
"Hehe, you'll see him soon enough. Let's save it for the fun reveal."
Isabella smiled gracefully and took a seat with elegant poise.
Reading the subtle confidence in her demeanor, the ladies stopped prying and resumed their chatter.
"Have you heard the news? About that little lady from House Valua."
"Oh, the little miss with the marriage talks to the 3rd Prince?"
"Yes, they say she sends flowers to Pearl Palace every day with utmost devotion."
"Really?"
Isabella had been flipping through a design book, pretending disinterest, but her ears perked up as she tuned in.
One lady asked with profound pity,
"Poor thing, has she ever even met Prince Mores in person? I hope that sweet little girl isn't misunderstanding something..."
"Apparently not. Rumor has it she visits Pearl Palace weekly, sharing tea and sweet conversation with the prince."
"Oh my goodness! Truly a love that transcends appearances!"
"What a bold little miss."
They dissolved into delighted giggles.
Listening to their prattle, Isabella swallowed a bitter smile inwardly. She had essentially been ranked alongside that "cute little miss."
Despite being called the flower of high society, one of Delcros's top beauties, she would never land someone like Prince Logan.
An exiled noble from Ortona, her family had amassed vast wealth through the civil war.
A parvenu with no real status to boast, only money—mocked as having sold out their country for riches—the ignominious label clung to her.
The only reason marriage talks had even surfaced with the imperial family was because Prince Mores was the disgrace of the Holy Imperial line, a worthless wastrel.
And Prince Mores himself, the subject of those talks, had surely known that well, always looking at Isabella with those eyes.
Eyes devoid of emotion, gazing down endlessly as if at an insect.
Unknowingly, Isabella bit her lip hard.
But her reverie didn't last.
One of the ladies startled, then pointed toward the entrance of Salon de Mershi, exclaiming in a fuss.
"Oh! What a surprise! Look, it's Princess Amelia and Prince Mores!"