Rejected Twice
What…?
"Pick just one. The one you like best among the four of us."
Someone I liked…?
There was no way something like that could exist….
"Kyaa! L-let go of me!"
"You bug of a girl. If you've got eyes in that head of yours, you should be able to see it. The superior looks of the Academy's Four Musketeers."
"Heh heh. Right. It's more than a girl like you deserves, but go on—try picking one."
There wasn't anyone….
Who would ever like humans as rotten as you.
I don't want to choose….
I said I don't….
Thud!
"Ghhk…!"
"Ha, this bitch still doesn't get it? You think keeping your mouth shut is going to make this end?"
"Now, now, Young Master Kyle. Have you forgotten that we are the ones who must receive this bug-girl's 'favor'?"
"Ah. I'd nearly forgotten. As wise as ever, Young Master Blund."
What is wrong with all of you…?
You call me a bug of a girl….
You don't even want to be chosen by someone like that….
"Young Master Deron. If you keep hanging back like that, you might lose your chance at the prize."
"Pfft. The strong have no need for words."
"Hey, Young Master Elden? Shouldn't you be putting on some 'charm appeal' of your own? Or are you so overflowing with confidence you can just sit there at ease?"
"……I simply have no interest in joining this childish game."
"Tsk tsk. You really don't know what real fun is. Come on! Erincia? Hurry up and choose. You know by now that's the only way this ends quickly, right?"
Please… stop this….
It's pointless….
Even if I choose someone, you'll just say it disgusts you and hit me anyway…….
Thud!
"Ghhk!"
"Ugh, so frustrating. So damn frustrating. You only ever come to your senses after a beating, don't you? How are you going to survive this brutal world being that stupid?"
Crunch!
"Kyaaagh! M-my hand hurts…!"
I get it….
I said I get it….
Please, just stop hitting me….
It hurts….
It hurts so much I could die….
"Heh heh. Then pick one. Which of the great Academy Four Musketeers is the finest man of all."
……Elden Raphelion.
"Pfft—puhahahaha—!!"
"Hahaha! See? You never put in any charm appeal, Elden, so of course this bug-girl chose you!"
"Pffft— Young Master Elden, you must be so pleased. To receive the admiration of Erincia Bellock. Uwahahaha—!"
"……."
Th-that's not it…!
I only picked you because there was no one else to pick…!
I only picked you because, unlike the rest of them, you didn't step forward to hit me…!
You're all the same as them, Elden…!
You're all bad…!
"Kwahaha! How little must she think of you, Elden, to choose you like that."
"Exactly. You never play with her as fun as we do, so of course she's throwing a tantrum."
"And a tantrum deserves a proper scolding, doesn't it? Elden—show her your answer. Go on."
"……."
D-don't look at me with those eyes!
I didn't choose you because I wanted to…!
I find you disgusting and contemptible too!
I hate you so much I could throw up…!!
Thud!
"Ghhhkk…!"
"Heh heh. Well done, Young Master Elden. You've got to play with her like this every so often if you want any real affection to build, don't you?"
"…If you're all done playing, shall we go have some real fun? I hear they secured some beastfolk prostitutes at the Belpechino pleasure quarter tonight."
"What? R-really? Let's go!"
……Yes. It always ended like this.
Once the toy stopped being fun, they went looking for another one.
Left alone, I could only watch your receding backs while the throbbing pain racked my body.
So weakly.
So helplessly.
Come to think of it.
Looking back, I've already been rejected by you twice, haven't I?
Once as Erincia Bellock.
Once as Lumiang Winterfell.
Of course, both times it was a choice made without a shred of real feeling—something I had no choice but to do… but it was still thoroughly revolting.
Because in the end, I was rejected twice by a villain like you—by someone who doesn't even deserve to be loved.
Haha.
Yes.
That is.
Truly.
A hilarious thing.
Isn't it?
Elden?
Haha.
Just what on earth happened to her….
Marien, personal maid to the Third Grand Duchess.
There had been a special reason a girl of ordinary commoner birth like her had become Lumiang's personal maid.
A personal maid.
In the Grand Ducal house—and indeed in any house of marquis rank or higher—the maids employed were usually of commoner origin.
Among them, the personal maids and dedicated butlers who attended the family members at close quarters were customarily taken from the lower nobility.
Young ladies of unbetrothed baronial houses served as personal maids under the head maid; the young masters were attended by dedicated butlers under the head butler.
That was why Marien's appointment as personal maid had been exceptional.
Grand Duke Logan himself, well aware of noble custom, had tried to assign a young lady of at least baronial rank—but he had been unable to break Lumiang's stubborn will.
"The only person I need is Marien."
It had begun with a chance encounter, a chance collision.
After Ronica's accidental death, Lumiang had continued her research and experiments alone. One day, while carrying her own tools, materials, and books from place to place, she had run into Marien—a newly arrived maid who had lost her way. That collision had been the start of everything.
And when Marien looked at the scattered tools, materials, and book titles on the floor and accurately deduced exactly which experiment they belonged to, she had caught Lumiang's eye.
That was how their bond had begun, and the two of them had become inseparable.
They understood each other without a word.
A single glance was enough to read the meaning behind the other's eyes; a hand stretched out was enough to know what the other wanted to hold.
And so.
"……."
The moment Lumiang returned to her bedchamber, Marien knew at once that something had happened.
And she was certain that something involved Young Master Elden.
Lately her mistress's every thought and every word had been about him, after all.
Step, limp.
Marien hobbled over on her right foot, carrying a cup of freshly steeped tea.
Her condition had improved enough that she had returned the crutches, but the bandages had yet to come off.
"My lady…?"
It was winter flower tea—Lumiang's favorite, the one she always sought when her body and mind were unsettled.
Before accepting it, Lumiang removed her mask and set it on the bedside table.
Marien studied her with a pained gaze.
Without the mask, Lumiang's face looked especially pale.
Paler even than the cold moonlight.
"Please drink a little of this, at least."
For days now her mistress had barely managed proper meals.
She had abandoned the research and experiments she used to love so much; even sleep came only with difficulty.
These were sights Marien had never seen in all her years of service, and they filled her with deep worry.
"…Thank you."
Marien handed over the tea, set the tray on the table, and sat beside her.
Then, carefully, she asked,
"Did… something happen?"
Lumiang's lips parted, then closed again.
With Marien there were no secrets; they spoke with complete openness and trust.
Marien was the only person who knew about this entire revenge plot, and an excellent advisor besides.
The plan of guidance and repentance had only been possible because of Marien's counsel and help.
Even so, the words about what had just occurred would not come easily.
It was humiliating.
That she was being dragged along, unable to solve a single problem set by that crude man Elden.
The weakness and helplessness of the self who had never bowed to failure, who had always held her head high no matter how harsh the conditions.
And more than that—
How her original intention of forging sincere repentance through guidance and enlightenment had twisted into nothing but foolish obsession and stubbornness.
How she could not stop, did not even know how to stop, and how foolish that made her.
How she, who had wished for the villain's change more than anyone, now closed her eyes as if she did not want it at all.
It was all so humiliating and shameful.
Being "dumped" by the villain who was her iron-blooded enemy was no different.
Of course the confession had contained not a single grain of true feeling, not a spoonful of sincerity; it had been nothing but a ploy to drag the villain into the pit of revenge. And yet, somehow, it still left her mortified and embarrassed.
It felt unfair that he had rejected that confession as if it were genuine.
It felt unfair to imagine him swelling with pride, thinking himself a man of backbone and resolve.
Frustration and irritation surged up.
She found him hateful and detestable.
All of it only made the seething fire of her rage burn even fiercer.
On top of that, the watchers she had set to tail his every move kept delivering the same unchanging reports.
That he went back and forth between the library and the training grounds.
That he threw his whole heart into everything that happened there.
That there was not a single falsehood to be seen—and that, in places where no one was watching, he even performed acts of kindness hard to believe.
Picking up litter, straightening things that were out of place, fixing what was broken, and so on.
That he never so much as glanced at wine, women, or gambling, and devoted himself solely to the discipline of body and mind.
"Ha……."
A sigh deeper than the deepening night slipped out.
Into the emptiness the sigh had left, she poured the sweet tea.
The winter flower tea, steeped in winter itself, was supposed to quench the blazing heat.
But the flames were so fierce that they would not be put out so easily.
Holding the cup, she looked down at the winter flower tea swaying precariously inside.
Reading that gaze, Marien carefully opened her mouth.
"Or… perhaps it would be better to accept his withdrawal……?"
"What?"
"Look at your face right now, my lady. You've become half a ghost."
Startled, Lumiang turned her head toward the mirror resting on the bedside table.
The portrait of a woman stared back—deathly pale, haggard, and shabby.
"……."
"I'm worried. At this rate… I'm afraid you'll be the one who collapses…."
Lumiang shifted her gaze to Marien and forced a smile.
In Marien's eyes, it was the frailest, most fragile smile she had ever seen on her mistress.
"Don't worry. I'm not that weak."
"I know. I know you're stronger than anyone. It's just… hard for me to watch you suffer like this. I know it isn't easy, but… what if you tried believing in Young Master Elden's change, just once…?"
Marien still could not forget it.
The moment she had collided with Young Master Elden.
That dizzying instant that might as well have been a collision with death itself.
How Young Master Elden had reached out a helping hand to her after she twisted her ankle.
And how he had then issued a bone-chilling death threat: if she ever told anyone he had helped her, she would truly die.
It had been nothing like the first meeting she had heard about from her lady.
The complete opposite, in fact.
The villain who would behead a maid for the mere crime of offending his mood, who repaid pain tenfold or a hundredfold—that was supposed to be Young Master Elden. Yet he had helped her instead.
She had wondered if it was only because the evaluation committee was watching, but there had not been a single pair of eyes nearby.
She had wondered if he had known she was the personal maid of the Third Grand Duchess, but the hand he offered and the look in his eyes had been pure.
If that kindness had been calculated, he would have wanted the people around them to notice.
Instead he had demanded silence.
He had fretted that his good deed might cling to him as an annoying rumor.
…Should I tell her?
She considered recounting the pure goodwill she had felt from Young Master Elden that day, but between the chilling death threat and the fact that speaking of it now would almost certainly not improve her lady's condition, she held her tongue.
No—
It would only make her dig in even more stubbornly.
It would only make her want to go back to that day and start the whole wretched assignment over from the beginning.
So Marien simply wished her mistress would acknowledge his change and return to the lively, bright young lady she had once been.
But.
The plea to acknowledge that change was rejected without hesitation.
"No."
The answer was absolute.
"…Pardon?"
"I can't believe it. Once the formal introduction ceremony is held, everything will come to light anyway. No—I'll make sure it does. Without fail."
"Before that, perhaps you should simply tell His Grace the Grand Duke…."
"Forget it. This is something I chose, and something I have to finish myself. Only then will I be completely free."
"But…."
Marien tried to persuade her, but Lumiang set the teacup down and lay back on the bed.
Then she pulled the blanket up over her head and turned onto her side.
"I'm sorry, but I want to be alone tonight. Please go."
"Ah… yes."
In the end Marien returned the teacup to the tray and had no choice but to leave the bedchamber.
Her mistress's cold words stung a little, yet Marien knew all too well what was making her so impatient, so irrational—and so she could only withdraw.
Hoping, at least, that her lady's night would pass without further harm.