The Mesugaki Is Not Alone (2)
"I'm so sorry, Lady Alrn."
Phoebe wore an expression of utter desolation, as if she were ready to offer up her own neck on the spot. It seemed she felt terribly guilty for having burdened the girl who had gone out of her way to comfort her.
"On my way back, I ran into someone I know and did my best to explain what happened, but I'm afraid I wasn't very articulate."
So that was how the rumor had spread.
Phoebe, her face a wreck from crying her eyes out in my room, had bumped into a friend on her way back, and seeing her state, the girl had assumed something terrible had happened—and proceeded to broadcast it to everyone around her.
And since the two people at the center of that rumor were, in one sense or another, the most famous pair at the Academy right now—me and Phoebe—it had spread like wildfire, until it grew past the point where any one or two people could put it out.
Being one of the parties involved made the whole thing feel dirty and unfair, but if I put myself in an outsider's shoes, it really was a juicy piece of gossip.
A girl with real talent but a rotten personality tormented the kindest, purest soul in the Academy until she cried?
And in a sealed room where no one could see?
That alone is prime material, isn't it?
The content is provocative, the moral lines are crystal clear, and there's endless room for embellishment.
If I had no connection to it and heard that rumor cold, I'd have thought, Ooh. Delicious drama. That's exactly how I used to gobble up gossip back in the day.
Except the subject of this particular rumor is me.
Haah. Damn it all.
"So that's why I came to try to put things right."
At its root, the rumor currently making the rounds was that I had bullied Phoebe.
Which meant, Phoebe argued, that if she and I showed ourselves getting along, we could strike at that root directly.
Personally, I doubted a rumor this thoroughly disseminated would die down over something so small—but looking at Phoebe, genuinely sorry and earnestly trying to fix my problem for me, I couldn't bring myself to say anything negative.
'It's okay, Phoebe. I don't mind at all.'
"Pfft. What a loser saintess. Who's worried about whom here? You think I care what those pathetic scrub extras over there keep yapping about?"
"That's a relief to hear, but still..."
'Please, have a seat. Let's eat together.'
"Sit down. I'll grace a sniveling crybaby loser like you with the honor of sharing my meal."
"Oh—yes! Thank you very much!"
Heh. Guess I'll order one more dish to share with Phoebe, then.
Good timing, honestly—one steak alone was already leaving me wanting.
Strange, but lately no amount of food seems to fill me up. It's been like this ever since I started training with Grandpa in Practice Mode.
Granted, considering how much I move around, eating like this wouldn't make me gain an ounce anyway.
Wait. Could this be a sign that I'm about to grow taller?!
They always say your appetite goes wild during a growth spurt, don't they?!
Yes. That has to be it.
It has to be!
If my theory is right, I should eat as much as I possibly can while I can. That's how you fuel maximum growth, after all.
I can't live as a teensy little shrimp forever!
One day I'll be the one looking down from up top—not gazing up from below! Just like Phoebe and Joy!
"Um, excuse me."
I was just unfolding the menu, eyes bright with anticipation, when another voice drifted over.
It was so familiar to my ears that I knew exactly who it belonged to before I even looked up.
'Joy?'
"What is it, Airhead Lady?"
There stood Joy, half-hiding her flushed face behind her fan.
That morning, when another noble girl had told her the rumor about Phoebe and Lucy, Joy had been so dumbfounded she couldn't figure out how to respond.
Lucy? Torment Phoebe? Impossible!
That was a girl who would wear a bunny costume—of all things—just to save Phoebe. She treasured her that much!
Why on earth would someone like that bully Phoebe into tears?
Besides, was Phoebe really the sort to dissolve into tears over a little rough treatment?
This was the girl who had traversed every nasty corner of the world as a saintess without shedding a single drop?
If anything, it would be far more believable that Phoebe had cried tears of gratitude after meeting Lucy.
One glance was enough for Joy to conclude the whole thing was nonsense, and she firmly ordered the noble girls around her not to breathe a word about such rumors.
And yet the story about Lucy and Phoebe spread through the Academy at breakneck speed.
Unavoidable, really—the tale was salacious, and its leads were famous.
Joy, who had seen this kind of thing countless times in high society, let out sigh after sigh as she watched people recite the slander with relish.
How am I supposed to fix this?
Knowing Lady Alrn's personality, the rumor wouldn't bother her one bit—but Phoebe was another story.
She was surely beside herself with guilt over causing trouble for the person who had helped her.
So for Phoebe's sake, the rumor had to be put to rest. If only there were a good way...
Lost in thought as she entered the dining hall with the other girls, Joy spotted Phoebe sitting at a table with Lucy—and stopped in her tracks.
Why are those two—?
One look at Phoebe's face, apologetic as could be, and Lucy's expression of lofty disdain as she peered down at her, and Joy understood the situation at once.
Ah. They're trying to show everyone they get along. That's the play.
Right. It won't stop the rumor from getting worse, but it should help a little.
The people who wanted to sneer would keep sneering at Lady Alrn regardless, but sooner or later someone would say, 'Those two seem awfully friendly, no?'
Good thinking.
That was Joy's rational judgment—but her heart was telling a very different story.
But it's a bit much that it's my first time sharing a meal with Lady Alrn, isn't it? That seat was supposed to be MINE! I've had my eye on it since forever ago!
Phoebe! You're my friend, I know, but don't you think stealing this is going too far?!
Joy's social circle was vast—but shallow.
As the daughter of Duke Patran, countless people vied for the seat beside her, yet of those, remarkably few cared about the girl named Joy herself.
What most noble daughters sought was the friendship of the Patran heiress. Not of Joy.
It wasn't as though Joy was blind to this. She was hardly so naive as to be swept away by the sweet whispers around her.
And that was precisely why she never counted them as true friends.
How could she call them friends, when the moment the name Patran vanished, they would scatter like wilted petals and leave her a lonely, bare stem?
The only people Joy had ever been able to call friends were the rare few like Arthur or Phoebe, who didn't care a whit for her station.
And recently, one more name had been added to that list in her heart.
Lucy Alrn.
The girl who had saved her life twice.
The one who had reached out a hand when she was trapped in her trauma, unable to move forward.
Someone who, faced with a duke's daughter, never hesitated to say exactly what she thought—rude and mischievous, in a way.
Yet beneath it all, more thoughtful and more decent than anyone.
Joy wanted to call that girl her friend. She wanted to see her laughing and playing at her side.
She'd even drawn up a plan for it with her dear brother.
First, she would ask Lucy—who ate alone every single day—whether she'd like to share a meal.
Lucy would grumble, of course, saying something like 'Can't even eat alone now?' or 'What a hopeless airhead loser.' But she wouldn't chase her away.
And that would be the beginning.
They'd become natural meal companions. Conversation would open up. They'd make plans to go out together, wander around tasting delicious things side by side, and then—during the break that was just around the corner—Joy would invite her to their territory for a pajama party!
Unlike Arthur, where the difference in gender and the weight of politics made friendly closeness impossible, or Phoebe, whose schedule was far too packed for leisurely outings, Lucy had no obligatory duties whatsoever.
This was the girl who, until entering the Academy, had been a byword for delinquency. If she wanted, she had all the free time in the world.
To put it another way: if Joy could become friends with Lucy, she could finally fill the ideal of friendship she'd built up over years of devouring book after book.
So whenever Joy found herself near Lucy, she had been waiting for her chance—working up the courage to suggest they eat together. To launch Phase One of the plan.
Except that until now, all she'd done was watch.
Her brother, whenever she confided in him, had stared at her with an expression of pure exasperation—but there was nothing to be done.
What if she says no?!
If she heard something like 'Why would I eat with you? You'd ruin my appetite,' her heart would shatter into a million pieces!
Far more timid than her looks or manner suggested, Joy hadn't the nerve to speak first, and so she had simply waited, hoping Lucy would bring up sharing a meal on her own.
Naturally, no such miracle had occurred, and Phase One of Joy's plan remained unfulfilled.
And now, at this very moment, Phoebe was trying to snatch from her the achievement of being the first person to share a meal with Lucy.
Joy knew Phoebe meant nothing by it! Who knew better than she that only good intentions lived in that girl's heart?
But from Joy's position, the envy was unavoidable.
Because Phoebe was about to make real the very thing Joy had only ever dared to imagine!
What do I do?!
If this keeps up, Phoebe's going to steal Lady Alrn away!
They'll eat together, then go out somewhere, then get close enough to play together even over break, and by second semester of first year they'll be on a first-name basis, and—
No!
I knew Lady Alrn first!
I was going to get close to her first!
I was the one who'd marked my chance at friendship first!
Phoebe or not, I cannot let that be taken from me!
Worst-case scenarios churning in her head, Joy drew her fan from her sleeve and asked the noble girls around her for their indulgence.
She was going to go speak with Phoebe, she said.
And no one alive would have dared stand in the way of Joy, who—whatever churning mess lay beneath—was every inch the ducal heiress on the surface.
With the other girls' blessing, Joy set off.
Her feet had moved on pure impulse, but her mind was a storm of confusion.
I said I was heading over, so I do have to go. But what on earth do I say when I get there?!
'I heard what happened'?
No! That'll just make the whole mood heavy!
'You've been through so much'?
Same problem!
I have to act like I don't know! Get it together, Joy, you idiot!
So... what's the best possible thing to say?!...
Still agonizing, she somehow found herself already at their table, and her eyes met Phoebe's.
"Um, excuse me."
"Joy?"
"What is it, Airhead Lady?"
Okay, I've set it up—now I have to say something. Anything.
I have to say something. So...
Um. Uuuuh...
"Would it be all right if I joined you for the meal as well? Both of you?"
In the end, the words that tumbled out of Joy's mouth were the very ones she had carried in her heart all this time.
"Of course, Joy."
"What's with you, Airhead Lady? Can't even manage to eat a meal properly anymore? Honestly. Come on, sit. Don't just stand there like an idiot."
The two of them made room for Joy as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I did it!
I did iiiiiit!
Taking her seat beside them with perfect composure, Joy screamed her triumph inside.