The One Who Sees Within -5-

"Hic..."

Yuria was crying. Her shoulders shook like tree branches trembling in a fierce storm, and her sobbing echoed faintly into the night sky dotted with scant stars.

As I stepped out onto the balcony, Yuria's figure caught the moonlight, dancing a sorrowful waltz. She looked lost, tormented, utterly heartbroken.

—I don't want to show it...

—I don't want you to see me like this...

—Why did you have to notice?

—No one else did... how did you figure it out...?

Hic. Yuria muttered in a heartbreaking voice, clutching the hem of her skirt in her fists and stomping her foot. When people get too upset, they throw little tantrums like this—and Yuria was doing just that.

I gave a small smile and walked toward the balcony where she stood.

The quiet space amplified the thud of my footsteps. Yuria, who had been trembling, hurriedly wiped away her streaming tears. From a distance, I watched her rub her eyes with hands covered in bandages and paused my steps to give her time.

She wouldn't want anyone seeing her like this. A true gentleman knows to show consideration for a lady. Charging in and asking "Why are you crying?" would be thoughtless.

So I waited until she lifted her head. A sniffle echoed once, and as she slowly raised it...

I resumed walking.

"Feeling better...?"

"Don't come closer."

Gazing sadly at the garden, Yuria spoke in a firm voice. I smiled faintly and took another step toward her.

"Why not?"

She gripped her skirt tightly and drew a deep breath. Even from behind, her trembling told me the tears were still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flowing.

In a choked voice, she cried out,

"I'm not the person you think I am!"

"Why do you say that? You might be exactly who I'm looking for."

"No way!"

Yuria balled her fists and shouted. Her voice rang through the balcony, spreading a wave of pathos.

"No way..."

Her voice grew infinitely smaller. It didn't sit right with me.

Trembling, she began making excuses, biting her lip hard as she questioned why she was saying this, why she was pushing me away.

"I'm not pretty or charming. My face is covered in freckles—people call me ugly all the time."

"Hmm... so what?"

"Don't say it like it's nothing! What do you know?"

"True, I don't know much about you. But you seem to be barking up the wrong tree."

"Huh?"

"The person I'm looking for isn't some pretty, glamorous type. I'm searching for a kind friend whose smile suits her perfectly."

"Liar!"

Yuria shouted, her voice raw with unfiltered emotion.

"Don't lie..."

She shook her head as if she wanted no more talk, muttering bleak words. I gave a wry smile and let out a long sigh.

'Guess it's time to indulge her tantrum.'

Conversations have their timing. Know when to interject, when to listen. Right now, it seemed best to step back and let Yuria vent until she emptied her heart.

So I watched her silently, focusing on her words.

"When I came to the ballroom, people said things like, 'She's so ugly. That fancy dress suits her station about as well as mud.' And every dance I've been to since, it's always 'She knows how to doll up for her kind.'"

"..."

"At first, it hurt. Deeply. The first time, anyway..."

Overwhelmed by swirling emotions, she bowed her head. Her fists still clutched the dress hem, unmoving.

"I hated hearing it. Wondered why I deserved that treatment. But people adapt in weird ways. Funny thing is, even while telling myself it's fine, those people are the weird ones, deep down I accept it. Like, I'm not the type to wear expensive clothes. This dress doesn't suit me."

She spoke with resignation. Her weary voice tugged at me. Slowly, she turned to face me.

Her freckled face, swollen red from tears, struck me as plain enough even without the magic's influence. Not that it was ugly—just ruined by crying.

Personally, I don't like seeing people cry. It makes me feel guilty, sours my mood. Who enjoys watching someone grieve? Probably no one—others must feel the same.

Seeing my wry smile, Yuria sighed heavily.

"You think so too, right?"

"Pardon?"

"You think this dress doesn't suit me. A commoner like me wearing something above my station—pathetic, right?"

"No."

"Liar."

"If that were a lie, why would I come all the way out here to find you?"

"Just to pity me."

"Pity? I'm the one who thinks no one's more pitiful than me."

I meant it. Truly, I believe no one's as wretched as I am. The protagonist won't grow. The young lady throws fits over side dishes. Paychecks get delayed. This goes beyond pitiful—it's unfortunate neighbor territory.

Of course, the world is full of people more miserable than me, but selfishly, I'm one of those who wallows in self-pity. Life's happy enough, though.

I kindly addressed Yuria's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠objection. Time to share my side—listening more wouldn't change anything, just sour my mood further. I began opening my closed lips.

"I've never once pitied you."

"..."

"Why pity someone bold, loved by all? Even setting that aside, I don't see you as pitiful."

"I don't believe lies like that anymore."

"Not forcing you to. I just say what I think, like you do. It's respect—like, I couldn't live so naively, you're amazing. Wait, is that backhanded?"

"..."

"Anyway, every time I see you dressed up beautifully, I'm in awe. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Funny, right? People say, 'Disgusting how a poor commoner girl wears such an expensive dress.' But to me, it's always How can a person be this beautiful? Not quite on Lady Olivia's level, mind you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Occupational hazard."

I gazed at the bright moon in the night sky and took a step forward. Thud. Even as the distance closed, Yuria didn't say "Stay back." My sappy words must have offered some comfort.

I stepped closer, standing beside her, and looked up at the stars with a soft voice.

"You said you're not the one I'm looking for, right?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"..."

"But what can I do?"

The moon shone especially bright tonight. The stars numbered more than usual. The Milky Way stretched like watercolor, stirring the soul.

I turned to Yuria. Though the magic hadn't worn off, she seemed clearly visible—an illusion, perhaps. Presbyopia? No, surely the miracle of atmosphere.

Avoiding her staring eyes, I said,

"Right now, in this moment, you look utterly beautiful to me."

"...Pardon?"

"Your freckled face, even crying—it's just like the habits of the person I'm seeking. I have so many questions about what happened, but..."

I slipped off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders with a smile.

"It's too cold out here to linger."

Don't you think?

"Miss Yuria."

"...Don't do this. I'm..."

"Let's end the game of hide-and-seek."