Does Pride Put Food on the Table?
Does pride put food on the table?
The woman's passionate crimson eyes went cold. Every trace of the goodwill she had shown mere moments ago vanished without a trace, replaced by the kind of open contempt one might reserve for a beggar in the street.
"Hmm…"
Rosee Bedarlin unfurled the fan in her hand and covered her mouth. Her expressionless eyes made it perfectly clear she had no further interest in speaking with me.
"I heard your circumstances were rather dire. Yet you seem to have the means to dress yourself properly."
"You're right. This dress is far more than I deserve."
"Well. I suppose you're thrashing about as best you can."
Her voice dripped with mockery. Behind that fan, her lips were surely curved into a sneer. With a look of pure boredom that said she had nothing more to say, the young lady of House Bedarlin turned without a second glance and walked away from me.
Crossing the vast corridor toward the ballroom, she looked for all the world like a solitary, elegant swan. Once she had vanished from sight, I let out a short sigh.
"…Of course."
I knew perfectly well that Artasha was fighting tooth and nail to set our house to rights. But the frame the world had hung around the Bland Barony was something else entirely.
A wastrel of a head of house.
A gambling addict.
A greedy drunkard.
A family whose only real possession was a mountain of debt.
Nobles who could collapse at any moment and no one would be surprised.
That was the image of the Bland Barony carved into the minds of every other noble. Even with Bonnie—the chief architect of that ruin—dead and gone, a reputation once set does not change so easily.
No matter how hard Artasha worked.
So receiving a look of pure contempt like the one just now was nothing unusual. Compared to the stares waiting for me inside, it might even have been mild. Once I passed through this corridor and entered the banquet hall, I would be drawing that same scorn from dozens of eyes at once.
Artasha had warned me again and again not to let myself be cowed. She must have known exactly what kind of reception I would face. And still she sent me into high society—because there truly had been no other choice.
If a daughter of a powerless house avoided her proper debut at the proper age, she would have no future at all. Artasha had sent me out here clutching at straws.
How hard must it have been for her, to push her beloved daughter onto a battlefield where the odds were already stacked against her? Someone like me could never begin to understand.
Well. Anyway.
"I just have to do what I can."
Yes, I had been looked down on.
Did it hurt my feelings?
Not in the slightest.
Something this small could never leave me hollowed out. I knew perfectly well that for a powerless person like me, wounded pride was worthless.
Does pride put food on the table? Does it offer you a warm place to sleep?
Hardly.
Pride is a luxury only the powerful can afford. For people like them it might mean something. For someone like me, it is pure poison.
I stepped forward without hesitation. The moment I opened the doors and entered the ball, a banquet hall of impossible scale unfolded before me—nothing like the corridor outside. Some guests were deep in pleasant conversation; others danced in time with the rich strains of the orchestra.
Standing in that hall packed with glittering, lively throngs, I blinked blankly.
…I already want to go lie down.
For a homebody down to the marrow of my bones, the sheer opulence was overwhelming. Even just standing still, I could feel the fatigue gathering behind my eyes.
I gave my cheek a couple of light pats to snap myself back into focus. The most important thing in high society is a smile—so I fixed a pleasant one at the corners of my mouth and started walking.
A month of training had not been wasted. I managed to melt into the atmosphere without drawing any particular attention. As I drifted through the crowd, learning the feel of the room, a sweet, rich fragrance drifted to my nose.
Pastries so exquisite it almost felt a shame to eat them. Confections, each one cradling an elaborate pattern inside, stretched endlessly across an elegant table.
"…Those look delicious."
I swallowed hard. I stared at the sweets with the eyes of a child hypnotized by candy.
Since transmigrating, I had never so much as touched pastries this fine, let alone eaten them. In South Korea, sweets were ordinary food for ordinary people. In this world, they were absurdly expensive.
Naturally, the Bland Barony had no financial room to spend on luxuries like confectionery. Being able to eat a plain meal at all was something to be grateful for.
…Maybe just a little?
No. I had to hold back.
It would look undignified for certain.
Refreshments were meant to be nibbled while making conversation—not for a young lady standing alone with no companions to devour them like a beggar. If I truly wanted to eat, finding someone to talk to came first.
I crushed the craving writhing inside me and looked around. Countless nobles had gathered for a ball hosted by the Imperial Palace itself. A few, like me, kept to themselves—but most clustered in groups, chattering away. I let my gaze drift as casually as possible through the throngs, searching for the person I wanted.
Bright golden-blonde hair. Crimson eyes. A daring sense of dress…
This was a ball hosted by the Imperial Palace, after all. If the knowledge I carried was correct, she would almost certainly be here.
And just as expected, I found her—standing out brilliantly even in that dense crowd.
I had not come here barefoot and empty-handed. I knew exactly where I stood in high society. To survive this merciless world of salons and ballrooms, I needed someone on my side.
I approached her without hesitation.
Even under the many disapproving stares of conservative nobles who despised her bold attire, she never flinched. She carried a charisma that set her clearly apart from everyone else.
I pushed through the people surrounding her and lightly tapped her shoulder. Her radiant golden hair swayed; blood-red eyes lit with a crimson glow fixed on me.
"My, what a lovely young lady."
The woman with the brilliant platinum-blonde hair was Mardi-an Abreldein—daughter of Count Abreldein, of a founding-hero house, and a character of considerable weight in Princess Raising Simulator. If you chose the saintess Lillian as the protagonist, she appeared as a villainess.
"I hope you are well, Lady Mardi-an. It is an honor to meet you like this."
I placed a hand over my chest and offered a formal greeting. Mardi-an covered her mouth with her fan and looked me up and down.
"Hmm… I am glad to meet such a flower of a young lady myself."
Too many eyes around us.
Better to draw her aside.
"Lady Mardi-an. If it would not be too forward of me… might we speak privately?"
I leaned close to her ear and whispered. Whether she disliked the sudden request or not, her neat brows drew together slightly.
"Young lady, approaching me without even giving your name—"
"It is about the Camellia Gambling House."
The ruby-red of Mardi-an's eyes gave a sharp little tremor. But as if nothing had happened at all, she swept a calm look over me once more, then rose smoothly from her seat.
"…Follow me."
I watched her offer polite farewells to the other nobles, then trailed quietly after her. Villainess or not, the breeding steeped into her very bones was impossible to ignore.
Mardi-an took an elegant glass of wine in one hand and opened the balcony doors. Unlike the bright, lively hall, the night outside was thick with darkness, the soft moonlight setting the mood.
She gazed at the sky for a moment, then turned her eyes back to me. This time, a cold edge ran through her gaze.
"Might I ask your name?"
"Tina Bland."
"Bland… tch. Of all the worthless things to get snagged on."
Muttering to herself, she twisted her face into a deep scowl and stepped toward me. The force of her presence made me instinctively retreat a step.
"You had better explain everything, young lady of House Bland. I am not a kind person."
I know.
You're a villainess.
And a thoroughly cruel one at that.
"You didn't just stumble onto this by chance…. What do you know about the Camellia Gambling House?"
The Camellia Gambling House was a secret gambling den operating in the Empire's underworld. It was fairly well-known in the back alleys—yet only a bare handful of people knew who actually owned it.
"I know that the Abreldein Countship runs it."
Mardi-an's eyes twitched hard. She tried to hide it, but deep agitation still lingered in her gaze.
Of course it would. Camellia was the gambling house the Abreldein Countship operated in secret.
It was built as a vast network of cells, designed so thoroughly that no trail could ever lead back to the Abreldeins. But that design meant nothing to someone who had seen the endings more than once.
These are some of the few advantages I can actually use. I have to squeeze every drop out of them.
"…Ha. I only came here to enjoy myself tonight. Looks like that won't be possible."
Mardi-an's face was so thoroughly warped that even a glance made her foul mood obvious.
"So. What do you want?"
With this knowledge, I could have blackmailed her. Considering the wealth of the Abreldein Countship, our family's debts might have vanished in an instant.
But I would not do that.
Because Mardi-an was terrifying.
Even if she was a villainess destined to be punished by the protagonist someday, she was still an opponent far beyond what the daughter of a crumbling barony could handle.
She was not someone you could squeeze for profit with threats. If an ordinary person like me tried some clumsy scheme, I would probably wake up one morning with my throat cut and no one the wiser.
So what was I going to do instead?
"If you're thinking of blackmail, I'll say this now. Clumsy little tricks—"
"Lady Mardi-an!"
I fixed the most harmless smile I could manage on my lips and seized both of her hands tightly. Startled by the sudden gesture, confusion flickered through Mardi-an's eyes.
"Wh-what is it?"
"Lady Mardi-an… you are someone I truly, deeply admire."
"…You admire me?"
Sympathy.
The easiest goodwill a weak person can extract from the strong. Even a villainess the world condemns is still human—and humans cannot help but feel it.
I was going to use that sympathy to pull Mardi-an onto my side.