I Am a Drill-Haired Beauty!
I was a drill-haired beauty. The face staring back at me from the mirror was so radiantly gorgeous it almost didn’t feel real. Of course it didn’t. The novel had always described Maria von Letiaponk in language so over-the-top it bordered on worship. “A single sweep of her hand through those golden curls was enough to seize the gaze of everyone in the room.” Or, “The girls facing her might have simply lost themselves in her beauty, but those standing behind her caught the faint scent of shampoo drifting from her hair and immediately wanted to bury their faces in those massive golden drills.”
I used to think the author had turned the entire academy into a walking thirst trap. Then again, the place really was one giant yuri flower garden, so maybe the praise wasn’t entirely misplaced. I couldn’t claim I’d never admired her from afar, but I’d certainly never wanted to throw myself into the middle of that particular bouquet. I didn’t exactly hate the new face, either. It was objectively flawless. But the moment I reminded myself that I was the one inside this perfect doll, a wave of nausea rolled through me.
Those spring-like golden drills that looked like they’d bounce back with a cheerful boing if you pressed them down. The brilliant blue eyes that sparkled like they’d captured starlight. The nightgown that somehow smelled wonderful even before I’d washed. That last part was important. Everyone knows you can’t smell your own scent, but I had never once woken up, sniffed myself, and thought, Wow, that’s nice.
Even returning to the face itself—those sharp, elegant features that looked flawless from any angle—I couldn’t find a single flaw. So no, I didn’t entirely hate this situation. Besides, Maria had always been the villainess who bullied the protagonist and tried to drive her out. If you stuffed one black-hearted person into the body of another, not much had really changed. So really—
“Ow!”
“My lady, are you listening to me?”
A sharp tug on my scalp yanked me out of my monologue. I whipped my head around. The maid who had been quietly brushing my hair was now holding one of my precious golden springs taut, cheeks puffed out in annoyance.
“Ah, um, what did you say, Zophy?”
My exclusive maid, Zophy Polinbaroque, was the second daughter of the Polinbaroque count family and had been serving House Letiaponk as a lady-in-waiting. I didn’t remember her character very clearly, but one line did surface: This villainess only keeps a single maid instead of a whole gang of followers? In most stories of this type the villainess dragged around five or six mob characters to do her bullying. But in The Villainess Who Doesn’t Want to Sue, physical harassment only appeared briefly at the beginning. After that the plot shifted entirely to courtroom battles, so Maria never needed a large entourage. If I recalled correctly, Zophy had functioned more like the villainess’s legal investigator—though perhaps “hapless prosecutor who keeps getting countered by the defense” was more accurate.
“I said you’re too, too, too beautiful! Oh, it’s such a shame you have to be sent to the academy! After all these years of having you all to myself as your personal maid in the duchy…”
“You’re not exactly leaving me, Zophy. You’re entering the academy this year too. And please stop pulling my hair. That really hurt.”
“Ehehe, sorry, my lady.” She released the curl, then tilted her head. “But your expression… you looked like your soul had floated off somewhere. Are you worried about something?”
Worried? I had an entire mountain range of worries. In fact, worry was the only thing I had.
I could have played it cool and lied, but I wasn’t yet used to this body or this life. There was no point in forcing a brave front.
“I have a mountain of worries, Zophy.”
“Well, there is a powerful rival this year. Normally the entrance of the Letiaponk ducal lady should have been the center of attention, but somehow Her Highness ended up in the same year…”
“Erika and I are the same age. It couldn’t be helped. It’s been decided since we were children.”
“Hehehe, you say that, but you knew exactly what I meant. Still, don’t worry too much, my lady. No matter how much of a princess she is, once she faces you she’ll tuck her tail and run. At first the imperial family might draw a little more attention because of status, but once you show your skill, the situation will flip in no time.”
“I don’t particularly want to fight Erika.”
I spoke from the heart. I already knew what had happened to one idiot who tried that and received a death sentence.
“Of course not. It’s a healthy rivalry. A healthy rivalry! And even if you somehow fall behind, I’ll always be on your side. No matter how impressive Her Highness is, she can’t possibly score higher than the two of us combined, right?”
“They don’t calculate scores that way…”
“There, all brushed! Now let’s get you changed. The duke and duchess are waiting downstairs. Shall I help you dress?”
“No, that’s—”
I started to refuse out of habit, then suddenly remembered I had no idea how to put on this world’s academy uniform. Even in the novel the process had barely been described. Not that it would have helped if it had.
“…Could you help me, Zophy?”
“Oh my, what’s this? The same young lady who refused every single request for bath assistance or dressing help no matter how much I begged? The one who only let me near her after she ruined her own hair and got scolded by the duchess?”
She was right. The original Maria had been extremely proud. But what was I supposed to do? I genuinely didn’t know how to put the uniform on. Even the frilly nightgown I was currently wearing looked so delicate that I was afraid I’d rip the decorations off if I tried to remove it the way I used to yank off my old clothes.
“It’s… it’s an important day. I simply want to be perfectly prepared. You are more skilled with your hands than I am. That’s true, isn’t it? No problem, right?”
My voice was clearly flustered. I could feel heat rising in my cheeks from embarrassment.
The count’s daughter placed a hand on my shoulder with a heavy pat and let out a low, slightly terrifying chuckle right beside my ear.
“Then watch closely and learn. Behold the dexterity of Zophy Polinbaroque!”
“Wait, I changed my mind. I’ll try it myself and you can fix it afterward—”
“No take-backs!”
In the end I could only squeeze my eyes shut and meekly allow my maid to strip off my nightgown.
Surprisingly—or rather, naturally—Zophy did not do anything lewd despite her earlier teasing. She handled the task of dressing me with genuine delight, her touch delicate and careful, as though she had been waiting years for this moment. The way she slipped the red academy uniform onto me was so refined I felt guilty just thinking about lying down in it and wrinkling the fabric. She minimized contact with my bare skin, moving with the lightness of a breeze that somehow knew exactly how to dress me.
I burned the entire sequence into my memory so I wouldn’t have to ask for help again. Even after she finished, I remained standing there, replaying the steps in my head, until Zophy spoke.
“Did you perhaps expect something else?”
“What? No! Thank you. Your skill is so excellent I actually regret not asking for your help sooner.”
“Of course. I’ve been practicing every day, wondering when my lady would finally entrust more than just her hair to me…”
“Um… I’ll seriously consider it from now on.”
Zophy burst out laughing. Even I had to admit that “seriously consider it” was not a phrase a ducal villainess should use.
“My lady really has changed lately. All that preview studying for the academy has altered your speech. Are you planning to become a legal scholar? I wouldn’t mind, but Mother will strongly oppose it. Legal nobles are usually mid-ranking aristocrats like my family, after all…”
Her voice trailed off. I understood why and gave a small nod.
“Zophy. We are mages.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“We don’t have much freedom when it comes to choosing our paths. Because we are witches.”
Our silly but pleasant conversation ended there.
I descended the stairs with careful steps and bowed politely to the duke and duchess, who had come to the drawing room to see me off. Fortunately the original novel had described proper etiquette in detail, so I managed the formal morning greeting and farewell without error.
“Then I shall take my leave.”
I glanced toward the magnificent golden carriage waiting in front of the mansion, its doors emblazoned with our family crest. My parents had prepared this ostentatious vehicle specifically so I could display the power of House Letiaponk at the academy and avoid being looked down upon.
Father cleared his throat but said nothing. The moment I finished speaking he turned and dropped heavily onto the sofa, looking less proud that his daughter was entering the academy and more like he was attending a funeral.
Mother glanced at him and sighed. “Percival, say something at least.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“She said she’ll come back safely. You can talk to her when she returns.”
…Was this what it felt like to be a father sending his son off to the army? Considering the setting of this world, the comparison wasn’t entirely wrong.
Mother clicked her tongue at Father’s behavior, then turned back to me.
“Try to understand, Maria. Your father has always been a man of deep feelings.”
“Of course I understand, Mother. I know his personality well.”
“Are you nervous?”
“…I’m not sure.”
“Don’t worry. Erika will be there this year too. I’m not telling you to depend on her, but she will surely be a source of strength. Nothing too serious will happen.”
No, Mother.The fact that Erika will be there is my single greatest worry.