Chapter 63
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Debutante Preparations
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Time passed, and before they knew it, the season had turned to late spring.
High society was on the cusp of debutante season.
This year's debutantes were special. It was the first official event where the newly revealed princess would make her public appearance.
An invitation arrived for Philomel as well.
The emperor said she didn't have to attend if it made her uncomfortable...
'I can't do that.'
As a guest of state, if she didn't show her face before the people, they'd assume she was hiding some dirty secret.
That would undo all the hard work of publicly declaring to the world that she wasn't the princess impostor.
When the emperor stated that the switch between Philomel and Ellensia wasn't Philomel's fault, a small ripple stirred in her heart.
That's right. Neither the swap nor living as the fake princess had been her doing.
Suddenly, a sense of injustice welled up—the grievance she'd crushed under fear all this time.
Why should she hide away for a wrong she never committed?
Even if she fled the empire, the stigma would cling to her forever, forcing her to live dodging prying eyes.
She refused to live like that. She wanted to live freely, on her own terms.
To achieve that, she needed to show her proud face to the world at least once. She wouldn't hide.
And there was one more thing—a side goal. 'That person' would be attending the debutante ball.
'She said she's moving to the capital this time and making her debut in central high society.'
Philomel stroked one cheek.
It was smooth now, free of scars.
She scanned the room for a suitable object, then grabbed a cushion from the sofa. Gripping it tight in her right hand, she began smacking it down with all her might.
Pow! Pow! Pow!
"Um, Phi..."
"Eek!"
Philomel, lost in her cushion-thwacking frenzy, nearly jumped out of her skin.
Tower Master Rguin had appeared from nowhere, staring at her in astonishment.
"...Please make some noise when you move around. You scared me."
Philomel pressed a hand to her pounding heart, forcing it to calm.
"I'll try next time. But why are you hitting the cushion...?"
Well, no need to hide it from him.
"There's someone I want to smack, so I'm practicing ahead of time."
Philomel replied in an icy tone.
"...By any chance, me?"
"No! Why would I hit you, Tower Master Rguin? It's someone else."
"Oh. Good, as long as it's not me."
For someone who'd just heard her plot to assault another person, his reaction was remarkably blasé.
"...You're not going to stop me?"
She shot back in bewilderment, and got a perfectly Rguin-esque response.
"Why would I? If you wanna hit 'em, hit 'em. I've lived my life beating down everyone I felt like beating."
Back-alley thug or magic tower master? Philomel shook her head.
She eyed her father as he flopped straight onto the sofa.
"By the way, any progress on that book I gave you?"
Princess Ellensia was still in his hands, and nothing unusual had turned up yet.
"Still investigating. Component analysis takes time, so I came back."
"I see..."
It'd be great if the probe uncovered something new.
A twinge of regret hit her. Philomel fiddled absently with the cushion, lost in thought.
"Keep swinging. I'll teach you how to make it hurt."
"Ah, sure..."
Prodded by Rguin, Philomel bashfully resumed her assault on the cushion.
He watched with grave seriousness, then spoke.
"You really have zero talent for anything physical."
Spot-on analysis.
Philomel's slender shoulders sagged.
"...Still, there's meaning in doing it with my own hands."
She could reclaim the stolen Ring of Crimson Flame.
Philomel planned to get it back from Rosanne before the emperor noticed it missing, then return it to the imperial family.
It was a national treasure, but custom-made—though she really shouldn't—even a short pretense of ignorance should buy time.
Truth be told, she could understand Rosanne turning her over to the security forces. Anyone else in her shoes would've reported the fleeing fake princess.
But the slap? Utterly unforgivable. She had to repay it in kind to settle the score.
"Fine. I'll help."
Rguin volunteered readily. A red magic circle bloomed in his palm.
The same circle appeared at Philomel's feet, glowing brightly. Strength surged through her body in response.
"Th-this is..."
"Hit it again."
Philomel hesitated, then tapped the cushion lightly.
She'd meant to go easy. Instead, it ripped apart with a thunderous pow! louder than ever.
"...!"
Feathers exploded from inside, fluttering everywhere.
The mage grinned wickedly.
"How's that? Satisfied?"
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect! A tad overkill, but way better than weak sauce!"
The two beamed at each other.
Only Jeremiah, drawn by the bizarre noises, wore an odd look.
"What do you think you're doing, slapping a high-level monster-hunting enhancement spell on a kid...?"
His sigh drowned in the relentless pow-pow of the cushion.
Ellensia gasped at the sight of her visitor.
"You're Lady Margaret?"
Margaret bowed deeply, thrilled anew that the princess knew her name.
"I greet Your Highness. Margaret Gott."
Margaret Gott.
She was a celebrated dressmaker back in Elita, but still unknown in the empire.
Only natural—she'd just returned from studying abroad. Still, no one was more confident in her skills. She was certain: give her a year, and the whole nation would know her name.
She was plotting her gradual rise when miraculous news arrived, one week before debutante season.
The new princess wants Margaret's dress!
She could've danced right there in the square.
Riding the palace carriage all the way here, her head swam with dreams.
'A year? Please—I'll be the empire's top dressmaker in a month!'
The new princess was the empire's hottest sensation.
If she stepped out for the first time in my dress?
The mere thought lifted her cheeks sky-high.
Margaret laid out her design sketches before the princess.
"Please pick any that catch your eye."
"Wow! They're all gorgeous! Can I choose more than one?"
"Absolutely. We'll rush the debutante gown first, take our time with the rest."
She'd gotten the emperor's decree: make whatever the princess desired and present them.
The princess—who'd lived as a commoner until now—flipped through the sketches with glee.
Margaret inwardly beamed, noting the ones the princess lingered over.
'All top-dollar pieces.'
No cheap frocks in Margaret's lineup, but the princess zeroed in on the flashiest, priciest ones.
That set her apart from the previous Princess Philomel.
Philomel's aversion to extravagance had sparked a thrift trend in high society.
Noble ladies hadn't gone bargain-hunting, but toned-down designs naturally slashed prices. A dark age for Belleroph's dressmakers.
But Princess Ellensia promised the end of those bleak days.
Then, midway through poring over the sketches, the princess's face fell.
Margaret asked, concern creasing her brow.
"No dress to your liking, Your Highness?"
Impossible—she'd been ecstatic moments ago.
"No, I love them all. So pretty... But for debutante, nothing quite grabs me. It's such an important night—I want the prettiest one..."
'Picky,' Margaret grumbled inwardly, but her sociable smile never wavered.
"Share your tastes, Your Highness. I'll craft anything."
"Hmm... I don't know dresses well, but something like this style?"
The princess sketched her own rough drawing, explaining her vision with fervor.
A strange sense of déjà vu bloomed in Margaret as she listened.
'This is that dress!'
Eerily like the one she'd vaguely envisioned.
The masterpiece she'd one day create, or so she'd sworn.
The princess's sketch was crude, but the concept crystal-clear. It even sharpened the details Margaret had puzzled over.
As if glimpsed from the future.