BVIB 20

Chapter 20

He blinked slowly and let out a breath.

“If you don’t like it, we can leave—” he started.

“No, I’ll come in,” Roselyn replied. “It’s just a bit messy, that’s all…”

He hurried to clear a path. The room, windowless and underground, was far too shabby for someone meant to be the heir of a ducal house.

“Wow, it’s really filthy in here,” Roselyn remarked without hesitation.

Cherty’s shoulders flinched at her words.

“The air down here was so bad, my nose started to hurt on the way,” she added.

“…That makes sense. There might be some lingering side effects from my abilities,” he admitted. “Here, I’ll give you an antidote—just in case…” He handed her a vial of blue liquid.

Roselyn had come down, irritated and impulsive, but now that she was here, she realized she still didn’t know exactly what she wanted to say.

“Father,” she began.

“…Yes?” Cherty replied, pausing as he poured tea and glanced awkwardly at his own hands, trying his best to remain calm. He finished and set the cup in front of her.

“This room smells like a bachelor, and it’s gloomy and creepy,” Roselyn said bluntly.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It was as if invisible daggers had come flying through the air.

Cherty Bellion’s mouth fell open at Roselyn’s sudden bluntness, while she only looked back at him with an indifferent expression.

“At this rate, I’m not sure I can even ask you to escort me to the Imperial City ball,” she said matter-of-factly.

“…What?” he managed.

“Do you even have anything to wear?” she added, as if genuinely concerned.

It was as if she were openly calling him a beggar.

Yet Cherty could only open and close his mouth, speechless. No wonder—he could hardly believe what he’d just heard.

“What did you just say?” Cherty managed.

“The ball,” Roselyn replied. “I have to attend, and I was wondering if you could escort me.”

“…Of course, I could do that. But… are you sure you want me?” Cherty asked, hesitant.

Roselyn shrugged and nodded. “Yes. On one condition…”

“One condition?”

“Move your room to the first floor and do something about this whole gloomy vibe.”

“Gloomy…?” Cherty echoed, his face a picture of disbelief.

Roselyn shrugged again and stood up, continuing, “Because that night, I want all eyes on me.”

A bright, mischievous smile appeared on her face, and Cherty’s jaw fell open. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the face of the woman he’d only ever dreamed of in his daughter.

“If you’d said no, I was going to ask Marquis Guerin instead, but I’m glad it worked out.”

Ssshhk—

The elegant silver teaspoon in his hand melted clean through his grip.

“…Absolutely not. I’ll be the one to take you,” Cherty growled through clenched teeth.

And so, a few days later, the day of the ball finally arrived.

The Imperial City’s grand ball was held four times a year.

Each time, the festivities lasted from three to five days, filled with socializing, official discussions with the Emperor, and—often—major announcements. For this reason, every titled noble and their heirs were required to attend these gatherings at least during this period.

“His Grace, Duke Devon Bellion; His Lordship, Young Duke Cherty Bellion; and Lady Roselyn Bellion are now entering!”

Naturally, the Duke of Bellion was in attendance.

Cherty came as the heir, while Roselyn had received a personal invitation from the Emperor’s household.

All eyes turned toward them as they entered.

“…Cherty Bellion?”

“Wow, what on earth brings the reclusive Young Duke Cherty Bellion out of hiding and into society…?”

Murmurs reached Roselyn’s ears as she looked around with an indifferent expression.

There were plenty of familiar faces in the crowd—many of them the same people who, in her previous world, had delighted in gossiping behind her back.

They were the same losers who, even after she’d been cast out of society, kept her name alive out of sheer jealousy.

Of course, Roselyn had no interest in losers. She turned her gaze away without a second thought.

“But who is that woman? Did the Bellion family always have someone so striking?”

“Didn’t they just announce her as Lady Bellion?”

“No way! After her disastrous debut, do you really think she’d show her face here again?”

“…But I’m sure they just announced her as Lady Bellion…”

“Really? That Bellion girl? The gloomy one who used to stammer…? The one who was always ridiculed for her ridiculous makeup?”

“Then what’s with that stunning dress?”

“I—I think I saw that gown at Boutique Pluieure not long ago… They said it was already reserved and not for sale…”

Whether they meant to whisper or to be overheard, Roselyn couldn’t tell. Every pointed comment found its way to her ears as she walked with measured steps, her expression growing more fatigued with each one.

I just want to go to sleep.

The reason was simple: she’d been up since dawn.

Apparently, someone had taken her words about wanting to stand out very seriously—so seriously that the team from Madam Pluieure arrived at the crack of dawn, not only to deliver her dress but to personally coordinate every detail of her ensemble. As a result, Roselyn was running on little sleep.

But thanks to all this, she was now the center of attention.

Her gown was a deep, midnight blue, shimmering like the night sky. Her hair, silvery white and smooth as silk, flowed elegantly over her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled a vivid crimson, like flawless rubies. Her lips were painted a bold, richer red than usual, and her jewelry looked impossibly expensive. Her posture was flawless, not a single detail out of place.

The Roselyn Bellion they remembered was a gloomy woman—someone who always hunched her shoulders and averted her gaze. If spoken to, she’d glare, press her lips together, or simply ignore them altogether. She never dressed up, never responded, no matter what was said to her.

No wonder the crowd couldn’t reconcile the striking woman before them with the somber figure from their memories.

Roselyn wore a weary expression as she noticed people finally starting to realize what was happening, jaws dropping open all around the room.

“Tch. They’re going to wear out the girl’s face at this rate,” the Duke of Bellion muttered irritably.

Startled by the duke’s sharp remark, those who had been shamelessly staring at Roselyn quickly flinched and averted their eyes.

Suddenly regaining their composure, the crowd surged toward Devon Bellion and Cherty Bellion.

“Your Grace, Duke Bellion! It’s been so long—how have you been?”

“The Duke himself! What an honor to have you here tonight.”

“My goodness, Young Duke Bellion, it’s been ages! I think the last time we met was ten years ago—do you remember me at all…?”

“I’m Count Royra! We overlapped at the Academy, if you recall…!”

People swarmed around the two men, pressing in like a rising tide. Roselyn, overwhelmed, began to retreat—though, more accurately, she was pushed back by the crowd.

Before she knew it, the duke and young duke stood at the center of attention, while she found herself off to the side in a quieter corner.

…Wow.

She watched her father, who already seemed to be emitting a faintly gloomy aura in response to the throng.

Cherty, with his long black hair tied back and his bangs swept away to reveal his forehead, looked surprisingly striking. It was almost baffling that he’d ever tried to hide himself.

The high-collared shirt buttoned to his throat gave him an air of restraint, while his slightly dark, somber features suggested something more decadent. Despite his age, his face was almost untouched by wrinkles.

He looked so youthful, so striking, it was hard to believe he was already in middle age; it was clear he was in his prime.

His slightly furrowed brow betrayed his usual irritability, but honestly, his looks were enough to make up for it.

His face really is something else.

It was the kind of face that would stand out no matter how shabby the clothes. And now, after spending money on a makeup artist and dressing him to the nines, the effect was undeniable.

I didn’t mean for him to go as far as getting his makeup done, though.

All she’d wanted was for him to tone down the gloominess, maybe show his face a little, not sweep his bangs aside and reveal everything.

The mysteries of genetics, honestly.

Of course, Roselyn had benefited from the transformation as well.

“Well, well—who do we have here? Isn’t this Lady Bellion?” drawled a large, all-too-familiar man as he stepped into her line of sight, effectively blocking it.

It was that guy.

Baron Gilbert.

“Just look at you! I told you, didn’t I? How lovely you’d be if you put in a little effort. Such a beautiful figure—full curves, a slim waist—clearly, you took my advice to heart,” he said, grinning and dabbing sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.