After I said I would become Eveline Rosette’s escort for the ball, three kinds of silence settled over the training hall.
The first was the maids’ silence.
They had heard that a commoner teacher would be entering a ball as the escort of a count’s daughter, but their brains had apparently refused to process it.
The second was the butler’s silence.
His was a little different.
He was already calculating the costs, procedures, rumors, the house’s reputation, and even the likelihood of my funeral.
And the third was Eveline’s silence.
The most dangerous kind.
When Eveline Rosette went quiet, it generally meant one of two things.
She was truly thinking.
Or she was about to smash something.
I hoped it was the former this time.
"Say that again."
Eveline said.
"I will attend as your escort at the Preliminary Ball."
"You’re a commoner."
"I know."
"You have no title."
"I do not."
"No house, either."
"No."
"And you don’t look like you have any money."
"You needn’t verify that in particular."
Eveline swept her gaze over me from head to toe.
Her expression gradually turned peculiar.
It seemed she had finally noticed the practical issue.
My clothes.
A worn coat.
An ordinary shirt.
A cheap scabbard.
My shoes were maintained, but they were still the kind that advertised poverty when standing on the floor of a noble estate.
The instant we entered the ballroom, I would be mocked before Eveline was.
And nobles would not stop there.
After mocking me, they would attach that mockery to Eveline.
The eldest daughter of House Rosette has no escort but a commoner teacher?
Did Arsene Berhardt throw her away, so she hurriedly brought along any man she could find?
Just like a delinquent young lady, even her choice of escort is vulgar.
Something like that.
Noble society was remarkably good at carving people apart without a blade.
Especially while smiling.
Eveline spoke quietly.
"You’ll be torn apart the moment you walk in."
"Physically or socially?"
"Both are possible."
"Thank you for the useful information."
"I’m not joking."
Her voice was lower than usual.
She was not angry.
It was closer to genuine concern.
Though she would never admit it herself.
"I know," I said.
"That is why we need to prepare."
"Do you know how many days are left?"
"Two."
"You mean to turn a commoner teacher into a ball escort in those two days?"
"Yes."
Eveline looked at me for a moment, then shook her head.
"You really are insane."
"I hear that often."
"But..."
She crossed her arms.
"I don’t hate it."
The air in the training hall stirred ever so slightly.
One maid lowered her head further.
The butler’s eyes widened just a little.
I pretended not to hear.
If I reacted to that, Eveline would immediately try to cover it up.
"Who said I liked you? I just like the situation."
Probably something along those lines.
Eveline Rosette wanted recognition, but if anyone caught on to that fact, she would bite their head off.
The same went for praise, concern, and affection.
She was an exhausting character to deal with.
Still, this character had begun to step away from her ruin route.
That was enough.
The butler cautiously opened his mouth.
"Teacher, there is a practical matter of procedure."
"Please go on."
"The Preliminary Ball is an event for prospective academy students and their escorts. There is no provision requiring an escort to be a noble."
Good.
That matched my knowledge of the original story.
That provision was also why the commoner heroine, Liana Bell, had been able to enter.
"However."
The butler lowered his voice.
Of course. Good news always came with a however.
"If the escort is a commoner, the inviting noble house must vouch for his identity and etiquette."
"In other words, House Rosette must guarantee me."
"Yes."
Eveline snorted.
"Then do it."
The butler’s face became troubled.
"My lady, a guarantee is not a simple procedure of putting down a name. If the teacher makes a mistake at the ball, that mistake becomes House Rosette’s mistake."
"Then make sure he doesn’t make one."
Eveline’s answer was simple.
And unexpectedly precise.
The butler looked at me.
"Teacher, do you have experience with noble balls?"
"No."
"Waltzing?"
"No."
"Noble greetings?"
"I can begin learning now."
The butler fell silent for a moment.
That silence said this.
"Does this man truly want to die today?"
I understood him.
Noble etiquette was not something one could learn in a day or two.
The social scene in this world was more difficult than a battlefield.
With swordsmanship, you only needed to avoid the swords flying at you.
In society, you had to avoid even words that had not yet been thrown.
But I had an advantage.
I was a seven-time clear veteran of [Academy of the Golden Crown].
I had repeated the ball event countless times.
I had once ruined my reputation by choosing the wrong dance option on the Crown Prince route, and opened a duel event by mixing up the greeting order on the Knight Commander route.
On the Mage Tower route, I had ignored etiquette and even seen a strange ending where the mages applauded.
Every one of those failures was in my head now.
My body might be doing this for the first time, but I knew how I would die if I got it wrong.
That was quite helpful for survival.
"Please summon an etiquette instructor," I said.
The butler raised an eyebrow.
"You intend to learn starting now?"
"Yes."
"There are two days until the ball."
"If I do not sleep, I can use them like three days."
"People need sleep."
"Someone who was meant to die in a week is an exception."
The butler went silent again.
Eveline looked at me, then let out a small laugh.
"You’re really funny sometimes."
"Is that praise?"
"Don’t get carried away."
"Yes."
The etiquette instructor arrived an hour later.
Her name was Beatrice Morgan.
She had reportedly served as House Rosette’s etiquette instructor for a long time.
She was around fifty.
Her silver-gray hair was tied back neatly, and her eyes were sharper than a blade.
The moment she saw me, she said,
"Impossible."
Without even a greeting.
This was quite an efficient household.
"I have not done anything yet."
"That is why it is impossible."
Beatrice looked over my clothes once, then my shoes, then my hands.
"Your walk, posture, fingertips, gaze, and clothing. Every one of them will get you stopped at the ballroom entrance."
"That is a lot."
"Not a lot. Everything."
Eveline spoke from beside me with an irritated look.
"Beatrice."
"I will say the same to you, my lady."
Beatrice did not yield an inch.
"Taking a commoner teacher as your escort is a suicidal act."
The air in the training hall froze.
The butler did not stop her.
The maids held their breath.
Eveline’s eyes glowed red.
"Watch your mouth."
It was the first time.
Eveline had reacted to someone insulting me.
Before, she only exploded when she herself was insulted.
Not now.
I immediately raised a hand.
"It’s all right."
"It is not all right."
Eveline spoke sharply.
"She’s calling my escort suicidal or whatever, so why are you saying it’s all right?"
The training hall fell silent.
The butler’s eyes widened again.
One maid parted her lips slightly, then hastily shut them.
For the first time, even Beatrice’s expression changed.
My escort.
As though she had belatedly realized what she had said, Eveline’s face stiffened.
"No, I mean..."
"You are right," I cut in.
Eveline glared at me.
"That is what you should say at the ball."
"What?"
"My escort."
The tips of her ears turned red.
"Do you want to die?"
"This is a lesson."
"Don’t use the lesson as an excuse."
Beatrice looked at me quietly.
Her gaze had changed slightly.
Until moments ago, it had been the gaze she gave an impossible commoner.
Now it was the gaze she gave an inconvenient but potentially usable piece of material.
"Fine," she said.
"Let’s try it."
With those words, hell began.
First came walking.
"Do not lift your toes like that."
"You are not walking through a commoner’s market street."
"Your knees are too honest."
That was the first time I had heard anyone describe knees as honest.
Apparently noble etiquette bestowed personalities upon every part of the human body.
Second came greetings.
"You lowered your head too far. You are not a servant."
"You did not lower it enough. You are an arrogant lout."
"Do not avoid their eyes. But do not stare at them, either."
"Then how am I supposed to look at them?"
"That is what you are learning."
I wanted to die.
More precisely, the thought that dying might be easier briefly crossed my mind.
But a system window kindly appeared before my eyes.
"Noble Basic Greeting Proficiency: 12%"
Surprisingly, it was rising.
Slowly, but it was rising.
There were times when seeing the game’s numbers was useful.
When you knew your current humiliation was being converted into experience points, you could endure a little more.
Third came dancing.
That was where the problem erupted.
"Stand facing the lady," Beatrice said.
Eveline and I looked at each other.
"Why do I have to dance with him?"
"Because he is your escort."
"Can’t we just do it at the ball?"
"If you do it without practice, you will kill each other’s feet at the ball."
"Feet can die."
"In high society, rumors kill before feet do."
Beatrice was not easily intimidated either.
Eveline gritted her teeth, but backed down.
We faced each other.
The distance was awkward.
Too close was strange, but too far apart was not dancing.
Beatrice adjusted the position of my hands.
"Your right hand goes behind the lady’s back."
Eveline’s eyes immediately sharpened.
"Put it anywhere strange and I’ll break your wrist."
"I would also like to live."
"Then be careful."
"Yes."
I placed my hand there.
Through the thin dress, I could feel the tension in the muscles of her back.
Eveline was rigid.
More rigid than when she held a sword.
"My lady."
"What?"
"Relax."
"Easy for you to say."
"Dancing is also about yielding."
Her brow twitched.
"That again?"
"You do not take your partner’s force head-on. You match its direction and do not lose the rhythm."
For the first time, Beatrice gave a faint nod.
"That is an accurate explanation."
Eveline looked displeased, but did not argue.
There was no music.
Beatrice clapped out the beat.
One.
Two.
Three.
The first step.
I stepped on Eveline’s foot.
More precisely, I nearly stepped on it.
Eveline dodged on reflex.
"Hey."
"It was a mistake."
"Do that once more, and I’ll really step on you."
"That is contrary to the purpose of this lesson."
"My purpose might be a little different."
Beatrice said expressionlessly,
"Again."
Again.
And again.
And again.
Dancing was harder than swordsmanship.
With a sword, I only had to use my own body well.
Dancing involved a partner.
Their rhythm, center of gravity, breathing, and distance.
And Eveline Rosette only tried to lead her partner.
The problem was that this was my first time ballroom dancing, too.
With two beginners trying to seize the initiative from each other, the result was disastrous.
After our fourth failure, Beatrice said this.
"The two of you are not dancing. You are engaged in a territorial dispute."
It was an accurate assessment.
Eveline breathed heavily.
"Why do I have to match him?"
"Because he is your escort."
"I can lead."
"Then you will be dancing alone."
At those words, Eveline stopped.
Alone.
Her expression showed that the single word had struck rather deeply.
I used that opening to speak.
"My lady."
"What?"
"The most dangerous thing at the ball is not falling down."
She looked at me.
"It is looking as though you are dancing alone."
Eveline’s lips stiffened.
Arsene.
Liana.
Entering separately.
Alone.
Those words must have connected in her mind.
I held out my hand.
"Let’s do it again."
Eveline looked down at my hand.
In the past, she would have slapped it away.
But this time, she took it.
Her grip was a little too strong.
It hurt.
Still, my wrist remained intact.
"This time," I said,
"I will move half a step behind you."
"Why?"
"So you do not run away first."
Her eyes wavered.
"What do you mean?"
"When you become uncomfortable, you attack first or run away first."
"When have I ever run away?"
"Stabbing people is running away too."
Strength entered Eveline’s hand.
My wrist hurt, but I did not pull away.
"At the ball, neither attacking nor running away will do. You must stay within the rhythm."
Eveline said nothing for a long time.
Then she spoke quietly.
"You’re annoying."
"Yes."
"But do it."
Good.
We moved again.
One.
Two.
Three.
This time, I was half a step behind.
Eveline tried to move first.
I followed her.
She hesitated.
I did not forcefully drag her.
I matched the rhythm.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Four steps.
For the first time, something that resembled a dance took shape.
Beatrice said,
"That was it."
Eveline held her breath.
"That was not bad."
Praise from an etiquette instructor was like a sword sheathed in its scabbard.
Cold, but effective.
Eveline looked at me.
"She said it wasn’t bad."
"I heard."
"What about you?"
"It was good."
Eveline immediately turned her head.
"Right."
The tips of her ears were red again.
She truly was difficult to handle.
But she was alive.
Not as the villainess of the original story, but as someone learning here and now on her own two feet.
A system window appeared.
"Eveline Rosette and Leon Cart have learned the basic waltz rhythm."
"Preliminary Ball Counterattack Route success rate has increased."
"Current success rate: 31%"
31%.
Still low, but better than yesterday.
Then my etiquette proficiency appeared as well.
"Noble Basic Greeting Proficiency: 34%"
"Basic Waltz Proficiency: 21%"
I was doomed.
I was still at the level where I had to pray that I would not fall over at the event.
Then the butler entered.
He carried fabric samples and a thick ledger in his hands.
"There is the matter of formalwear for the teacher."
It had finally come.
The real war.
The butler opened the ledger.
"Time is short, so it will be difficult to have a new formal outfit completely tailored. However, the count’s wardrobe has several outfits in a similar size."
Eveline said,
"Dress him in the best one."
"My lady," the butler carefully said,
"an outfit that is too fine may have the opposite effect."
"Why?"
"If it does not suit the teacher’s status, it will be obvious that he borrowed it."
Exactly.
Nobles looked at clothes.
More than whether the clothing was expensive, they looked to see whether the person was someone who normally lived in those clothes.
If a commoner suddenly wore an overly extravagant formal outfit, he would become a laughingstock.
I said,
"Please choose something understated but well-tailored."
The butler nodded.
"That was my thought as well."
Eveline looked dissatisfied.
"He’s my escort, and you’re dressing him plainly?"
"That way, you will stand out."
Eveline stopped at my words.
"I must not draw attention at your side," I said.
"You were the one who said you would be my escort first."
"An escort is not an ornament."
I continued,
"When you are mocked, he becomes your shield. When you enter, he manages the attention. When you speak, he opens the stage for you."
"That’s what an escort is?"
"At this ball, it is."
Eveline said nothing for some time.
Then she spoke softly.
"Then you’ll be attacked too."
"I will."
"Are you all right with that?"
"I am not."
Her eyes widened.
I added,
"That is why we need to practice."
Eveline let out a hollow laugh.
"You’re really strange."
"I hear that often."
"If you’re scared, you could just not do it."
"Then you would enter alone."
"..."
"That cannot happen."
Eveline did not answer.
This time, it was not only the tips of her ears that turned red.
Her entire face tightened a little.
An awkward emotion.
It was the face of someone who did not know how to react when another person said they would stand in danger for her.
It was probably her first time.
"That’s stupid," she said.
"Yes."
"Really stupid."
"That may be true."
"At least deny it."
"At present, there is insufficient evidence to do so."
In the end, Eveline could not hold back her laughter.
It was very brief.
Only the corners of her mouth lifted before immediately falling again.
But she had definitely smiled.
Not the kind of smile that foretold murder, nor a mocking one.
Just a smile.
Beatrice did not miss it.
"That was it."
Eveline immediately stiffened.
"What was?"
"The smile you will use at the ball."
"That was a mistake."
"Then you should repeat the mistake."
Eveline glared at Beatrice.
But she could not say anything.
I agreed inwardly as well.
That smile just now had been good.
It was clumsy, short, and had come out without her realizing it.
That was why it was good.
What she needed at the ball was not a perfect smile.
She needed an expression Arsene would not expect.
An expression that would make those who meant to mock her pause for a moment.
"Why is that delinquent young lady smiling like that?"
That one question would shake up the board.
The lesson continued until night.
Walking.
Greetings.
Gaze.
Waltz.
Handkerchiefs.
Conversation lines.
Eveline got irritated three times, stepped on my foot once, and lost an argument to Beatrice twice.
I stumbled four times, got the angle of my head wrong twice during noble greetings, and took a turn in the wrong direction once during the waltz.
We were both a mess.
But we were better than before.
The system window said so too.
"Preliminary Ball Counterattack Route success rate: 37%"
It was still not even half.
But now, we could at least stand on the board.
That night.
A formal outfit fitted to me was temporarily altered.
A deep navy, close to black.
Minimal decoration.
House Rosette’s red lion crest was placed only on the inside of the sleeve, very small.
It was the butler’s decision.
On the surface, a commoner teacher.
But upon closer inspection, someone guaranteed by House Rosette.
Exactly that line.
I stood before a mirror.
It felt unfamiliar.
Leon Cart’s face.
Not a noble, but not cheap-looking either.
As I stared at the mirror for a while, Eveline’s voice came from behind me.
"Not bad."
When I turned, she stood in the doorway.
She was in her training clothes.
Her red hair was loosely tied back, and she held the handkerchief we had used all day.
"At least you won’t be too embarrassing at my side."
"Thank you for the high evaluation."
"Don’t get the wrong idea. I said not too embarrassing."
"Yes."
Eveline watched me for a moment.
Then she said,
"Leon."
"Yes."
"At the ball..."
She seemed to be choosing her words.
Eveline Rosette was choosing her words.
The world really did seem to be changing.
"If it looks like I’m going to lose it again..."
"Yes."
"Stop me."
It was a short sentence.
But its weight was not light.
The delinquent young lady had acknowledged her own recklessness.
And she had asked someone to stop her.
Those might be words harder to say than a confession.
I lowered my head.
"That is why I am going as your escort."
Eveline averted her eyes.
"Right."
The handkerchief did not crumple.
That night, a system window quietly appeared.
"Eveline Rosette’s reliance on Leon Cart has increased slightly."
"Preliminary Ball Counterattack Route success rate has increased."
"Current success rate: 41%"
41%.
Still low.
But for the first time, I thought we might be able to win.
And at the same time.
Another window appeared.
"Warning."
"An unknown gaze has confirmed Leon Cart’s ball escort registration."
"Observer: ???"
"Interest increased."
I could not move for a while as I stared at those words.
Observer.
The game system had hidden the name.
In the original story, there were generally two reasons for a name to be hidden.
Either they were an important person I was not supposed to meet yet.
Or they were someone who would kill me if I met them.
Neither was good news.
I looked out the window.
Beyond the capital, the academy spires were faintly visible.
I had not even gone to the academy yet, but the board was already shifting.
One day until the ball.
Eveline Rosette’s first ruin route.
And my first stage outside the original story was approaching.
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