Chapter 6
Wait… did I just get rejected as a friend?
Do you even need a reason to be friends?
Well, if Jeff absolutely needed one, it wasn’t like I couldn’t make one up.
“I told you, I only make friends with pretty people.”
“I’m not a girl.”
“I know. You’re a pretty boy.”
Jeff gave me a look that said, Did you really just say that out loud?
The one small sign of hope was that his ears—his telltale “ears of truth”—had turned bright red.
Right, in all my life, I’d never met anyone who didn’t like being called pretty, no matter their age or gender.
Time to lay down some more groundwork.
Sure, I wondered if I really needed to beg this much just to make one friend—but if it was Jeff, I was willing.
“This is a secret, but… honestly, I don’t have a single friend.”
I hadn’t expected to be “coming out” about my past life as an outsider, but it wasn’t exactly a lie.
It was true—I’d never had a proper friend before.
“I was really sick when I was little. I’m better now, but no one comes near me anymore.”
“…”
“Maybe I’m just too pretty, and it’s intimidating.”
It was a little embarrassing to say that about myself…
But it seemed better than saying it was because my dad was scary.
If he ever found out about my father Gerard’s fearsome reputation, he might not just refuse to be my friend—he might actually run away.
Jeff didn’t seem like the type to do that… but still.
I put on my best pitiful face to hammer the pity in deeper.
“But you’re even prettier than I am. So you don’t find me intimidating, right?”
Faced with this ridiculous line, the kind-hearted Jeff seemed to waver a little.
Still, he wasn’t an easy kitten to catch.
“I’m not intimidated, but I don’t like it.”
So… you’re rejecting me because I said you’re prettier? Seriously?
But Jeff’s serious expression stopped me from blurting it out.
“You’re… different from me.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
When he spoke again, his words pierced right through my chest.
“The clothes you wear, the food you eat, the house you live in… from start to finish, everything’s different. I was told people like that can’t be friends.”
“Who told you that…?”
“My mom.”
Given the strict class system of the Carotia Empire, it was a natural thing for her to say.
The title you were born with determined your fate.
A commoner boy and a noble’s daughter—
That was about as mismatched as the folktale of Princess Pyeonggang and the fool Ondal.
But…
In the end, didn’t they still make it work?
History can always be rewritten—so why couldn’t we at least be friends?
“So what if we’re different? If we’re fine with it, that’s all that matters.”
“That’s true, but…”
Jeff’s eyes rolled nervously, as if searching for an escape.
“And besides, you owe me—twice.”
At the word “owe,” Jeff’s head snapped up in surprise.
Oh, this innocent boy.
“You haven’t even said thank you yet.”
Jeff might have been a haughty little kitten, but he wasn’t the type who didn’t know his place.
If anything, those honest ears of his always gave away exactly how he felt—
Whether it was embarrassment, guilt, or… something else.
“Th… thank you.”
Finally! I’d gotten him to say it.
You know, when you meet a really difficult person, it just makes you want to conquer them even more.
That’s exactly how I felt now.
The desire to be chosen by this kitten—to become his “owner”—was swelling deep inside me.
And hearing his thanks only made me more determined.
“Just with words?”
Jeff looked from me to the ground and back again, his face steadily reddening.
Even when facing Laki’s gang, even when Cayman had shown up, he’d stayed calm and collected—
But now he was flustered.
Just like the day he’d handed me that commoner’s banknote.
Tell me, how could I not get interested in him?
I tried to keep my lips from curling into a grin, forcing myself to pout instead. Jeff’s mouth opened hesitantly.
“That’s not what I meant…”
“Mhm. So you’re saying you’re not thankful at all?”
I crossed my arms and gave him a deliberately firm look, and Jeff’s face slowly turned to stone.
Where had all his earlier confidence gone? Now he was just avoiding my eyes, rolling his gaze around like a trapped animal.
Finally, with his head lowered, he muttered in a voice barely above a whisper:
“I’ll do it… be your friend.”
Wow. Listen to this guy.
It sounded like he was only agreeing because he owed me, not because he wanted to. How rude.
“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”
For a moment, I wondered if I’d been too blunt—but Jeff replied instantly.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“…Huh?”
Still refusing to say he actually wanted to be friends, huh?
Well, if he just blurted that out, then he wouldn’t be my proud, aloof kitten, would he?
The “cat” was still looking at me with guarded eyes, like he didn’t trust the “owner” in front of him just yet.
In times like this, you just have to tame them slowly.
“If someone asked how we became friends, what would you say?”
“Well…”
I calmly recited the little story I’d just made up.
“You really wanted to be close to me, so you approached me. Right?”
Basically, I was brainwashing him.
Jeff gave me a look that said, What kind of ridiculous person are you?
But, perhaps accepting defeat, he nodded obediently.
Now he even joined in making up the story, just a little.
“But why would I want to be friends with you…?”
“Because… I’m pretty!”
I framed my face with my hands and batted my eyelashes. Jeff’s face slowly turned red.
Maybe it was just the sunset casting its glow… but maybe not.
Either way, “Tomato Jeff” was so cute, I wanted to squeeze him until he popped.
He reluctantly turned his head away and let out a long sigh.
“Fine. L… let’s go with that.”
“Great! Then be here tomorrow by six.”
“…Why?”
The innocent look on his face made an impish smile rise to my lips.
“Because we’re friends now, we have to hold a ceremony.”
“What ceremony?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
I held out my pinky. Jeff stared at it like he’d just walked out of a horror movie.
When I nodded insistently, he finally hooked his finger with mine like someone being dragged into debt repayment.
That tiny, wiggly touch made my heart tickle.
I pressed my thumb down firmly, stamping it like a seal, and Jeff looked at me with wide, startled eyes—like he was silently screaming that he’d just been tricked into signing a slave contract.
Leaving him to his thoughts, I decided to make my exit.
And before you point fingers at me for suddenly showing kindness after teasing him all day—remember, I just wanted some time to talk to my muse later.
Unfortunately, my tutor would be arriving soon.
One of the conditions my mother had set for not sending me to the academy was that I never skip a lesson.
In other words, if I didn’t go now, Jeff’s expression might be my own a month from now.
Reluctantly, I ran toward my carriage and shouted back at him:
“Don’t forget! Six o’clock tomorrow!”
Jeff didn’t move a muscle until I was completely out of the alley.
Even at the very last moment, he just stood there, quietly watching me.
Even during my lesson, Jeff’s image lingered in my mind.
Even when I lay down in bed that night.
And when I woke up the next morning and looked in the mirror—a panda stared back at me.
I guess I was nervous.
Plucking a random leaf from a branch, I played the “will he, won’t he” game in my head.
He’ll come. He won’t. He’ll come. He won’t… He won’t.
I picked another leaf from a different branch and added softly,
“He’ll come.”
It’d be nice if Jeff showed up…
There was no one better for my muse.
But as time went on, negative thoughts began to creep in.
The truth was, it was more likely he wouldn’t come.
Would a boy who hardly ever says thank you or sorry really show up?
Besides, the promise had been one-sided.
If he didn’t come, I told myself not to be disappointed.
Though saying my heart would be fine would’ve been a lie.
Still feeling restless, I headed to Teacher Taylor’s atelier.
Most children of noble families enter the academy around the age of eight to study the formal curriculum.
Two years ago, I’d faced that same choice.
At that critical crossroads in life, I’d chosen private tutoring over the academy.
I’d had enough of school life in my past life, and the memories weren’t exactly pleasant.
I didn’t want to go through that whole messy social experience again here.
My mother had worried about the connections I’d miss out on by not attending the academy, but when I showed firm resolve, she agreed—on a few conditions.
Honestly, compared to my final year of high school back then, the studies here were pretty easy.
Beginner-level exams? Child’s play.
When I graduated early with top marks, they even held a grand party for me.
Throwing a party just for finishing elementary-level studies felt a little silly… but anyway, it happened.
As a graduation gift, I was granted a single “wish ticket.”
In truth, that was the real reason I’d graduated early.
“What will you use your wish for?”
I didn’t have to think about it.
“Please invite Teacher Taylor.”
My father had been completely taken aback, and my mother equally surprised.
For good reason—
Taylor was the top clothing designer in the Imperial Palace, a master who had followed the highest, most exclusive career path.
She was famous for her strictness, and didn’t particularly enjoy meeting outsiders.
But I wanted to learn from her because there was simply no one better in the field.
From every ball gown in the empire’s high society to even the armor worn by knights—everything she designed was flawless.
For every designer in the empire, she was the role model.
I wanted to learn from her for exactly that reason.
Skill-wise, there might be others just as talented, but her ability to read and set trends was unmatched.
If I wanted to start a clothing business in the future, there could be no better mentor.
And… perhaps with a hint of mischief, I also wanted to see for myself just how great the empire’s best designer really was.
Luckily, she had recently resigned from the Imperial atelier and moved south to open her own studio.
Even knowing that, my parents still looked troubled—it wasn’t the kind of thing you could just arrange, even for them.
But come on. My dad was Gerard Brentiho, the legendary man who made the impossible happen.
And he did it again—though not with an in-person meeting, only with a letter.
“I do not accept useless assistants. If you’re confident, come to my atelier yourself.”
