#019. Will You Die Without That Damn Lemon?
The first to speak was the daughter of the Duke of Martina.
“It’s summer, right? And summer means lemon season. But there’s not a single lemon in the tea or the desserts.”
It was a comment clearly meant to frame the host as someone tasteless and clueless about timing. Since citrus is a long-standing summer tradition, Blanche couldn’t use the excuse of “tradition” to deflect like earlier.
“Oh, that damn lemon.”
But it wasn’t Blanche who reacted—it was the young heir to the Marquis of Argon, seated at a back table.
The child clenched their small fists and shouted in anger.
“It’s just trendy, not even tasty! Every summer people act like it’s the best fruit in the world—what, will you die if you don’t have that stupid fruit?!”
The Duke of Martina’s daughter hadn’t actually wanted lemon. She was just looking for a reason to attack Blanche. So she was bewildered by such a heated reaction.
“St–stupid fruit, you say—?”
That’s when Blanche stepped in, cutting off the young lady before she could snap back.
“I have heard a bit about the heir of Marquis Argon.”
The young heir glared at Blanche with fierce eyes.
“You can’t eat lemons, right?”
Ah. Someone in the room let out a hushed gasp. Now that it was mentioned, it did seem like the heir didn’t show up at many summer gatherings.
“That’s why lemons were deliberately excluded.”
If it was due to a lemon allergy, it made sense. Tea leaves or flavorings might contain traces of lemon, and someone could accidentally ingest it.
“Lady Martina. No matter how delightful something tastes, isn’t it meaningless if we can’t share it?”
With that one line, Lady Martina was painted as someone selfish enough to ignore another’s allergy just for her own enjoyment.
“And you, Heir Argon.”
The heir, who had been scowling, unconsciously straightened up. It was the kind of posture you’d see in front of a strict etiquette teacher.
“You should behave properly.”
“I—I was trying to help you—”
“But that doesn’t mean you can say such things to a noble lady.”
The young heir had insulted the lemon, not a person. But through Blanche’s subtle framing, the heir suddenly became a brute who verbally attacked a peer.
“I, I…”
“You’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
Neither of them had actually apologized yet, but Blanche took the lead and blocked their rebuttals.
“The one who should apologize… is the other party.”
The two of them glanced at each other, then looked around at the many eyes on them. Begrudgingly, they apologized to one another.
“…I’m sorry. I wasn’t angry at you, Lady.”
“…I didn’t mean to insult you, either.”
They likely apologized not out of sincerity, but for the sake of their family reputations and public image. If they had to apologize to Blanche, they probably never would have.
But in the end, the scene that played out made it look like the two had humbled themselves and backed down on Blanche’s advice. Especially to the young children watching, who couldn’t grasp the complexities of the situation.
To their innocent eyes, it looked like two powerful noble kids had been properly scolded by Blanche and came away subdued.
“Thank you for today.”
With the host’s closing remarks, the children began standing up in groups. Normally, people would exchange polite farewells like “It was fun” or “What a lovely party,” but none of that was heard.
The children were too busy sniffling.
This whole mess had happened because the attendees were all little kids. After the Duke’s daughter and the Marquis’ heir, thirteen more tried and failed to challenge Blanche.
A child trying to flaunt wealth with expensive jewels got scolded for sloppy clothing. Another who mocked Blanche’s dress fabric received a lecture on the pros and cons of each material and why that specific fabric had defined an era.
Thus, the tea party turned into a symposium on fabric history and fashion critique.
If they had been adults, by the third failed attempt they would’ve realized Blanche wasn’t someone to be trifled with and kept their mouths shut.
But all these attendees were children under the age of seven. Even after watching others get scolded, they couldn’t give up hope—and so the disaster unfolded.
Melchizedek watched as the children left, still sobbing, but didn’t rise. He just toyed with the teacup in front of him.
Only after everyone else had left did Blanche signal Tula to clear the room. Once it was just the two of them in the parlor, Blanche finally spoke.
“Do you have something to say?”
Melchizedek looked up from his teacup and smiled.
“Hey.”
“Hey?” Blanche’s eyebrows twitched, ever so slightly. In her original adult body, this never would’ve shown—but a child’s face was harder to mask.
“…Yes, you called?”
He couldn’t have missed that flash of irritation, but Melchizedek remained unbothered.
“Try saying, ‘Have you been in good health, Your Highness?’ in proper form.”
Blanche wondered if she’d misheard. What did he just say?
“That’s… difficult.”
What the duke demanded was the kind of thing even a five-year-old would struggle to say without twisting their tongue. Despite all her private practice with a pen in her mouth to improve pronunciation, Blanche still wasn’t confident she could say it right.
“But you can recite poetry, right?”
At that, Blanche shut her mouth like a clam.
She’d been caught.
When the first attack had come earlier, she had slurred her words intentionally to make them hard for the children to understand. That gave her time to change the subject by offering a seat.
“You’re not incapable of speaking. Right?”
Melchizedek was correct. Blanche could pronounce things fairly well now. If she stuck to age-appropriate vocabulary, she could probably speak nearly perfectly.
That was all thanks to her efforts to avoid sounding clumsy in public. Technically, she should have been able to speak clearly by now.
But the value of slurred speech was too great to give up.
The biggest benefit? It emphasized her childlike nature.
As “Lee Baek-ryeon,” she had never once been treated like a child. So even when people fawned over her as Blanche, she didn’t quite understand why.
And if you don’t know why, you can’t control the variable.
So she analyzed it.
Unlike Baek-ryeon, who had the faded prestige of a fallen noble family, Blanche was a royal by title alone and had no real backing.
There was also the difference in demonstrated ability, and the expectations others held.
In the end, Blanche’s conclusion was simple:
People treated Blanche with affection because she seemed harmless and easy to handle.
And nothing projected “harmless and manageable” better than childish speech. Her pride hated it, but honestly, for a three-year-old, slurred speech wasn’t even a red flag.
Plus, it could be weaponized. Against her peers, it acted as a smokescreen.
If she said something complex too clearly, kids might understand and respond. That would make it harder to control the situation.
“In slow and careful speech, yes.”
Whether it was the result of her intense practice or just natural growth, she could now pronounce most things fairly accurately as long as she focused.
As Melchizedek had pointed out, even earlier when she had referenced ‘support’ and ‘right to speak,’ she had spoken slowly but clearly enough to be understood.
Yes, she had done that on purpose. If people didn’t understand her, they couldn’t counter her. It was a preemptive strategy.
“In that case, it’d be best if you always speak slowly and carefully in front of me.”
Blanche didn’t particularly like faking clumsy speech. It was a means to an end. So she nodded without protest.
“I don’t even like real kids that much, and I especially don’t like ones pretending to be more childish than they are.”
Not something you’d expect from a five-year-old’s mouth—but then, children rarely think of themselves as “just kids.” Especially precocious ones like Melchizedek.
“Was that all you stayed behind to say?”
In other words: if you’re done, please leave. But of course, Melchizedek had more to say.
“Oh, that was a bonus. The real reason is your reward.”
“Reward?”
Blanche tilted her head in confusion. Dressed in her delicate lace-adorned gown, the motion made her look like a living doll.
