Episode 10
“…?”
What kind of nonsense are you barking? Don’t make my blood boil.
“Ah, seriously. I clearly told you not to change the subject earlier.”
“Change the subject?!”
“You’re the one who gave it to me and now you’re accusing me of theft. Isn’t this that boring, unoriginal cliché trick? If you do this, all the novel readers are going to drop it, you know?”
Maybe I don’t matter, but you’re supposed to be a character in a novel—shouldn’t you at least be entertaining? Don’t you think?
When I stared with a look that said I was bored to death, the maid approached briskly, looking like she had no idea what I was talking about.
“When did I ever give you this dress? I gave you the most outdated, tacky dress there was!”
“Wow, you’re really confessing that yourself? That line is seriously tacky.”
Instead of shrinking back, I snapped right back at her, and the maid, not expecting that reaction, stammered.
“T-that’s not the issue right now!”
“That *is* a huge issue! The way you said ‘the most tacky’—does that mean there were other dresses too?”
“Th-that’s not…!”
Once someone starts searching for words, the argument is already over. She was already losing momentum.
I tilted my head leisurely.
“Don’t cry—just explain it step by step.”
“When did I cry?!”
“Alright, alright. Just explain it calmly, one thing at a time. You can do it!”
I even exaggeratedly cupped my ear as if I were ready to listen very well.
The maid’s face turned red, then blue. Why? I’m trying to comfort you.
“I’m not changing the subject! You dared to steal Miss Isabella’s dress!”
“So you gave me a torn, tacky dress, and now that I’m wearing a pretty one, it must be stolen?”
“Don’t try to deny it.”
Oh, please.
“I think you’ve misunderstood.”
I shrugged and feigned innocence.
“This *is* the dress from earlier. If it suddenly looks pretty, maybe it’s because the hanger is good?”
I cupped my face with my hands and gave a cute wink.
The maid forced herself to look away from my playful pose and spoke sharply.
“Let’s see if you can say that in front of Miss Isabella!”
Then she grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me along.
My small, underfed body from the orphanage was helplessly pulled.
“Ow! That hurts!”
She dragged me all the way to the third floor where Isabella’s room was, and tears welled up. Damn it… I won’t let this slide.
“Miss Isabella, it’s Karen!”
When the maid knocked and announced herself, a voice from inside told her to come in.
Karen opened the door and immediately shoved me onto the carpet. My paper-thin body lost balance and tilted as if I would fall.
*‘Fine, if I’m falling, I’ll go full Hollywood action!’*
“Aaaah!”
The moment Karen’s hand left my arm—
I screamed and flew onto the soft carpet, rolling forward twice like a somersault, then used the momentum to roll once more and crash under the sofa.
“Ugh! Cough!”
Nice. A perfect flying squirrel.
Trembling, I pretended I couldn’t get up and pricked up my ears. I heard gasps of shock from all around.
“Oh my!”
“What on earth! Karen, what did you do?!”
“I—I only pushed her lightly…”
“Cough! Cough! Oh dear!”
“Who did you throw like that?”
“I didn’t throw her!”
“Ugh…”
Several hands carefully helped me up.
Karen, now under accusing stares, looked completely flustered—nothing like the bold attitude she had while dragging me here.
“Could it be… this is the person the Duke brought…?”
Someone recognized me, and everyone’s gaze turned in one direction.
At the end of those gazes stood a girl my age with a stiff expression.
*‘Isabella!’*
She was a girl with beautiful red hair and pale white skin, giving off a sharp yet refined aura.
*‘But in the family portrait earlier, her hair was mint-colored…’*
In the photo, Isabella’s hair looked like mint whipped cream on a cupcake—different from the novel’s description, which had surprised me.
But now, just like the novel described as “crimson sunset,” her hair was red. Was the picture wrong?
*‘I don’t know what’s going on, but she’s so pretty… I want to keep looking.’*
I forced myself to look away so I wouldn’t seem like I was staring. Right now, I needed to appear as harmless as possible.
Realizing that the person who had dramatically flown and crashed was me, Isabella quickly hid her startled expression and began directing the maids.
“Sophie, go call a doctor. Maril, help her onto my bed. And Karen.”
Karen flinched at her name.
“Y-yes!”
“Explain everything that happened.”
Wow. That gaze. I heard she was fifteen, but her charisma was no joke.
Her gleaming golden eyes didn’t just share color with Ivan’s—they were just like their father’s.
I quickly stopped Sophie, who was about to call the doctor.
“I-I’m fine…”
I know how to fall properly, after all.
Of course, unlike my calm thoughts, I was limping on the outside.
At my refusal, Isabella asked with a commanding gaze like a queen:
“What’s your name?”
“Freyia.”
“Freyia. I don’t believe a maid of mine should dare throw someone my father brought. This is my responsibility for poor training, so lie down quietly and let the doctor confirm you’re truly fine.”
I glanced at Karen, who looked like *‘This isn’t what I meant…’* and bit her lip.
“But I’m really fine.”
Isabella cut me off.
“Whether you’re fine or not doesn’t matter. This isn’t a request—it’s an order.”
She snapped her fingers at the hesitant maid, signaling her to move. The maid hurriedly laid me on the bed.
“…Yes.”
Under Isabella’s gaze pressing down on me, I answered meekly and lay still.
*‘She’s supposed to be the annoying Cinderella-style villainess sister? No way.’*
I didn’t remember all the details of what Isabella did to the original heroine.
I only remembered that the heroine endured her a few times, built up rage, and then got satisfying revenge all at once.
So I had thought Isabella was just a device to highlight the heroine’s “girl crush” charm.
Honestly, I figured that no matter what a fifteen-year-old did, someone like me—who had lived to twenty-one—wouldn’t be easily defeated. I planned to just play along and keep a low profile.
*‘But she’s scarier than I thought… If I go against her, will I even survive?’*
The duke’s physician arrived quickly.
Not wanting to upset Isabella, I stayed quiet and obedient while being examined.
Only after the doctor confirmed I was fine did Isabella, now relieved, begin questioning the terrified Karen.
“Well then, Karen. Speak.”
“Th-that is…”
Karen hesitated over how to refer to me, then finally said:
“She stole your dress, Miss. I only brought her here. I didn’t push her that hard!”
You hit me pretty hard in spirit, though.
Isabella looked at me, still putting on a pitiful expression.
“She stole a dress? Freyia, is that true?”
Was she genuinely asking—or just going through the motions?
*‘Either Isabella ordered Karen, or Karen acted on her own loyalty…’*
Keeping in mind that Isabella was supposed to be a villain, I answered only with undeniable facts.
“How could I steal your dress? Haven’t you been in your room the whole time? If I had entered, you would have known immediately.”
“But I never gave her that dress!”
Karen pointed at what I was wearing, clearly unable to believe my refashioning skills.
I spoke directly, as if pleading my case.
“Take a closer look. It’s the torn, outdated dress you gave me, saying it was the most unfashionable one.”
Karen flinched and glanced at Isabella.
*‘Huh?’*
I had assumed Isabella was behind it, like in the story—but Karen’s reaction suggested otherwise.
*‘Then was the conflict between Isabella and the heroine just a misunderstanding…?’*
I needed to push Karen further.
I continued calmly.
“You told me there wasn’t enough staff, so I should mend it myself. When you told me to wash in freezing water because there wasn’t enough firewood, I realized the duke’s household must be struggling.”
“…!”
Karen’s eyes widened—she hadn’t expected that.
I went on casually.
“So even if it was torn and ugly, I wanted to fix it and wear it nicely. I thought it would reflect well on the duke who brought me here… so I just did my best.”
By turning the duke into a poor noble in an instant, Karen panicked.
“M-Miss! This is all a misunderstanding! I would never dare insult the duke’s house like that!”
But after carefully examining my dress, Isabella said coldly:
“You’re quite skilled, Freyia. I can tell from the neckline decoration. That dress is one I discarded years ago.”
“Th-that can’t be…!”
Karen turned pale.
And I was the one left confused.
*‘So Karen really acted alone? And the heroine just assumed Isabella was behind it…?’*
It felt like playing a game where the ending changes based on choices.
Just as my thoughts became tangled, Isabella suddenly let out a small laugh.
“But Freyia… not only are you skillful with your hands, you’re quite eloquent too, aren’t you?”
