I’m Leaving the Villainess Station

Chapter 32

“Huh…?”

I was crying with my head down, so I was a little taken aback. Of course, even if someone asked me why I was crying, I wouldn’t have been able to answer.

But he must have found this situation quite unexpected too. And yet, in such a calm voice, he asked something so trivial and ordinary. It didn’t seem like the right question for this moment.

Still, he continued without hesitation.

“I hope this question isn’t rude, but I’d like to know. The scent is wonderful. I’d like to give it to my little sister as well.”

Then, he gave me a gentle smile.

“How about we consider this an exchange? You answer my question in return for my kindness. That way, you won’t feel like you owe me anything.”

His deep green eyes had a way of drawing me in, making me forget my thoughts. His voice was smooth, like velvet, naturally pulling my attention to his words.

He was an interesting person—someone who seemed to handle people with ease. I had a vague feeling that he must hold a position where he frequently dealt with others.

For a moment, I forgot the thoughts that had been clouding my mind and answered him.

“…If you insist… It’s nord oil. But since it’s mixed with my natural scent, it might be difficult to find something the same.”

He replied with a hint of disappointment.

“I see. By the way, the silver rose you had in your hair earlier—I’ve never seen one like it before. The details were exquisite. I told one of the servants to keep it for you, so you can retrieve it later.”

That caught me off guard. I hadn’t even thought about the silver rose. I reached up, took one from my hair, and showed it to him.

“Oh, this? It’s just a real rose painted with melted silver. It’s not particularly valuable. You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

He looked into my eyes and quietly smiled.

“…Your tears have stopped now.”

Huh?

I touched my face and realized—he was right. My tears had stopped.

And then I understood.

Was that why he kept asking about such trivial things? To distract me so I wouldn’t cry anymore?

It was a smooth and effortless kindness—so mature that I suddenly felt embarrassed.

Of all people, why did I have to show such a pathetic side of myself in front of someone like him? My gaze dropped in shame.

“…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But I think you should rest your eyes a little before heading back.”

As we walked, we came across a quiet corner of the hallway, hidden from view. A few comfortable chairs were placed there, suggesting it was meant as a resting area.

He gently helped me sit down and briefly stepped away. When he returned, he was holding a cold handkerchief.

“Place this over your eyes for a bit.”

I hesitated, thinking about my ruined makeup, but my hair was already a mess, and my tears had already fallen.

Looking into his eyes, I thanked him.

“Thank you for your kindness. I wasn’t paying attention and ended up causing trouble for you. You don’t have to stay. I’ll rest for a while and then find my companions.”

But in truth, I was planning to leave the ballroom altogether once my eyes cooled down.

Since my mother and I had arrived in separate carriages, it wouldn’t be a problem if I left early.

I said my goodbyes to him and placed the cold handkerchief over my eyes. The coolness soothed my flushed skin.

I felt comforted.

I was grateful to have met such a kind person on a day when my heart was in such turmoil.

It felt like walking in the pouring rain, only to have someone unexpectedly place an umbrella over me.

There was no need to question why—I was simply thankful.

Just then, I heard someone sit down beside me.

I flinched.

My body tensed.

Why hadn’t he left…?

The realization of being alone in a secluded spot with a stranger suddenly hit me.

I hesitated, about to lower the handkerchief, when he spoke.

“I couldn’t just leave a young lady sitting here alone with her eyes covered. That wouldn’t sit well with me. I’ll wait here with you. Or, if you prefer, I can call your companions.”

His calm voice reassured me. At the very least, he didn’t seem like someone who would do me harm.

After a moment of thought, I answered.

“…Thank you for your consideration. But I don’t need my companions. To be honest, I was planning to leave early. I don’t want my mother to see me like this.”

After a pause, I added, my voice weaker.

“Not that it will matter. She’ll hear about it from someone else anyway… But at least she won’t see it firsthand.”

A brief silence followed before he spoke again, his voice gentle yet distant.

“Sometimes, relying on those around you isn’t such a bad thing. If even at your lowest, you refuse to ask for help, then what’s the point of having relationships at all? The whole reason we build connections is so they can be there when we need them.”

His tone was kind, but his words were blunt and practical.

I found myself laughing.

What a peculiar way of speaking.

Most men, when they see a woman cry, try to comfort her by agreeing with whatever she says. Was he just bad at consoling people? Or was he too skilled at it?

Or maybe… he was simply a naturally cold person trying to be kind.

“Thinking of relationships as investments meant to be used later… That’s an interesting perspective.”

I chuckled lightly.

In a way, it was easier to talk to him because I couldn’t see his face, and I had already shown him my worst state.

“I think… People are like beloved but fragile luggage. You care for them, but you wouldn’t take them somewhere dangerous.”

As I spoke, a realization struck me.

That’s why I didn’t ask for help back then.

Good relationships feel so fragile.

The fear that showing your worst side will ruin them—that they will be stained and torn apart like delicate fabric—was overwhelming.

I would rather be abandoned than desperately cling to someone.

The first and last time I reached out to someone… it was like drinking poison.

The accident may have killed me, but that poison had already destroyed me long before that.

I fell silent for a moment before murmuring,

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll be alone until the day I die. I know how to share happiness… but I’m terrible at sharing pain.”

That’s why, until the very end… until the moment I died, I had been alone.

It felt lonely, but not wrong.

I muttered to myself,

“…But maybe it’s better this way. When I’m weak, when I’m at my most vulnerable… If I expose that weakness, will I be helped? Or…”

Or will someone take advantage of me instead?

The thought alone sent a chill down my spine.

I do trust people—but only within limits.

Trusting someone enough to risk my life… that was a completely different matter.

“Trusting others… it’s so difficult…”

My throat tightened, and I struggled to steady my voice.

Then, I realized something.

I had spoken too much.

Why was I saying all of this to a stranger?

Regret surged through me.

What was I thinking? He must think I’m such a strange person.

I fell silent.

Everything was a mess today—especially myself.

Then, through the darkness, his voice reached me.

“People say trusting too much can hurt you. But isn’t distrusting too much just as painful?”

His voice was warm, yet held a chilling undertone.

“I believe there’s a middle ground—not trusting blindly, but not distrusting to the point of suffering. Finding that balance is difficult, though.”

His words were oddly comforting.

“For me, for you… for everyone. It’s something we keep learning.”

Tears welled up again.

It was such an unexpected kindness.

Only now did I realize how deeply I had been wounded.

I whispered,

“…Thank you.”

Then, I felt the weight of his hand over the handkerchief.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to cry. Especially in front of someone you’ll never see again. There’s no harm in it, after all.”

I let out a small, tearful laugh.