Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 20: Delightful

As expected, the heroine didn’t respect my request, just as no one else ever does.

I’d asked her to back off, to keep her distance, yet she continued clinging to me.

“Do you not like Ernst?”

“I do. Very much. But it’s not love. We’re friends. Childhood friends who’ve grown up together.”

“If you like him, that’s love,” she said, staring into my eyes as if she were stating an absolute truth.

But that’s not love.

I don’t live in a world where such fairytale notions apply.

Frankly, love stories aren’t even interesting.

The part before love blossoms might have some charm—those moments of anticipation and tension—but once the relationship begins, it all feels dull.

It made me wonder if love that fades so easily could even be called love.

Perhaps it was merely attraction between people, not true love.

In that sense, the love born in a ballroom like this was utterly insignificant.

“Parents are supposed to love their children, aren’t they?”

Because love means dedicating your life to the other person.

It requires reciprocation with something of equal value.

“What are you suddenly going on about…?”

“Never mind. Just stop following me. It’s annoying.”

Most people here base their affections on appearances, manners, and fabricated actions anyway.

I passed countless people, all laughing and chatting.

The mingled scents of cosmetics, perfume, freshly pressed fabrics still carrying a hint of dust, and faint traces of spilled wine created a chaotic sensory overload.

It felt less like moving through people and more like navigating through layers of smells.

As I wandered aimlessly, trying to locate Ernst, I wondered if he had even shown up.

Or perhaps he was actively avoiding me.

In a crowd of mere hundreds, why couldn’t I find him?

I wished the music blaring through the ballroom would stop.

Even better, I wished the chatter of people would vanish too.

As I searched, someone grabbed my wrist.

Uncomfortable with physical contact, I shook off the hand and turned around—only to find the heroine standing there again.

Despite my attempts to avoid her, she had somehow tracked me down.

She gestured toward the wall, suggesting we talk there.

With a weary nod, I followed her to a quieter corner.

Sitting down, I popped a grape from the table into my mouth. Its sourness far outweighed its sweetness.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch others so carelessly?” I asked.

“She said I’m so amazing and beautiful that I can do as I please,” she retorted.

“…If you’re that amazing, shouldn’t you leave someone like me alone?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“Don’t you think not avoiding you would be strange?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s called poor upbringing.”

“Have you always been this sharp-tongued?”

“Is there such a thing as ‘always’?

In any case, someone who isn’t close to me, who barely knows me, approaches like this—that’s what’s strange.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there.”

“You’re the most beautiful and adored person here. Shouldn’t you go find someone more interesting than a gloomy person like me?”

“But I want to get closer to you.”

“I don’t want to get close to someone who asks if I’d be fine losing my childhood friend.”

Though Aria didn’t respond, she stayed by my side.

It was absurd watching her reject all the handsome men who approached her to ask for a dance.

“How long are you going to follow me?”

“Until you agree to listen to me.”

“What do you want me to listen to?”

“I want us to be friends.”

“Fine, we can be friends. Now, could you please step back? You’re giving me a headache.”

As I sat there, trying to endure the situation, Ernst finally appeared.

He looked exhausted, as if he had been harassed elsewhere.

“Aria? And Emily? Did you two get close or something?”

“We decided to be friends,” Aria said casually.

I wanted to blurt out, Since when?, but with Ernst here, I figured she’d leave soon and kept quiet.

It annoyed me that Ernst spoke casually with me while addressing everyone else formally.

Still, what could I do?

I’d end up muttering complaints under my breath, and that was all.

“By the way, Emily, are you feeling okay?”

Of course not.

This place is awful.

From this pretty girl clinging to me, to the fact that I’m here at all, to you, to the people around us, to Mother and Ellie watching from somewhere….

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“If you’re struggling like last time, let me know. I’ll help.”

Hearing him say that, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out a response.

“…Then, would you dance with me just once?”

Was I scared?

Maybe. I didn’t want to endure any more punishment.

It wasn’t about clinging to Ernst and begging him to save me—I couldn’t do that.

But I could at least ask him to dance with me.

Even with the heroine sitting nearby, it wasn’t out of jealousy. It was simply because I wanted to survive.

To Aria, this might be some petty, shallow moment, a story she could dismiss as trivial.

But to me, it was a matter of life and death.

“That’s something you could have just asked for anytime,” Ernst replied, scratching his cheek with his finger and nodding.

A woman shouldn’t be the one to ask a man to dance, but since we were childhood friends, maybe this could be excused.

Just then, the noisy music ended.

Ernst offered me his hand, and I took it.

He told Aria he’d be back soon, then led me to the center of the ballroom, to the wide-open space reserved for dancing.

The heroine, left behind alone, looked utterly baffled.

As if something impossible had just happened.

I suppose it made sense—Ernst and I hadn’t danced together since childhood, back before either of us had gone through puberty.

Even in the story, there were no scenes of us dancing.

Whenever Emily tried to cling to Ernst, he’d push her away.

And yet, I remembered the dances from when we were young.

Ernst had looked at me with disgust, like I was a leech stuck to him.

Holding my hand and matching my steps had clearly been unbearable for him.

Now, that same boy was telling me it was fine to ask for a dance anytime.

I didn’t know how to make sense of this change, but I followed his lead.

A crowd formed around us, creating a loose circle at the edge of the ballroom.

Before the music began, dancers held hands and exchanged glances—some laughed like lovers, others wore alluring expressions.

We, however, simply looked at each other with the familiarity of old friends.

The orchestra began with woodwinds and drums—one bass drum, one snare. 

Trumpets played alongside at least four horns, with the timpani and a somewhat grating trombone joining in.

We started to move, matching steps in sync.

The dancers in the center spun counterclockwise, while those at the edge—like us—moved clockwise, circling the room.

The rhythm was a steady thump-cha-cha, thump-cha-cha, and the sound of shoes clicking against the marble floor echoed throughout.

Amid the noise, we danced slowly, creating our own rhythm.

“Why did you suddenly ask me to dance?” Ernst asked.

His voice was inaudible to the others, drowned out by the clattering shoes and overwhelming music. Even Mother, watching from above, wouldn’t have heard.

“Mother told me to.”

Ernst stepped forward with his left foot, and I moved backward with my right.

“You don’t seem like you wanted to, though.”

“Neither do you.”

With his second step, he closed the distance, and I turned to the left, shifting our alignment.

“Do you really have to listen to her?

You’re grown now—if you like someone, you should spend time with them instead.”

But what would happen to me then?

Even if someone liked me, I couldn’t imagine anyone truly loving me.

“Hah, as if. Who’d like someone like me?”

And with that, we kept spinning, moving in circles.

“My friends always said you were beautiful, you know,” Ernst remarked.

“…So what?”

For a moment, my gaze sharpened, and Ernst looked away uncomfortably.

Trying to lighten the mood, I stepped on his foot, pretending it was an accident.

At first, he let it slide, but when I continued stepping on him, a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, and he started stepping on my toes in retaliation.

We weren’t sure if we were dancing or playing a game of who-could-step-on-whose-feet more, but we kept at it until the music ended.

By the time the last note played, both our faces were alight with laughter.

Ernst was smiling, so I must have been smiling too.

I even managed to suppress the cough building in my throat.

I didn’t open my mouth, knowing it would release the metallic tang of blood.

But it would be fine. The medicine would take care of it.

I was eating properly and not overexerting myself.

Why was I dancing with Ernst?

Why did I nod along when Mother spouted her nonsense?

Because the world was beautiful, even like this.

The clumsy waltz, the clicking shoes, the sour grapes, the irritating heroine—all of it was tolerable.

At this moment, I was genuinely happy.

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