Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 21: Conversation

I had been dancing diligently, though it was at the edge of the crowd, so surely Mother would have noticed me.

Out of breath, I sent Ernst away first and made my way into the room where I could fix my appearance.

I can’t quite remember what this place is called.

Fortunately, there wasn’t a woman here busy tightening her corset.

I pulled out a slightly reddened handkerchief and coughed incessantly.

The smell of so many people and the indoor dust had been bothering me since I started dancing.

I coughed so hard that the handkerchief turned red, then wiped my lips lightly.

Even so, there was still some blood left, so I just smeared it lightly over my lips.

Eventually, it would dry up, turn brown, and look darker than my lips anyway, so I didn’t mind.

After catching my breath for quite a while in one of the chairs in the room, I looked in the mirror.

Someone was standing behind me.

It was the heroine.

Looking in the mirror, I said, “Is spying a hobby of yours?”

“Hey, you…”

Her expression was a mix of confusion, shock, or perhaps dismay.

Maybe there was some pity, too—her emotions showed so transparently on her face.

I, on the other hand, always appeared blank and plain, whether I laughed, cried, or frowned.

“Don’t tell Ernst.”

“…He doesn’t know about this?”

“It’s not like you follow me around like a shadow, so how would he find out? I’m not an idiot.”

I tried to stand and push this young lady aside to leave the room, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.

So, instead, I slumped back down and calmly inhaled and exhaled.

“Or do you pity me?

Until now, I thought you were just some rude, strange person, but to think you have a sob story like this!”

Seated, I mocked Aria with whatever movements my still-functioning arms could make.

When I first landed in this place, I’d gone on about the original work, the original novel, and how Ernst was this, Aria was that, this person appeared, the villain was that person… I’d rambled nonsensically about who appeared when, whether Mother even showed up, whether Ellie appeared, and how I’d never read a single word about Daniel. Blah, blah, blah…

I don’t know.

It’s just a headache now.

This is simply the world I live in.

Not some “original story” or “novel” nonsense.

If it were, I wouldn’t be able to feel this alive.

No matter how vividly a book describes someone smirking, you can’t really understand it.

This kind of smile—only I, staring into the mirror, could truly know it.

Don’t look at me like that.

It just makes me feel more miserable.

You have so much, and everyone loves you.

Sometimes people might show jealousy, but you can handle even that.

I pulled the blood-soaked handkerchief from my pocket and tossed it toward the trash bin.

It dangled on the edge briefly before falling to the floor with a wet plop.

I slowly rose from my seat, wiped up the blood from the floor, and placed it in the bin again.

Judging by the advances in other areas, you’d think plastic would exist here, so why is the trash can made of something like porcelain?

Well, this world is full of problems that can’t be solved even with serious thought, so it’s better to just brush it off.

I don’t get jealous.

Well, maybe a little.

Aria looked at me, unsure of what to say.

At least she hadn’t run away, which meant I could keep talking.

If it were me, and I were the protagonist, I’d have fled if some third-rate villain started ranting like this.

I swallowed a round pill I had prepared in my pocket.

It would’ve been nice if it worked instantly, but of course, it didn’t.

If this world had more magic or romantic notions like that, it might’ve been a little easier to live in.

But everything here is so bleak.

Or is it that the whole world revolves around you, and when something displeases you, you just want to sweep it away?

Some of us, damn it, are born as messed-up people and have to live like this.

It felt more like I was talking to myself than addressing the woman before me.

Leave me alone.

What could you possibly want from someone who can do nothing but talk?

The more I spoke, the more depressed I felt.

You’re already loved by so many people. What more could you want? What more could you need to know?

This world isn’t a novel, a game, or a comic.

It’s just the beautiful world we live in.

So don’t approach me like I’m some object to investigate just because it’s a little different from what you know.

When she came to visit me at the mansion, claiming to be my friend, it had been incredibly unpleasant.

She had barged in, knowing nothing, and scrutinized my pathetic self.

Asking my name, how I was doing, even about my relationship with Ernst…

She’d asked sensitive things as casually as one might interrogate a game character.

“Ernst, that nasty prince, and the ridiculous Northern Duke—why the hell does a functional country even have such people?”

No matter how much of a cliché it was, the very existence of such characters seemed absurd.

In any case, all sorts of people exist, but I’m not some target you need to conquer. So, just… Ugh.

What am I even saying? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be spouting such vulgar nonsense.

Ernst must be waiting.

My legs still weren’t moving well.

But with some effort, they finally obeyed.

“…What’s your name?” Aria asked as she looked at me.

“Emily.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Emily is all there is. Forget the Reichten or whatever else.”

I gave her a faint smile and stood.

At last, my steps were steady.

Sure, I could’ve staggered or dragged my feet, but that would’ve been improper.

Maybe someone like Aria, who seemed to violate propriety by merely breathing, could get away with it.

But I was born this way, molded into what I am by Mother’s whims.

She succeeded in embedding it all into my mind.

Even if I die, the memories engraved into my body won’t be forgotten.

As I was about to leave, Aria grabbed my wrist.

“What, do you have something to say?”

Her expression suggested she was grappling with what to say, unsure of the words even as they formed in her mind.

Fine. If you want to play with friends, then bring a ton of money and pick me up once a week.

You know where I live, right?

This way, I could go to the hospital freely.

I could pay back the old man without any more debt and bring in plenty of money.

A noble lady who can’t even pay her own medical bills—what a joke.

If I can’t pay with my own money, I’ll just have to steal from someone else’s pockets.

I scratched my head once and left the room, heading toward the corner where Ernst was waiting.

He seemed hungry, munching on two sandwiches piled onto a plate.

I picked up one of the sandwiches Ernst had prepared and sat next to him to eat.

When I inspected the sandwich, it was filled with salted pork, wilted vegetables, and a layer of excessively sweet jam. I wasn’t sure what fruit it was made from, though.

“You took a while. Where were you?”

“The bathroom.”

Ernst scratched his head and handed me a glass filled with something mixed into milk. Who knows where he got it from?

I took a sip, and contrary to its appearance, it wasn’t very sweet. It tasted faintly of strawberries or something similar.

“Aria said she was going to look for you earlier. Didn’t you run into her?”

“I did.”

Ernst didn’t seem too interested as he fiddled with the sandwich, turning its fillings this way and that. His carefree demeanor, completely unbothered by others’ opinions, was almost enviable.

I wished I could live as comfortably as him.

“This is pretty good, by the way. Does it taste okay to you?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t terrible, so my response wasn’t exactly a lie.

With all that sugar slathered on top of a carb-loaded sandwich, if it tasted bad, I’d have to consider chopping off the hands of everyone in the kitchen. It’d be akin to stealing one’s sense of taste, after all.

“Ernst.”

“What?”

“Thanks for caring.”

“Not sure what I did to earn your gratitude, though.”

“The sandwich is good, and you danced with me.”

“That’s nothing. We’re friends, so I’d do that anytime.”

“Right. Because we’re friends.”

Emily, I’m right about this.

You and Ernst—you’re just friends.

Love? Sure, it sounds nice, but it’s all nonsense.

To truly love someone, they have to be someone like Aria—a lovely woman.

No response came.

Aria hasn’t shown up.

I’m going to mingle with others for a bit. Want to come along?

“No, have fun.”

“Usually, you’d say, ‘Take care,’ in response to that.”

“Oh, right.”

Ernst gave me a puzzled look before walking off to who knows where.

Real name, huh?

It’s Emily.

As for that “Reichten” or whatever follows—it’s better to leave that aside for now.

When I’m home, everyone treats me like an idiot. How could I wear it proudly?

If anyone truly loved me, it might be my father.

But even he is hard to see.

You know those overworked, perpetually tired staff members in romance novels?

That’s exactly the kind of role he plays.

Unimportant, always weary, and frankly, ridiculous.

Some men dressed in ridiculously expensive clothes approached me, along with a few young men Ernst had once introduced as his friends, asking me to dance. I declined all of them.

I was too exhausted and retreated to a corner where no one would notice me, just like before.

With a little wine and some moderately salty food, I whiled away the time.

Eventually, morning arrived.

My mother approached me with a deeply satisfied expression.

As expected, she was more of a madam than a mother.

And I’d heard that it wasn’t uncommon for prostitutes to kill their madams and flee the brothel.

What happens after that, though, I have no idea.

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