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Eris furrowed her brows at Hilda's words, tilting her chin up as she stared at the stained glass above.
Even her stubborn little head could grasp what her mother was implying when spelled out so plainly.
But the idea of choosing a future husband held no weight for her yet.
The thought of marrying someone and spending her life with them felt alien—even strange.
Why would she need to?
Still.
She understood the emotion of "liking" someone.
She liked Grandpa, liked Ghyslaine, liked Mother, liked Allen, and liked Sylphiette too.
But.
That kind of "like" was clearly different from what Mother and Father shared.
The only boy she'd ever considered dancing with was Allen, but even that didn't feel the same as her parents' relationship.
…Did it?
Eris scowled.
"I don't even know them. Why do I have to choose? Can't I just pick none?"
Hilda regarded her calmly.
"As I said, the choice is yours—so yes, you may. While many nobles arrange engagements by ten, your father isn't pressuring you. There's time."
She tapped Eris' nose lightly.
"But you must still cultivate your charm as a noble lady. Otherwise, by your fifteenth-year banquet, if you do find someone you favor… being rejected would be troublesome. Look at Sylphiette—younger than you, yet already excelling in this regard."
Eris whirled toward Sylphiette.
The half-elf, still mentally replaying "Allen politely declining her hand," blinked owlishly before flailing.
"Ch-ch-charm?! Wh-what charm?! I don't—!"
Unnoticed by her, Allen stiffened slightly at Hilda's words before giving a faint, approving nod.
Eris grumbled, puffing her cheeks.
"…So did Mother and Father do the hand-kiss thing at a ball?"
The room froze. All eyes snapped to Hilda.
She tilted her head, smiling wryly.
"A ball? No. At his fifteenth-year banquet, my family urged me to invite him, but…"
A nostalgic sigh.
"Too many girls tried. I never got my turn."
Eris gaped.
"Then how—?!"
Hilda patted her head, gaze softening.
"But your father didn't kiss anyone's hand that night."
"…Oh." Eris scrunched her nose. "Did you at least dance with him?"
"We did. Just not at a banquet."
"Hmph! Good!"**
Silence.
Neither mother nor daughter spoke further.
Rudeus' eye twitched. He glanced between them.
'Good?! That's it?! Ask for details! I'm dying to know—!'
Just as he opened his mouth to pry—
Hilda's gaze flickered toward Allen. Logically, she should've steered the lesson to the next etiquette topic. Yet a tiny ember had been smoldering in her mind since earlier, diverting her focus.
Those instructions Allen gave Eris…
That fleeting intuition finally forced her to voice the question gnawing at her. Her tone, usually composed, carried rare urgency.
"Allen, your swordsmanship analogy earlier was masterful. As expected of a tutor, but…"
A pause. Her slate-gray eyes locked onto his.
"You seem too familiar with noble ballroom dances. For an alleged…"
"…Adventurer?"
Sylphiette, Ghyslaine, and Rudeus swiveled toward Allen.
He visibly startled before offering a practiced smile.
"Yes, my lady. One of my former party members was a fallen noble—a swordsman from the Water God's main dojo. Between life-and-death moments in dungeons, he'd share noble trivia. This dance was among them."
His voice trailed off as he stared at his boots, expression unreadable.
Rudeus and Sylphiette exchanged startled glances. This explanation was unexpected yet plausible—enough to align with their theories.
But the holes in Allen's story were glaring. One more push, and the truth might surface.
They didn't know of the "Displacement Incident" or Allen's reincarnation. They couldn't grasp his conflicted detachment toward the Boreas bloodline.
Yet they had noticed his subtle resistance whenever the family was mentioned.
Regardless of Philip or Sauros…
Isn't Lady Hilda kind?
This wasn't about forcing a choice.
They just—
Needed the stalemate to break.
So they could adjust their approach, find the right way to help him.
Now was the perfect chance to—
"I… I see. That makes sense."
—What?
Sylphiette and Rudeus whipped their heads toward Hilda.
She'd accepted that flimsy excuse? Why hadn't she pressed further?
Their confusion deepened as—
Hilda's usual poise crumbled. Her eyes, the same shade as Allen's, dropped to her scuffed shoes, mirroring his posture.
Even their expressions mirrored each other.
When a long-abandoned hope lies dormant, the heart grows numb.
Eleven years without a single sign had taught her resignation.
But when that impossible hope suddenly dangles within reach—
What does one feel?
Joy?
Desperation to confirm it?
No.
The heart falters.
She feared it.
Feared that probing further would shatter this fragile "maybe"—
Leaving her with yet another "mistake."
So instinctively, Hilda retreated into her "safety."
She accepted Allen's lie.
If she didn't step forward, the possibility remained.
Just a little longer.
Let her hope.
Just… a little more.
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 250 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 50 power stones I will publish the next chapter.