Chapter 42
The first class for the first-year students the next day was dance. As Angharad Nine walked toward the classroom, she painfully realized that the other students were avoiding her even more blatantly than usual.
This is better.
She tried to steel herself. If she couldn’t hope for a pleasant school life, she would at least settle for a peaceful one.
Anything was fine—so long as she didn’t have to endure being constantly picked on and humiliated by passing students.
Alecto, in contrast, looked far more cheerful than the day before, chatting animatedly among her group. Her voice echoed through the hallway all the way to the dance hall.
“That was her fault. Isn’t she just ridiculous? I’ll tell you more about it at lunch…”
She wasn’t popular in the traditional sense, but no one particularly minded her presence in their group. Because of that, Alecto knew quite a lot about other students’ personal affairs.
So even though she was clearly talking about someone else, every time Angharad heard a negative remark aimed at another person, it felt as though a weight was pressing down on her chest.
“She won’t dare to do it anymore.”
Alecto had surely learned her lesson. Even if she was grumbling about it, she now knew that openly gossiping about other students would lead to some kind of punishment.
When class began, the students positioned themselves against the walls as usual. Once the music started, they would step toward one another and continuously change partners.
Angharad felt humiliated when she realized that she was the only girl left without a partner. A boy approached her with a look of clear reluctance. There was a time when he had been much more amicable toward her.
“Hey, don’t act like that. She might call her dad again.”
Another boy, passing by, sneered at the first one. He held Nerys’ hand and seemed quite pleased about it.
Angharad found herself glancing at Nerys despite herself.
Nerys wasn’t mocking her.
For some reason, that made Angharad even angrier.
Her rage boiled inside her. Not even a hint of remorse. How shameless! Look at what she had been reduced to—all because of her!
She should be the one in this position!
“Don’t grip my hand too tightly.”
Even before they started dancing, Angharad’s partner complained.
Not that she wanted to hold his hand. She was only dancing because standing alone wasn’t an option.
Meanwhile, Nerys turned gracefully with her partner’s lead. Her partner thought she seemed to be in a particularly good mood.
Could it be because she’s dancing with me? The boy’s mind filled with foolish delusions.
Nerys, of course, paid no mind to his thoughts. She occasionally glanced toward the classroom door.
Her mood had nothing to do with the partner she had been assigned.
She was waiting for someone.
Since Nellusion had gone out of his way to warn her yesterday, that meant that event from her previous life would happen today as well.
At some point, Angharad, looking distressed, left the class crying.
But the dance lesson continued as if nothing had happened.
When it was time to switch partners, there was one girl short.
The boys quickly partnered with the more popular girls, leaving Rhiannon alone.
Two boys, clearly displeased, exchanged awkward glances. One of them had to dance with her.
Just then, a tall man in a black coat knocked on the classroom door.
Madam Lunis approached him with a raised eyebrow.
“Who are you? Class is in session.”
The students quickly noticed the white ribbon on his chest. A few understood its meaning.
An obituary.
“Apologies. I’ve come to escort my lady.”
Lunis, realizing that someone’s immediate family must have passed away, softened her tone.
“Which family are you representing?”
“The House of Berta. I am a servant of the newly appointed Count Berta, formerly known as Sir Berta.”
Berta.
Rhiannon’s gaze snapped toward the door.
Her eyes widened, and she shrieked the servant’s name.
“Ollie!”
“My lady.”
Ollie pressed his hat to his chest and bowed. Rhiannon pushed past the dancing students to reach him.
“What happened?”
“A moment, please.”
Madam Lunis allowed Rhiannon to step outside to speak privately with her servant and closed the door.
The students pretended to focus on their dancing, but their ears were perked up.
Soon, those who had exceptionally good hearing—and happened to be near the door—whispered what they had heard to their partners.
Those partners, in turn, passed the information along to others.
Before long, everyone in the room knew the reason for Ollie’s visit.
The old Count Berta and his heir, Baron Berta, had both died in a carriage accident.
As a result, Sir Berta—the second son—had inherited the title of Count.
Rhiannon Berta was now officially the daughter of a count.
Since the deaths involved the head of the household and the heir to the title, Rhiannon was given about a week off from school.
This was a noble academy, after all—flexibility was granted for matters involving titles and succession.
What could be more important than noble rank?
When Rhiannon returned to class, the first-year students whispered behind her back, watching her proud posture.
“She arrived in a four-horse carriage, didn’t she?”
“And it had the family crest…”
“Gold buttons engraved with the crest, too…”
“That necklace—diamonds and pearls—who wears that to school?”
“And that bracelet from before… If she knew there was going to be a magic practice session that day, she should’ve left it at home…”
Hardly anyone reacted positively.
The students who had always been from high-ranking noble families especially disliked how Rhiannon, who had been merely the daughter of a knight until recently, now acted as if she had been their equal all along.
The lower noble children, too, disliked the fact that Rhiannon Berta—who had only recently been the daughter of a knight—was now acting as if she were of a different class from them.
Strictly speaking, a count’s granddaughter and a count’s daughter were entirely different in rank. The empire’s laws defined nobility in the narrow sense as those who were direct heirs to a title. One could not place “someone who would eventually no longer be direct lineage” on the same level as “someone who would always remain direct lineage.”
Had the late Count Berta passed away in a normal succession—where his eldest son, Baron Berta, inherited the title—then Rhiannon would have ceased to be direct lineage.
Still, Rhiannon herself had long considered herself an upper noble and preferred to associate with those whose fathers were counts or held even higher titles. While her grandfather had been alive, she had been Lady Berta, and she had numerous high-status relatives.
The children from truly prestigious families had always found her attitude amusing, but since some were distant relatives or had to maintain face for her grandfather’s sake, they had not openly scrutinized her status—at least, not before the letter incident.
Likewise, the lower nobles had always felt a sense of distance from Rhiannon but had refrained from outright criticizing her.
After the letter incident, when Aidalia Kendall turned against Rhiannon, she lost all her remaining friends. However, even then, no one dared to bring up her status outright—unless they were particularly bold.
But when Rhiannon actually became a count’s daughter, everything changed.
The students felt that she had simply gotten lucky and was now putting on airs above her station. Every flashy possession she brought from home—flaunting it ever so subtly—became a target for gossip.
“Say something. If you speak up, she won’t be able to ignore you.”
Aidalia’s partner in the Common Lundish class muttered to her.
She merely offered an awkward smile.
“What am I even supposed to say…?”
At that moment, Rhiannon raised her hand.
“Teacher.”
Madam Alix, who was teaching Common Lundish, responded kindly.
“Yes, Rhiannon? What is it?”
“Alecto keeps glaring at me.”
No matter how strict a teacher was, a first-year class was bound to be noisy at times.
But Rhiannon’s words brought about a silence that not even the strictest of teachers could achieve.
The students exchanged glances, all thinking the same thing—Here we go.
Breaking the silence, Alecto scoffed coldly.
“When did I ever do that?”
“You’re glaring at me right now.”
Rhiannon spoke firmly without even looking at Alecto.
Madam Alix observed the situation. Alecto’s unwavering stare was so intense she barely even blinked.
Of course, the teacher was aware of the incident in the dining hall.
Alecto also raised her hand but didn’t wait for permission before speaking.
“I wasn’t glaring.”
“Look right now. You’re glaring. You always do.”
The classroom grew so quiet that even the sound of a pin dropping would have been audible.
Madam Alix hesitated briefly before putting on her most authoritative expression.
“If there’s a problem between you two, resolve it during break time. This is class, and other students are trying to focus.”
“But if one student keeps harassing another, isn’t it the teacher’s job to stop them?”
Rhiannon had intended to say “persistent” harassment but fumbled the pronunciation.
Alecto, already irritated, seized the opportunity to mock her.
No one said it out loud, but everyone knew that, in situations like these, the final say belonged to Megara.
Aidalia glanced at Megara. Megara furrowed her brows slightly.
She decided that this wasn’t something she needed to step in for.
When no one intervened, Alecto snapped.
“Can’t even talk properly? Did someone write that for you? Idiot. If you can’t even read right, what are you gonna do? This is why people hate you.”
Rhiannon’s face turned red with anger.
She had intended to expose that wretched girl in a refined, dignified manner.
But in the end, she couldn’t hold back and shouted furiously.
“Hey! Are you done talking?”
“‘Hey! Are you done talking?’”
Alecto exaggeratedly mimicked Rhiannon’s voice.
“You always call people ridiculous, but you’re the funniest of all.”
“Enough!”
Madam Alix finally lost patience and cut them both off sharply.
The two girls glared at each other as if ready to tear one another apart.
The class ended in chaos.
As the students poured out of the room, they whispered to one another in hushed but thunderous tones.
“Did you see? Did you see? Rhiannon crying?”
“Why did she even start it? That was suffocating to watch.”
Alecto stormed out of the classroom, puffing up her chest in frustration.
As she approached the students heading to the next class, she grumbled indignantly.
“Ugh, unbelievable! Seriously, who could like her? Does anyone have something sweet? I’m pissed and starving!”
Normally, anyone in her group would have laughed it off and offered something from their pocket.
Especially since she was speaking to students who were quieter and less assertive—they should have instinctively gone along with her.
But this time, their response was unexpected.
“Did you really have to go that far?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
Alecto’s attempt to fish for agreement was met with a cold reply.
The students shrugged.
“Never mind. Forget it.”
In the jungle of first-year social life, “Never mind” was one of the most terrifying phrases.
It meant that the other person no longer found any value in engaging with you.
Alecto knew that all too well.
She snapped.
“What? What’s your problem? What do you mean by that?”
“Hey.”
The response didn’t come from the students she was addressing.
It came from a boy passing by—one of their classmates.
“Can you not ruin the class for everyone? It’s exhausting. Your voice echoes down the hallway every single time.”
“What?”
Alecto was stunned.
Hadn’t today’s classroom drama been entirely—from her perspective—Rhiannon’s fault?
Normally, people would have agreed with her.
Why was everyone suddenly acting like this?
“What did I do? Rhiannon started it!”
“You never shut up in the first place. Can we just stop hearing about her? It’s annoying.”
With that, the boy walked away.
The other students heading to the next class glanced at Alecto before simply walking past her.
Left behind, Alecto frantically searched for someone—anyone—who would join her in condemning this absurdity.
Not a single gaze held warmth for her.
