Chapter 75

“What? You’re out of ribbons?”

The young maid looked devastated. The owner of the fabric shop clucked her tongue in sympathy.

“Not a single one left.”

“It doesn’t have to be this exact color, ma’am. As long as it’s a blue ribbon…”

“Blue, red—doesn’t matter. Not a single thing that even looks like a ribbon is left. Happens every year this time. Once graduation ball season hits, everything’s gone!”

The maid was in despair. What was she supposed to tell her lady when she returned?

“But… but the graduation ball is still a whole month away!”

“It’s only a month away, dear. It’s the same everywhere. The entire city of Carten’s been cleaned out. Why not try that new shop by the station?”

“They’re way too expensive…”

But what choice did she have when this place had nothing?

“…Goodbye…”

The maid left the fabric shop with heavy steps.

Throughout the spring-lit streets of Carten, other servants with just as gloomy expressions spilled out of shoe stores, jewelers, and cosmetic shops, as if by silent agreement.

Saying someone had ordered their graduation ball outfit all the way from the capital wasn’t even considered a boast anymore.

Every student aged 17 to 19 eligible to attend had been talking about nothing but the graduation ball—starting over a month ago. Some even started preparing right after enrolling.

‘And it’s no wonder.’

The Noble Academy graduation ball was a social debut in and of itself. All the “important” people of high society met at the Academy, and every reputation “worth mentioning” also began there.

What was she going to do about her lady’s ribbon? The maid was lost in thought when she accidentally bumped into someone.

“Ah!”

Though it wasn’t a full-on collision, she let out a startled gasp. The person she had bumped into also looked surprised.

“Watch where you’re going.”

The woman she had bumped into was elegantly dressed. The frightened maid quickly bowed her head.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am!”

“Ma’am? Hardly. It’s fine, dear. Looks like we’re in the same boat.”

Same boat? Only then did the maid realize—if she really were a high-ranking lady, there’s no way she’d be out and about without a carriage or attendants.

Her clothes were fancy, but she had no carriage, no escort. A woman in service to a noble. That meant the woman’s status could be guessed: likely a favored maid of a wealthy household.

“Betty.”

A calm voice called out from somewhere. The maid didn’t immediately understand why, in the middle of this bustling street, that name alone rang out so clearly.

The well-dressed woman turned around and responded in a surprised voice.

“Miss Nerys.”

“It is you, Betty. Running an errand for Diane?”

Ah. The maid realized—it wasn’t the word “Betty,” the unfamiliar woman’s name, that had grabbed her attention.

What caught her ear was—

‘Such a clear voice…’

A voice cool and beautiful like marble, with perfect pronunciation.

Drawn in as if hypnotized, the maid’s gaze followed the girl who had approached and greeted “Betty.”

Her own lady constantly longed to imitate the upper-class accent this girl had. It was soft like a whisper but so crisp you couldn’t miss a single word.

The girl’s golden hair shone brightly, tied back with a green velvet ribbon.

And when the maid saw her noble, violet eyes—eyes that sparkled among her delicate and symmetrical features—she instantly knew who she was.

Nerys Truydd.

Stories of her, said to have never missed first place since enrollment, were legendary among the lesser nobility.

Even the maid’s own lady would sometimes speak her name with admiration—or jealousy.

She was about to turn eighteen soon. Many watched closely to see what this famous girl would become.

Her father might be of humble origin, but wasn’t her maternal family descended from one of the three legendary heroes, the famed Elandria?

It was said that Nerys was so cherished by her mother’s family that despite their different surnames, the Elandria siblings had invited her to host a high-ranking noble party in their dormitory when she was only thirteen.

If nothing went awry, with the backing of her family, she was sure to rise far above her original status.

The young maid didn’t fully understand noble society, but word of such things traveled among the servants of Academy students.

Then, those rare Tyrian purple eyes—seen only in those of the highest bloodlines—suddenly landed on the maid.

Feeling as though she was being seen through, the maid hurriedly backed away. She needed to get back to work—quickly!

* * *

“It is you, Betty. Running an errand for Diane?”

Nerys greeted her with a warm smile.

That gentle lift at the corners of her lips looked like something painted by a court artist—so perfect, it seemed a masterpiece had come to life.

As always, Betty was struck by awe standing before Miss Nerys.

This young lady, exceptional from the beginning, had only grown more beautiful with age.

What had been neat features in childhood now glowed with the clarity of a polished jewel. Her calm demeanor made her seem less a student and more like a lady who had governed a vast estate for years.

When she raised her transparent, deep amethyst-like eyes, those who met her gaze couldn’t help but feel small.

And, like her willing slaves, they fell into the illusion that they must obey whatever command she gave.

Nerys had always been slightly petite compared to her peers—and she still was.

Yet her ever-composed and upright posture made her delicate figure seem all the more dignified.

‘If only her father had a little more standing. A noble girl shouldn’t have to come out into this bustling city herself.’

No… even if only her mother had been alive.

It had been around three years ago. Back when Miss Nerys was smaller—much younger. Betty still remembered the terrible news that had flown to the Academy.

Nerys’s mother, who had continued to serve Countess Ferrisher after winning her favor, was killed by bandits on the road back to Rohez Village.

When the news came, Diane screamed, and Nerys shed tears in front of the knight who had come to deliver it—one of the vassals of Sir Wilmot, the lord of her hometown, Rohez.

How could she have closed her eyes and left behind such a kind and young daughter? Even now, Betty’s heart ached at the thought. (T/N: Wait whattttt?!!!!)

Since then, Miss Nerys had continued to spend winters at the MacKinnon estate as always, but in the summers, she either remained at school or went to work or study at places recommended by the teachers.

It seemed that Countess Ferrisher still wrote from time to time, saying she couldn’t help but worry about Nerys. Thank goodness she at least had a scholarship.

Even through all that hardship, her grades were flawless.

She joined the famously exclusive “Sheridan Division” at just fifteen, the youngest in its history, and just last summer, she accompanied Sir Voltaire to a scholarly conference in the capital.

‘If only Miss Diane would learn a thing or two from her…’

Oh no, how could she drift off like that in front of someone? Betty quickly shook off her thoughts and asked kindly,

“What brings you out today, miss? If you need anything, just let me know. You’re coming to dinner tonight anyway, right? If there’s anything you need, I can pick it up and bring it then.”

The friendship between Diane MacKinnon and Nerys Truydd was still going strong. No—in fact, “going strong” didn’t quite do it justice.

Since the removal of Shivna and the MacKinnon patriarch, who had tried to harm Diane, the MacKinnon Trading Company had grown more prosperous than ever. Naturally, more noble children began to seek Diane’s favor.

Diane didn’t push them away—but she also didn’t welcome them any more than basic courtesy demanded. She hadn’t forgotten how they used to treat her.

Meanwhile, the time Diane and Nerys spent together only increased.

While most noble girls preferred to eat leisurely in their dorms rather than the student dining hall, Diane ate there with Nerys more than twice a day.

Today was one of those days when the two girls, weary of dining hall food, would enjoy a “Betty-style” dinner.

Having learned the recipe for Diane’s favorite dish from the MacKinnon estate’s head chef, Peony, Betty always treated these days as her personal mission to cook something extraordinary.

“I’m not out shopping. I have somewhere to go.”

“Oh, I see.”

Betty couldn’t stop the busy Nerys. They exchanged goodbyes and parted ways. The young maid who had bumped into Betty earlier had already long gone on her way.

After walking about half a block away from Betty, Nerys glanced back. No one was watching her.

Good. She stepped into a nearby copyist’s office.

That cramped shop filled with paper and old inkwells not only helped those who couldn’t read or write properly, but also handled incoming letters from other regions—or sent letters from locals to other areas.

In Carten, where post offices were still only rumors, the existence of such services was a blessing. After all, not everyone had attendants.

Thanks to that, the copyist’s office was always busy—and no one ever questioned Nerys’s excuse that she “occasionally helped edit others’ poorly written letters.”

The small, spectacled shopkeeper greeted her warmly.

“Welcome, miss. I just got a job for you. From that same lady as always.”

“Really? That’s perfect.”

She’d been expecting it, but she answered that way anyway. The shopkeeper didn’t know anything, after all.

He pulled a letter from an old brown drawer.

“This one.”

“Thank you.”

The envelope he handed over had a surprising heft. Nerys gave a graceful nod and entered the worn, private room off to the side of the shop.

So crammed with desks and paper that only one person could barely fit, the room’s very nature made it ideal—there was no risk of being seen.

Once inside, Nerys shut the door and broke the wax seal, opening the envelope. Several letters and just as many bills of exchange slipped out.

Looks like Joan’s business is doing well. Nerys smiled at the sight of the banknotes.

If the shopkeeper had seen the amount written on those bills—while believing she was just busy ghostwriting letters for an elderly noblewoman—he would’ve been left speechless.

Together, the money was enough to buy five of Carten’s most lucrative copyist shops.

“Really, a businessperson should’ve kept more liquid reserves.”

Nerys grumbled softly, though she didn’t truly believe that Joan Morier had sent her all the spare funds from the Morier Company.

By now, half the Sedona valley had turned into fields growing stitchwort, and every herb harvested there was being sold across the nation—and even the entire continent—through Joan’s Morier Trading Company.

In markets where demand still lagged, they even partnered with the MacKinnon Trading Company to expand.

The remaining native stitchwort in Kinea Village was inferior in potency compared to Morier’s stock. Which meant Nerys’s product was in a fully monopolized market.

It was a massive success. Older nobles couldn’t even get their hands on it due to limited stock. Joan had become immensely wealthy overnight and had even begun branching out beyond pharmaceuticals. Money needed to move to grow, after all.

The grand luxury shop recently opened right in front of Carten Station also belonged to the Morier Company.

So what if Joan sent her this kind of money? It didn’t matter.

Especially since the true owner of the Morier Company was none other than the golden-haired girl now sitting in this tiny copyist’s office.

Smiling, Nerys picked up a quill from the desk. She chose one of the bills to send to her mother as an allowance and began writing a letter.

(T/N: Huhhhhh? Wait, so we are getting a time-skip! Yay! Looks like academy arc is finally over. This is getting exciting!)