"And yet—what *are* you doing here?"
"I told you. This was my training ground."
"Then you came out to train?"
"No. To walk."
Marin tilted her head in bewilderment.
*Am I the only one who feels something is strangely off about this conversation?*
"Strolling... around a fencing arena? Why?"
"Must I explain every trivial thing to you?"
*Ah. There it is. The caustic Duke has returned.*
"No. There's no need." Marin turned to leave. "Then enjoy your walk. I'll be going."
His cold voice reached her from behind.
"Where to?"
"To my room."
The Duke clearly had something on his mind. At times like these, the wisest course was retreat.
"You run away the moment I arrive?"
"It's not *running away*—it's just that there's no mentor here, so—" Marin stumbled over her words, trying not to provoke him further.
"I'll give you instruction. Take your stance."
*How is he going to instruct me if he can't see?*
The question burned on her tongue. But the Duke looked distinctly irritated, and contradicting him seemed unwise.
She picked up her wooden sword and assumed her stance.
His cane lifted the back of her hand—just slightly. Her grip immediately felt stronger.
Then the cane pressed against her heel, turning her foot a fraction inward. Her thighs tensed, her balance shifted.
"Try it."
"Yes."
She swung the sword.
Her legs held far more securely than before. The strike itself landed with greater force—sharper, more controlled.
Marin stared at the Duke with open admiration.
"How do you *do* that?"
She swallowed the unspoken words: *without seeing.*
At her animated voice, the hard line of his mouth softened slightly.
"When you live your whole life with a sword."
"Wow... then from now on, for the rest of my life—"
"Of course, assuming you have talent."
*Tsk. I knew it. How are talentless people supposed to survive?*
"From now on, when the butler cannot teach you—I will."
"I'm sorry?"
"Isn't it better to learn from the Commander-in-Chief of the West than from a court knight?"
*Rather, it's terrifying to learn from such a great man.*
She swallowed that phrase too.
Something told her that if she refused, his already prickly mood would sharpen further.
"Yes. It would be an honor."
The answer seemed correct—a satisfied smile touched his lips.
---
## — The Morning of the Reception —
"Miss, it's time to wake up."
Yulia gently shook Marin's shoulder.
Marin pried her eyes open and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.
*Where am I?*
*Oh—right. We moved to the main building for the reception.*
"Young lady."
"Mm-hmm... I'm up. Just a minute."
"A minute won't be enough."
From the earliest dawn, Yulia had Marin sitting upright before she was fully conscious.
*Her brother has talent for fencing, and Yulia apparently has the strength of a bear.*
"Yulia... you weren't like this before..."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, no. I'm getting up."
"I've heated the bath and sprinkled it with rose petals."
"Rose petals?"
"Would you prefer different flowers?"
"No, no. Roses are fine."
*Bathing in petals at dawn. Now this is luxury.*
And then—more than ever before—she truly felt it.
*Today is the day.*
"I'll check the water temperature. Please get out of bed, young lady."
"Alright, alright."
The moment Yulia left the room, Marin collapsed back onto the mattress.
*The engagement, then...*
Even though it was fictitious, this was the beginning of the biggest event of her life.
"Miss!"
Yulia returned almost instantly and physically dragged Marin from the bed.
She and the other maids scrubbed Marin from head to toe, then rubbed fragrant oils into her skin. A thick floral scent clung to her body.
Before she could even return to her room, Idre and Juri swept in.
"Good morning, Lady Marin." Idre pulled on white gloves like a surgeon preparing for an operation. Her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "Let's begin."
Behind her, Juri carefully lifted the packaged dress—ivory silk that seemed to glow.
The bodice was covered in the finest lace from the neckline to the bust. The softly billowing, shimmering skirt perfectly offset Marin's petite figure while maintaining an air of opulence.
"Young lady—you are *so* beautiful!"
Yulia clasped her hands together, gazing at Marin in wonder.
Marin looked at the full-length mirror and nodded slowly.
*They say clothes are wings.*
And these suited her very well.
"Now for the makeup."
While Idre arranged her cosmetics, Juri draped a white silk cape over Marin's shoulders to protect the gown.
Marin didn't dare sit—afraid of wrinkling the dress—and closed her eyes completely.
*Please let this end soon.*
Her hair was pulled this way and that. Layer after layer of *something* was applied to her face.
"Finished."
At Idre's satisfied voice, sleepy Marin slowly opened her eyes.
Her hand automatically reached up to rub them—but Idre caught her wrist.
"My lady, you *cannot* do that."
"Oh—sorry."
She had already forgotten what they'd been doing.
Marin lowered her hand quickly and smiled with guilty embarrassment.
"Now look at yourself."
"Yes."
Idre stepped aside.
Marin gasped.
Fair, milky-white skin. Delicate makeup that somehow *deepened* her eyes—those clear pale green irises now luminous as young leaves catching sunlight. Full, softly pink lips.
A thick braid thrown naturally over one shoulder, gleaming silver as though dusted with tiny sparks.
"Who...?"
The tall, thin girl she knew had vanished.
A radiant beauty stood in her place.
"Pff-ha-ha! You and your jokes."
Idre laughed with satisfaction and opened a velvet box.
An iridescent necklace bearing a teardrop-shaped aquamarine was placed around Marin's neck. Earrings followed—long silver chains descending from matching stones.
The transformation was complete.
"Young lady..." Yulia's voice trembled. She pressed her hands together and actually shed tears. "You are simply *amazing.*"
"Thank you."
Marin turned to Idre, who was admiring her creation like an artist before a masterpiece.
"Madam Designer—thank you so much. For the dress and the makeup both."
"I will be the future Duchess's personal designer... won't I?"
Idre voiced her dream with careful hope.
Marin smiled warmly.
*And she truly will become the personal designer to the Duchess—a good friend to the heroine, whom I have yet to meet.*
When Marin nodded, Idre seized her hand, eyes glistening.
"Truly?"
"Yes. That's how it will be."
"Lady Marin—I'm counting on you."
Marin couldn't find the right words. She simply smiled.
"Miss, shall we go down?"
Yulia prompted gently.
Marin nodded.
"Let's go. Madam Designer—thank you. I'll see you at the reception."
"Yes."
Taking Yulia's hand, Marin left the room. They walked a short distance before she asked anxiously:
"How is my mother? Does she have a cold?"
"It seems she won't be attending the reception." Yulia's voice was soft. "She's very upset about it."
"She must have overexerted herself helping with the preparations."
Marin regretted asking Roenna to assist. She was already overwhelmed herself, but Roenna had thrown herself into the work with enthusiasm.
Since arriving at the Duke's castle, her mother's health had noticeably improved—but she remained naturally frail. She should have been recovered by now. Instead, having pushed herself too hard, she had developed a fever the day before the reception and couldn't rise from bed.
"The Viscountess was so delighted to help prepare for your reception, young lady."
Though young, Yulia spoke with the wisdom of someone far older.
"Thank you, Yulia."
"Please—take it back. I didn't do anything."
Yulia waved her hands in embarrassment. Marin reached out and gently stroked her head.
*Such a kind heart.*
"Shall we go?"
"Yes."