Chapter 70
Despite the anxiety about the kingdom's future, the pressure of guarding Felix, and the fear of meeting someone from Minerva, Monica visited Lana's room with all of that weighing on her heart, and now...
Lana had her cinched into a corset.
"Ughhhhh, it hurts!"
"Come on, Monica! Breathe out—fwooo!"
"Ughhhh..."
"Not 'ughhhh'—fwooo!"
Having moved behind Monica, Lana pulled the corset laces tight and quickly tied them off.
"It might be painful at first, but you'll get used to it soon... Actually, this is an extremely light one. The one for a ball is much more intense."
Apparently, ball corsets even had framework built in to puff out the skirts, making them even heavier than this one.
As Monica learned firsthand just how hard the ladies of high society worked behind its glittering façade, she put her uniform on over the corset.
Apparently, Lana had called Monica over to lend her the corset. Today, she was also going to do Monica's makeup as practice for the ball.
Lana seated Monica before the vanity, called for her lady's maid, and had her lay out the cosmetics. Then, with practiced movements, she spread a thin layer of foundation over Monica's face.
"For an evening party, I'd do makeup to make you look glamorous, but I'll keep it light today. Since it's a chess tournament, looking a little more intellectual would be better, wouldn't it?"
With that, Lana instructed the lady's maid to sweep Monica's bangs slightly to one side.
"Let's show a little more of your forehead. You always wear your bangs down and keep your head lowered, Monica, so just showing your face will change your whole impression."
Did she really need to change her appearance just to enter a chess tournament?
When Monica looked perplexed, Lana murmured,
"...I'm not going to pry, but..."
"Huh?"
"You might be going to see someone you don't want to meet... at today's chess tournament."
Monica stiffened in alarm.
Lana was right. It wasn't certain that anyone Monica knew from Minerva would be coming, but simply being "someone from Minerva" was enough to make her anxious.
When Monica fell silent, Lana said as she patted powder onto her cheeks,
"If you put on makeup and change your hairstyle, your impression will change a lot. If you're lucky, you might even be able to disguise yourself if you run into someone you don't want to see."
"...!"
For Monica, who always thought only of pulling up her hood, lowering her head, and hiding her face whenever she did not want people to notice her existence, Lana's words were a revelation.
"My father says a person's first impression is determined almost entirely by their posture and expression. Whether someone is beautiful or plain usually comes second."
This time, the corset seemed to be meant more to correct her posture than to shape her figure. It was true that whenever she hunched over, the corset dug into her body, forcing her to straighten her back whether she liked it or not.
Lana continued applying makeup to brighten Monica's complexion.
She concealed the pallor and dark circles under Monica's eyes with powder, added a light blush to her cheeks, and applied beeswax cream to her chapped lips to give them a sheen before adding a touch of red to make them look healthy. She even tidied up the eyebrows Monica had never groomed.
"There! All done!"
Reflected in the mirror was a healthy-looking seventeen-year-old girl.
The makeup had not transformed her into a breathtaking beauty who would make everyone turn their heads. The girl in the mirror had a plain face, with round eyes, a flat nose, and a small mouth.
Even so, no one looking at Monica now would mistake her for a child in her early teens.
More than anything else, Monica, whose complexion usually looked so unhealthy, now looked somehow bright and healthy. That alone was quite a shock.
"W-wow... I... I look seventeen...!"
"...That's your first reaction?"
"I look... really healthy..."
"So you were aware you looked unhealthy? Improve your diet and sleep."
Lana sounded exasperated, but she seemed pleased with how Monica's makeup had turned out.
Lana gave a smug little snort through her nose and instructed the lady's maid, "Bring me that." What was "that"? Monica already looked wonderful enough as it was!
As Monica admired herself in the mirror, the lady's maid came up behind her carrying an unfamiliar iron implement.
It vaguely resembled a pair of scissors, except that the parts that would have been the blades were rounded tubes. The handles were wooden.
Monica had no idea what it was for, and it looked suspiciously like a torture device... only to see the lady's maid begin heating it over a fire.
"L-Lana... what's that thing that looks like a torture device?"
"A torture device? Honestly... It's a curling iron."
"A-a branding iron?"
When she thought of a tool heated over a fire, Monica imagined the branding irons used to mark livestock.
As Monica trembled at the thought that Lana might press it against her skin, Lana gave her a half-lidded look.
"...I don't know what you're imagining, but this is used to curl hair."
"Curl... hair?"
Monica knew nothing of the custom of curling hair, so all she could do was stare blankly.
Lana picked up a comb and turned to Monica's hair.
"Now the real work begins. From this point on, don't move your head at all, Monica."
＊ ＊ ＊
On the morning of the chess tournament, the student council members were ordered to assemble a little early to prepare to welcome the students from the other schools.
When Monica entered the designated reception room, the other student council members saw her and their expressions changed all at once.
Every one of them was staring at the Monica who looked so different from usual.
It was not that they were thinking, "Ah, this beautiful girl must be some princess!"
"Miss Norton looks seventeen."
Elliot's muttered words said it all.
Some people might have taken offense at the remark, but Monica's eyes sparkled as she nodded emphatically.
"D-do I look seventeen?"
"Whoa, you look different. What's with the makeup and hairstyle?"
"A-a friend did it for me... Do I look seventeen?"
"Yeah, you do."
Monica basked in the feeling brought on by Elliot's offhand reply.
To Monica, who was always told she had a child's figure and a baby face, "You look your age" was the highest praise imaginable.
Monica's posture was being corrected by the corset, her complexion brightened by makeup, and her light-brown hair had been curled slightly at the ends and pinned up. The ribbon in her hair was the same one she always wore, so her outfit was not particularly flashy, but simply curling her hair had changed her impression considerably.
Monica now looked like an ordinary, healthy seventeen-year-old girl, the sort one could find anywhere. Tragically, her usual unhealthy appearance was so extreme that even this was enough to astonish everyone around her.
Cyril Ashley, for his part, stared at her in stunned silence, then said,
"So that's what you look like."
It was an exceptionally rude thing to mutter.
Monica usually kept her head lowered, with her eyes often hidden, so perhaps he identified her solely by the traits of "a petite, scrawny girl with light-brown hair."
Neil straightforwardly praised her with a "Wow, you look lovely!" while even Bridget, who was usually harsh with Monica, limited herself to commenting, "You should do that much every day."
As Monica happily savored the moment with a little giggle, Felix, who had somehow come to stand in front of her, took a lock of her hair and pressed his lips to it.
"You look absolutely lovely. You're cute every day, but today you look especially charming. The beauty of a tightly closed bud finally blooming would make even a butterfly want to rest its wings."
Monica's thoughts stopped for several seconds.
Monica was unaccustomed to this sort of expression, and it took her a painfully long time to understand anything phrased poetically or in literary terms.
So Monica decided to ask him directly.
"...D-do I look seventeen?"
"Yes, you do."
"~~~~!"
As Monica's lips quivered with delight, Felix murmured, "Oh, so that's what makes you happier."
Monica was not particularly interested in fashion. It would be more accurate to say she had been indifferent to it. For Monica, who shut herself away in a mountain cabin without seeing anyone, fashion had been unnecessary.
But after coming to Serendia Academy and learning how to braid hair from Lana, Monica's attitude had begun to change, if only a little. At least, she had changed enough to care when Claudia called her "child-sized."
"It is nearly time. Please put an end to your horseplay, Your Highness."
Bridget glanced at the clock as she spoke.
Felix reluctantly withdrew his hand from Monica's hair and gave the student council members their instructions.
"Then let us go greet the students from the 'Institute' and 'Minerva.'"
The name of the school she had once attended sobered Monica, who had been in high spirits until then.
(It's all right, it's all right... If I keep my posture straight and carry myself with confidence, no one should recognize me unless something truly extraordinary happens.)
＊ ＊ ＊
'Bernie, Bernie, what are those people doing?'
'That's chess. A board game, in other words... a pastime for idle people.'
Bernie watched the members of the chess club from a distance and snorted derisively.
'Coming to Minerva to study magic and starting a chess club is absurd. Since you're at the pinnacle of mage-training institutions, you ought to devote yourself to taking magical research to its limits.'
Bernie had said things like that back when Monica was still at Minerva.
That was why, somewhere in her heart, Monica had assumed that Bernie surely did not play chess.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Bernie Jones, representative of the Minerva Chess Club."
When Monica saw the bespectacled young man shaking Felix's hand, she lost the power of speech.
He was taller than she remembered, and his voice had grown deeper—but there was no way she could mistake him.
(Why... why...?)
At the head of the students from Minerva stood the man who had once been Monica's best friend.
(...Why... Bernie...?!)