Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 9: The Ballroom

Morning arrived.

On days like this, breakfast was skipped.

Tightening a corset sometimes led to vomiting, after all.

How enviable it was to see those heroines who could simply wear their dresses and go. It was enough to drive me mad.

I guess I was slightly better off, though.

Commoners, unable to afford expensive corsets for balls, supposedly wore ones made of steel wire.

Fortunately, mine was made from whale bones.

Apparently, it was supposed to bring good fortune in marriage or something.

Not that I needed it—my body was already so skinny that wearing one wasn’t necessary.

Perhaps if I were like Mother or Ellie, with a bit more flesh, it would make sense. But forcing something like this on someone as thin as me? That was purely out of spite.

Of course, saying that out loud would only earn me a lecture about being ungrateful after being given something so expensive.

If I tried to explain myself, they’d twist it into nonsense about wanting me to appear more attractive to men.

No matter what they said, I knew it would leave me feeling worse, so I kept my mouth shut.

Avoiding unpleasant thoughts and running from them had become second nature.

“…Urgh.”

The corset strings were pulled tight.

It was suffocating, but not unbearable.

At least this time, they hadn’t lashed my back. Perhaps because of the ball, they’d decided to spare me today.

“All done, Miss Emily. It’s Ellie’s turn next—please tell her to come up.”

“You tell her yourself.”

I held my tightly bound waist as I left the room.

Once out of sight, I straightened my back and walked with proper posture.

The people in this household were no different from strangers to me, after all.

Instead of my wardrobe, I entered the large dressing room.

There was no way to wear these kinds of dresses alone.

After some struggling and a few pairs of helping hands, I was dressed and ready to leave the estate.

At the main gate, Mother was waiting for me, holding an elegant fan.

“Emily, get in the carriage first.”

I nodded silently and climbed into the carriage.

The seat felt strange.

The cushion was frayed, and pressing down on it revealed a slight wobble.

This kind of seat was bound to make me nauseous during the ride.

I sighed and sat down, having little choice.

I’d already gotten in, and refusing to go first wasn’t an option.

Usually, Ellie was dressed first, so there must have been a reason they put me in the corset first today.

Eventually, Ellie and then Mother entered the carriage, and the door shut behind them.

With a whistle from the coachman and the crack of a whip, the carriage began to move forward.

At the same time, the unsteady seat began to shake slightly.

I felt nauseous but forced myself to endure it, keeping my back straight and posture upright.

As I tried to suppress my coughing and queasiness, Ellie spoke up beside me.

“Now that I think about it, how is it that you’re three years older than me, yet your chest is so small?”

Because, unlike you, I didn’t grow up eating well.

Because, unlike you, I grew up getting beaten every day.

Maybe Mother smashed my growth plates shut.

Do breasts even have growth plates? Maybe not.

Because, unlike you, I grew up under constant stress.

Because, unlike you, I feel like I have another person living in my head.

But no proper response came out.

The confined space, combined with the nausea and the ever-present pain, pressed down on me like a weight.

“…I don’t know.”

“You even know less than I do! Shouldn’t you at least study a little?

Daniel said all you do is lock yourself in your room and write weird stuff.”

“Who knows.”

“Emily, answer your sister properly. Are you looking down on me because I’m younger than you?”

“…Maybe it’s because my thighs are covered in bruises, and I don’t have time to think about that sort of thing.”

Unlike last night, her reaction wasn’t one of shock, but she didn’t respond either.

Thankfully, Ellie’s rambling bought me silence for the rest of the trip.

Eventually, we arrived at the venue for the ball.

Balls typically began around the evening, but arriving early was customary.

The reason was simple: to greet various people, make appearances, and engage in light socializing.

None of it mattered to me.

Sitting with women whose names I wouldn’t remember, sipping tea, and making small talk—this was the routine.

When they asked how I managed without knowing their names, I’d just observe carefully until someone mentioned it.

Until then, I’d use vague terms like “you” or speak without needing to address anyone directly.

Laugh politely, exchange meaningless pleasantries, sip tea, comment on its aroma with a stock reply, gossip about men, and by the time the sun begins to set, walk into the ballroom.

A bit later, the music—a clumsy waltz to my ears—would begin, and everyone would start dancing.

As I sipped tea and half-listened to the chatter, a freckled woman, whom I suspected disliked me, struck up a conversation.

“Did you hear? Ernst apparently accepted a dance invitation from that brazen woman. Isn’t it absurd?

How could a woman approach a man to ask for a dance? So indecent.

And Ernst accepted it—what was he thinking?”

That’s right, of course, truly, I see, indeed—affirmations flowed effortlessly in the conversation.

What was I supposed to do?

She was saying it for me to hear, for me to feel bad. But I didn’t feel like responding.

“By the way, Emily, just between us, hasn’t it been years since you and Ernst last danced together?”

“It has been, hasn’t it?”

“…Could it be that his affection for you has cooled?”

“Oh, was it that his mother was a commoner?

Ah, well, even high-class prostitutes are still technically commoners.”

“What did you just say…?”

“If you find it amusing to see a fool with money clawing at a bloodline-obsessed idiot, you might want to keep quiet and just drink your tea. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

The others gave small nods in agreement.

I still couldn’t remember her name.

The woman’s face flushed red as tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped them quickly before running off somewhere.

It wasn’t as if she could argue—it was all true, after all.

And love? Affection?

She probably thought that if someone like Ernst could end up with a “bold” woman, then she had a chance too.

Her mother had been a mere prostitute who lucked out by marrying well, so she likely filled her daughter’s head with the same lofty fantasies.

Still, wasn’t her dream a little too grand?

Ernst, at least, seemed the type to steer clear of someone who couldn’t even properly provoke others.

The rest of the group carried on as if nothing had happened, shifting to new topics of conversation.

This wasn’t unusual.

As long as no one resorted to physical violence or left visible injuries, verbal sparring was considered par for the course.

After all, this was a gathering of women seeking suitable matches.

If the atmosphere wasn’t sharp, that would be strange in its own way.

Casual insults were expected—at least for those with enough social standing to back them up.

Even when things escalated, most disputes would blow over with forced laughter and polite words after some time.

Except, of course, when it came to low-born women running their mouths about “bloodlines.”

That was why I didn’t bother remembering their names.

There was no point in growing closer to them or trying to understand them. It would only expose my own weaknesses.

Sure, it would give me more ammunition to hurt them, but who had the energy for that?

Eventually, the light social gathering drew to a close as the sun began to set, and people began gathering in the ballroom for the evening event.

Why the ball was being held didn’t interest me.

Perhaps some noble had a child, or a royal family member was celebrating a birthday. 

Maybe it was the birthday of some high-ranking noble who enjoyed lording over the emperor himself.

There was no need to remember such things.

All I needed to do was approach the guest of honor, offer the usual empty congratulations, and spend the rest of the time idling in a corner until Mother came to fetch me.

The guest of honor—a nameless, handsome figure—stepped slowly into the center of the ballroom and began receiving congratulations from everyone.

I caught their name in passing and quickly moved to a secluded spot, where I tried to catch my breath.

Soon, the clumsy strains of a waltz filled the air.

It made me wonder: would it take something as drastic as nobles losing their heads to finally hear a decent waltz?

If sacrificing the necks of the high and mighty could bring us better music, that didn’t seem like such a bad bargain.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hm? Reflecting on music. This piece isn’t to my taste.”

“Well, you always did prefer older dance tunes.”

By “older dance tunes,” he meant polkas.

They were all borrowed from what I once knew as modern music.

Waltzes, polkas—they were ancient here but not back there. Sometimes the distinctions blurred in my mind.

It didn’t happen as often these days, given how long I’d been living here, but it still caught me off guard now and then.

“Ernst.”

“What?”

“Go tend to that young lady. I’m fine here.”

“…I came all this way just to see you, and now you’re sending me away?”

“It’s not as if I’m chasing you out—it’s just a corner. Stay if you like.

But if you stick around, people will gather, and I’ll have to leave.”

Ernst looked slightly sulky but eventually wandered off, presumably to find the woman.

I didn’t understand why he insisted on being near me. No good could come of it.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the ball.

But I didn’t feel like being swept up in the atmosphere.

From the second or maybe third floor, Mother—who was supposed to be watching over Ellie and me—began making her way toward me.

I didn’t bother trying to avoid her.

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