debute

Learning etiquette, history, and magic isn't a big deal for me right now—I carry the memories of two lives.

What truly occupied my mind was my sister Dia's upcoming social debut.

In my past life, her debut went well, but I still remember how the Marchioness Yseldra of Darnwyn belittled our preparations. She remarked coldly, "Looks like the county's wealth is dwindling."

Dia had worn the dress our mother gave her. It was beautiful, no doubt, but they mocked it as old-fashioned.

This time, I decided—I won't let that happen again.

We began the debut preparations with care. I personally helped with the tea arrangements. The cookies were delicate—buttery vanilla bites shaped like flowers, filled with jam at the center, alongside crispy almond crisps and soft chocolate swirls dusted with gold powder. Everything had to be perfect.

A few days later, Mother called Dia. I knew what it was about—the dress.

I accompanied her to Mother's room.

Mother had even prepared snacks for us—sweet fig rolls and warm apple tarts with cinnamon.

Then she brought out the dress.

It was stunning—made of ivory silk with pale pink embroidery along the sleeves and hem. Pearls shimmered like dew across the neckline, and delicate lace trailed down like whispers of moonlight.

Dia jumped with joy, twirling with the dress against her chest.

I smiled and said, "It's very pretty, no doubt… but if we add a touch of shimmer at the waist and maybe a rose-pink ribbon at the back, it would look even more glamorous."

Mother turned to me, surprised. In my past life, I never paid much attention to dresses or jewelry.

And then… the day of Dia's debut arrived.

Everything had been carefully prepared. Every ribbon, every petal, every plate had been arranged to reflect the grace of House Vellore.

The great hall shimmered under the golden chandeliers. Crystal vases filled with fresh peonies and moon lilies lined the sides of the room. Silken drapes in rose and ivory fluttered with the summer breeze, and a soft quartet played in the background. Just beyond the open arches, the garden had been transformed into a dream—paper lanterns floated in the air like tiny stars, and hedges were trimmed into elegant shapes of swans and butterflies. A floral archway stood in the center, under which Dia would be presented.

I wore a soft lavender dress, perfect for a twelve-year-old noble girl—modest but graceful. It had puffed sleeves, silver thread embroidery on the collar, and a sash tied neatly at the back. My hair was braided with tiny white blooms.

I stood behind the door, peeking quietly at the arriving guests.

One of the first to arrive was the Duchess Elenora of East Lysmere, a close friend of my mother. She had a stern face, lined with wisdom, and carried herself with regal precision. But when she greeted Mother and Dia, her eyes softened. She held Dia's hand warmly and said, "You've grown into a fine young lady, just like your mother."

Other guests followed—lords and ladies with jewels glittering, their children in tow, eyes curious and whispering about Dia.

And then she arrived.

Marchioness Yseldra of Darnwyn.

Her gaze swept across the hall like frost. Dressed in dark wine velvet, her lips curled slightly in amusement as she looked at the arrangements. Her eyes lingered on Dia's dress, and though she said nothing, her expression spoke volumes—judgment, superiority, and that old scorn I remembered too well.

But this time… things were different.My sister was escorted into the hall by Father, proudly holding her hand.

I walked beside them, poised and steady, while my little brother followed with Mother, who stood as Dia's chaperone for the evening. The music shifted to a soft ceremonial tune as Dia took her first steps into high society.

She looked radiant—her dress, now enhanced with the delicate embellishments I had suggested, shimmered under the warm lights. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of nervousness and joy, and her smile was like the first bloom of spring.

Everything went smoothly.

Guests whispered in admiration, nobles offered polite greetings, and Dia responded with perfect grace—curtsies, soft thank-yous, and charming smiles. Even Mother looked surprised and proud at how composed she was.

Then, like a shadow gliding in, Marchioness Yseldra spoke.

"Well," she said with that ever-sneering smile, "it seems the County's wealth is showing... quite modestly these days."

The room grew quiet.

But before I could step forward, a firm voice answered.

"I don't find any mistake, Marchioness," said Duchess Elenora, cool and unwavering. "Will you please elaborate on what exactly you mean?"

Yseldra's lips twitched.

She hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. "Oh—just joking, of course. No offense meant."

But the silence that followed made it clear she had lost the room.

Dia, unaware of the storm she had just weathered, continued to shine under the lights.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of justice.

++++++++

After Dia's successful debut, the manor slowly returned to its calm.

The chatter faded, the guests left with pleasant memories, and the scent of tea and fresh pastries was replaced by parchment and ink.

Now, it was my turn.

I, Jia de Vellore, began preparing for the Royal Academy entrance exam.

Etiquette, history, and even magic weren't overwhelming for someone with memories from two lifetimes. What others found difficult, I found... nostalgic. The challenge wasn't in learning—it was in pretending I didn't already know.

Every morning, I sat at my study table, quill in hand, sunlight pouring over my notes. The halls once filled with music now echoed only the sound of turning pages.

The Royal Academy wasn't a mere school—it was a battlefield of intellect, lineage, and power. Only the best were chosen. And I intended to stand at the top.