Once the debutante rehearsal was decided, Yuria became terribly busy.
She began taking lessons from an instructor who had visited the household a few times before.
The main content was things like table manners and simple etiquette.
That was about all there was to it, but even that seemed to be quite a struggle for Yuria.
A child who had never once shown much emotion had spent the last several days coming back to her bedroom completely worn out, collapsing into sleep before she even knew it.
"My, you've gotten quite used to this now. You do learn quickly, don't you?"
But thanks to all that effort, it seemed she'd reached a level worthy of praise from her instructor.
Watching the woman clap beside her, praising Yuria, I found myself puffing up with pride for no reason at all.
Yes.
Our girl's pretty smart.
Is this how all fathers end up doting fools?
She wasn't a daughter born of my own blood, not even a foster daughter, and yet I felt this swelling sense of fulfillment.
"At this point, I think the lessons can conclude. You've worked very hard these past few days, Miss Yuria."
"Yeah, Yuria worked hard."
Heh.
Praising her own effort with her own mouth—how very Yuria of her.
But since she really had worked hard, it was hard to argue the point.
The female instructor, named Caroline, didn't seem bothered by it either—instead, she showered Yuria with praise, saying she'd truly worked hard.
"If you should ever need lessons in history or general knowledge next time, please do call on me."
"You teach those subjects as well? That's impressive."
"It's basic, really. Well then, I'll be off. I hope to see you again if the opportunity arises."
As the instructor rose from her seat, waving her hand lightly, Yuria waved back at her.
"Bye, Caroline."
"Ahem, Miss Yuria? What did I teach you to say?"
"Goodbye, Miss Caroline."
"Very good."
Oh, she's even picked up polite farewells now.
This old master's about to shed a tear.
"Baal, I'm hungry."
Well, her attitude toward me hasn't changed one bit.
But honestly, I liked that better—it felt more like her, more familiar.
If Yuria suddenly turned to me and said something like, "Master, have you risen from your slumber," I think I'd actually miss this version of her.
"Then shall we go get a light snack? Ah, but there's one thing left before that."
"There's more?"
"Sorry about that."
Yuria asked as if pleading with me to stop, but there was nothing I could do about it.
Because next up was picking out the clothes Yuria would wear the day after tomorrow.
Yuria herself probably wouldn't care much what she wore.
But given the occasion, her attire mattered.
And honestly, I also had my own selfish wish to see Yuria dressed up nicely, properly, for once.
"The lady of the house said she'd pick out something pretty for you, so let's hold on just a bit longer, okay? Wouldn't it be nice to change into a pretty dress and then have a delicious snack afterward?"
"What's a pretty dress?"
"Uh, um…"
Do I have to explain from that far back?
I found myself newly impressed by Lady Caroline, who'd managed to teach this particular child basic manners at all.
"You know, like the clothes Lyriette wears? Lots of decorations, cute and fancy."
"That's a pretty dress?"
"By most people's standards, yes."
"If Yuria wears that, does Yuria get pretty too?"
"Yuria's already plenty pretty as it is, but yes, it means you'd become even prettier."
I emphasized this point, since it was quite important.
It's not that Yuria isn't pretty now, not at all.
It's just that with a cuter, prettier dress, she could show off even more charm.
"If Yuria gets prettier, will Baal not abandon Yuria?"
"…Hm? What do you mean by that?"
"Mm, never mind. Nothing. Okay, I'll try it on then."
"……"
It felt like something rather important had just passed by.
But since Yuria seemed reluctant to say more right now, I decided not to press the matter.
There was plenty of time, after all.
Time to learn more about Yuria, and time to find a way to help her.
"Uncle! Yuria!"
As we left the room and headed toward the place Cassdia had told us about, I spotted Lyriette in the hallway, waving her arm energetically at us.
It looked as though she'd been waiting there for us the whole time.
"Hello."
"Lyriette? What brings you here?"
"I heard you were going to pick out clothes for Yuria, so I waited. I wanted to help too."
"I see."
It seemed Lyriette had also been looking forward to being part of Yuria's debutante rehearsal in her own way.
More than that, she was probably eager to see Yuria dressed up prettily, just like herself.
The two of them really did get along well, in their own way.
…Though every now and then, sparks did seem to fly between them, oddly enough.
"Then let's all go together. This is Yuria's first time choosing her own clothes, so she might be confused—help her out a lot, alright?"
"Yes, Uncle! Yuria, if there's anything you don't know, just ask me."
"Can't Lyriette just pick for me? I want to sleep."
"No! You have to choose your own clothes yourself. Different clothes suit different people, you know."
"Mm…."
Yuria shook her head as if sulking, which was unusual for her.
But of course, Lyriette wouldn't budge an inch on this sort of thing.
"Come on, let's go, Yuria. Mother said she's prepared a whole bunch of pretty clothes."
"S-sleepy, weh─."
Like a cow being dragged to slaughter, a feeble wail escaped from Yuria's mouth.
Regardless, Lyriette grabbed one of Yuria's arms and practically hauled her off.
Yuria's feet dragged along the floor, and I genuinely worried the heels of her shoes might wear clean through at this rate.
Usually it's Lyriette who gets pushed around by Yuria.
Guess it really is different on home turf.
No, wait—maybe this isn't a home-turf thing. Maybe it's just a raw difference in strength.
"Welcome, Miss Yuria."
Soon we arrived at the largest room in the mansion, where Cassdia was already waiting for us.
"Hi. I mean, hello."
Yuria started to raise her hand to greet her the usual way, but seemed to recall Lady Caroline's words from earlier, and belatedly bowed politely instead.
"You've become quite skilled with etiquette now. It's lovely to see."
"Yep. Yuria's good when she learns."
But the moment she got praised, she went right back to being her usual self.
Come to think of it, that line—didn't I say that to her recently?
When did she pick that one up, too?
"I wanted to have the clothes tailor-made, but there wasn't enough time. So I've brought several currently fashionable pieces instead. Please feel free to choose whichever one you like."
"Yuria will pick thishhh…?"
The moment Cassdia finished speaking, Yuria reached for the very first item in front of her, about to grab it without much thought—only for Lyriette to pinch her cheek with an "Ah-ha!" expression.
"Yuria, you can't just pick randomly. You have to actually look at the clothes and choose properly."
"Yuria likes this one."
"And what exactly do you like about it?"
"Can fall asleep in it right away."
"…Alright, let's try picking again, shall we?"
"Okay."
She sure listens well, though.
Especially when she realizes an idea's not going to fly, she gives up on it fast.
As Lyriette dragged Yuria along again, browsing through the rack of clothes, her eyes suddenly lit up.
Looked like she'd found something she liked.
"Wow! Yuria, how about this one? Since your hair is black, I think white would look great on you too, as a contrast. Should we go with this?"
"Okay."
"Oh, this one looks nice too. It's the sky blue I usually wear, but a bit darker, so it feels calmer. Maybe this one instead?"
"Okay."
"…Yuria, you're not actually listening to me, are you?"
"Okay…. Ehhhh."
Ah, so she hadn't given up after all.
Unfortunately for her, Lyriette's sharp eyes weren't so easily fooled.
After having her cheek pinched once more and being told to actually choose properly this time, Yuria finally got Lyriette to let go.
Well, might as well take a look around myself.
Not that it mattered much—anything would probably suit Yuria—but still, the one that stood out most among them all was…
"Oh, this one's pretty too."
Without much of an eye for aesthetics, I was browsing rather casually when a certain piece caught my attention as being exactly Yuria's style, so I pulled it out.
Burgundy, I think it's called.
With a faint hint of wine-red, it had a neat yet quite adorable impression to it—it seemed like it would suit Yuria perfectly.
But the most important thing was Yuria's own impression of it.
I couldn't just force my personal taste onto her, after all…
"…I'll take that one."
"Hm?"
Just as I was about to hang the dress back up, Yuria's voice stopped my hand cold.
She wanted that one.
Wait, did she mean the one I was holding?
Equally startled, Lyriette beside me blinked a couple of times and asked.
"Yuria, do you like that one?"
"Yeah. I'll take that."
"You're really properly choosing this time, right?"
"Right."
"You're not just picking randomly because you want to go sleep?"
"For real."
If it had been a lie, knowing Yuria's personality, she probably would have confessed the truth by this point in the questioning.
The fact that she hadn't—did that mean she genuinely liked this one?
Still, I couldn't help but think the timing was strangely suspicious.
"Uncle, sorry, but could you show me that dress?"
"Here you go. So this is the one."
"Wow, it's pretty! This would definitely suit Yuria well."
"Right?"
I think so too.
Well, not that there's much of anything that wouldn't suit our Yuria.
"Yuria, let's go change and come back out. I'll help you."
"Don't puuuush…."
"I've called the maids to the next room already, so bring her there, Lyriette."
"Yes, Mother."
Lyriette practically shoved Yuria's back as she dragged her toward the next room.
Seems like she intends to redo everything, starting from her hair.
I found myself looking forward to just how adorable a fully done-up Yuria would look.
I waited about thirty minutes or so.
With the particular creak of an ungreased door hinge, the door the two of them had gone through earlier opened again.
"Yuria, come out and show him already. You have to show Uncle."
"It's hard to walk."
"That's still pretty good, all things considered. Come on!"
"Stop pulling meee…."
A cow being led to slaughter earlier, and now a goat, apparently.
Looking like she might start bleating any minute, Yuria was dragged out of the room by Lyriette.
"Oh…."
But she was far too cute and pretty to be called a goat.
Her dull hair had been trimmed a little too, it seemed, making it look much neater.
And more than anything, the newly chosen dress suited her perfectly.
Honestly, she could've passed for the young lady of any noble house.
"She looks amazing, doesn't she, young master?"
"She really does. So very pretty, Yuria."
Just as Cassdia said, she was pretty and adorable enough that I found myself clapping without even meaning to.
It was almost frustrating how my limited vocabulary could only express so much.
But seemingly without any self-awareness of it, Yuria toddled over to me like a baby penguin and tilted her head.
"Yuria, pretty?"
"Very pretty. I almost didn't recognize you."
"U-Uncle! I'd look even prettier in a dress too!"
"Of course, of course. Our niece is no slouch either."
Had she felt left out from only Yuria getting praised?
Lyriette huffed with competitive fire in her eyes, so I laughed and patted her head.
The two of them together—white and black, you might say.
Standing side by side, they looked like a painting.
"Oh, Yuria! You haven't forgotten what we just practiced, have you? Let's show Uncle together!"
"Okay."
Oh, what's this?
Had they prepared something special?
Watching with a bit of anticipation, Lyriette suddenly pressed her cheek right up against Yuria's.
"Hehe—."
"Mmph—."
Together they formed half a heart each with their hands, striking an incredibly adorable pose.
It really was heartbreaking that this world had no cameras—the pose was that cute, no doubt about it.
But the problem was that while Lyriette beamed as if to say "Look at this!", Yuria's expression clearly read, "Why am I doing this again?"
Even her cowlick had bent into the shape of a question mark.
Is that thing some kind of independent living creature with its own will?
"Hehe, how is it, Uncle? The maids taught us this pose."
"Very adorable indeed."
Ah, so the maids taught them.
I've no idea why the maids would know a pose like that, but I suppose I should thank them properly later.
"Lyriette, come here so we can pick out your dress too."
"Really? Yay!"
At Cassdia's call, Lyriette whisked her half of the heart away and dashed off to the other side, leaving Yuria behind with a weary sigh.
She really does look exhausted.
"Yuria, are you alright?"
"Yeah."
"That dress really does suit you well. However did you pick out something that fits you so perfectly?"
Was the style the type Yuria had wanted?
Or was it the color she liked?
For the sake of clothes I might buy her later, I decided to take this chance to gently probe into Yuria's tastes.
"I'm glad it happened to suit your taste so well. What was it that you liked about it?"
"Mm. I didn't really like it, particularly."
"What? Then why did you choose that dress…?"
Did she really just want to go to sleep after all?
But it hadn't seemed like a random pick at all.
"Because Baal said it was pretty."
Ah, had she overheard that offhand remark of mine from earlier?
Just as I was starting to smile, touched and pleased that she'd prioritized my opinion over her own—
"It has to be a dress that looks pretty to Baal. That way, I won't be thrown away."
"……Yuria?"
"I have to make friends too. I have to listen well too. That way, Baal won't come to hate me."
Yuria said it all in the same flat, expressionless tone as always, and yet those words made something in my chest drop with a sickening lurch.
- If Yuria gets prettier, will Baal not abandon Yuria?
- Lyriette said it. That she wants to make lots of friends. That it's a good thing. If you do good things, Baal will be happy too.
The question Yuria had tossed at me in passing earlier, and the words she'd repeated to herself like a self-hypnosis mantra during that three-way conversation with Cassdia a few days ago, both came rushing back to me.
And then, as Yuria—who had been murmuring to herself—lifted her head again and met my eyes.
"Ah…."
A weak, hollow sigh escaped my lips.
I see.
She simply hadn't learned how to express her emotions, so she never let it show.
Was this child still trapped, even now, in that day four years ago—the most painful day of her entire life?
The fear that she might be abandoned again by someone.
Had she been carrying that trauma all this time, a burden even a grown adult would struggle to bear, all while facing me with a calm, untroubled expression?
