It's been four years since I collapsed at the church. I'm eleven now.
Since then, Father has become even more protective. Whenever we attend church, Mother insists on accompanying me. Even when I tell them there's no danger—just routine Masses or charity visits—they don't relax. The time I fainted during what was supposed to be a simple consolation visit left a deep mark on our family. It became a kind of shared trauma.
Still, I managed to persuade them once—just once in my first year—to let me return to our territory. I wasn't allowed inside the church, but Grandmother intervened.
"It goes against noble custom to mistreat someone simply for fulfilling her duty,"
she said, forcing Father to yield. With her supervision, I was finally allowed entry.
Grandmother remains strict and refuses to let me call her "Grandmother," yet she now personally oversees my lady's education. Her lessons are as severe as ever—but I've grown used to that.
Whenever I return home, I host tea parties for young ladies from the vassal houses. I face merciless preparation checks, requiring me to research each guest's territory, its specialties, their preferences, and current trends. I tailor tea blends to their tastes and choose tea sets that balance tradition and style. I even design invitations and set concepts myself.
Then comes the final inspection: attire, conversation topics, gestures.
I've never once passed on the first try—but lately, I've managed at least a passing grade.
Maybe because of that, people now call me the most refined young lady among those awaiting their debutante. My brothers seem oddly proud of it.
I still exchange letters with Jose as promised. Each time I visit the territory, we take tea together.
"I could never keep up with your grandmother's lessons,"
she told me once.
"I truly respect you, Elder Sister."
Grandmother's training is harsh, but she's never wrong. I endure it because I want her approval—nothing more, nothing less.
Cain, my eldest brother, has grown busier each year. His fourth-year thesis earned great recognition, and now that he's of age, he runs his own laboratory at the Academy, teaching students himself. He says he still wants to continue research while Father remains active in his career.
Alex-nii-sama's illness has worsened. He can't go without his glasses now. The rising demand for holy water has made it hard to secure enough for his medication. It hurts to think my existence played some role in that shortage. After Cain's thesis spread, nobles began crafting sacred stones as a matter of prestige. Lower noble houses, lacking strong holy power, supplement it with holy water while creating their stones. As a result, Imperial Capital Church faces severe shortages. Priority goes first to life-threatening cases, second to sacred stone production. Diseases like Monaza—Alex's—rank lower.
"Don't blame yourself, Spica,"
he told me once, smiling through the pain.
"If it hadn't been found early, I'd already be blind. I can still see light. I can still see your face. I'll even see your debutante. Be glad our Current Lady lives long and serves well. Everyone's cooperating now because of that. So don't cry, alright?"
Since then, I've tried to act normal. I help him when I can, though watching him struggle quietly still breaks something inside me.
Fret-nii-sama enrolled in the Academy's Knight Course and now lives in the dormitory. The rules there are stricter than in other departments, and even weekend visits require permission. Without his cheerful presence, the mansion feels larger—emptier somehow. Still, whenever he returns, he spends time with me.
Father and Mother haven't changed much, though Mother's been falling ill more often. Whenever that happens, I brew Grandmother's restorative tea and host small tea gatherings to lift her spirits. I suspect her illness comes from stress. Marriage proposals for my brothers flood in, yet all three seem to run from them. Nobility means politics—and alliances—and it wears on her nerves. I'll bring her a gentle herbal tea today. Something soothing for her stomach.
Father's hair has begun to show white streaks, but he's vigorous as ever. His work keeps him late, and sometimes we don't see him for days, but whenever he can, he invites Mother and me for evening tea.
As for me, I'll enter the Academy next year. I plan to enroll in the Liberal Arts Department, like most young ladies of my age. Few choose the Knight or Attendant Courses—those are paths for ambitious lower nobles aiming for advancement.
One afternoon, Father summoned me to his office.
Mother was there too, looking restless—not the usual tea-time mood. Something happy, maybe?
I sat as instructed, and Father spoke.
"Before your enrollment next year, Spica, we'll hold your debutante. Begin preparations with your mother."
At last—my debut into high society.
In the Empire, the official coming of age is at eighteen, but social debuts happen much earlier, often in the early teens. Cain debuted at ten; Alex and Fret at eleven.
"Understood. Has the time and place been decided?"
There are several forms of debutantes: private family-hosted presentations, ones held under a patron noble's crest, or, on rare occasions, those hosted by a fiancé's house.
The format depends on family standing and engagement status.
"It's already decided!"
Mother exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement.
"It will be next summer—at the Imperial Family's soirée. The invitation arrived just last week."
The Imperial Hosted Ball is the most prestigious of all debutante ceremonies.
One cannot simply choose to attend—it's an honor granted only through invitation from the Imperial Family. To be chosen is to stand under the Emperor's favor. If no suitable candidates exist, the ball is not held at all.
Even my elder brothers never debuted at this particular ball.
Cain was once selected, but he had already advanced early to the Academy, so he respectfully declined.
Perhaps that's why Mother seems more excited than ever. Father only sighs in quiet resignation as he watches her whirl about the room, radiant and unstoppable.
There are ten months left until my debut. Normally, preparation takes more than a full year, but Mother, anticipating this, began arranging things well ahead of time.
Debutantes follow strict rules.
Both men and women must appear in first formal attire. Men wear tailcoats adorned with medals, emblems of peerage, or military merit. Women wear pure white robes décolletées, accented only by their family jewels.
Knights wear their first ceremonial uniforms, and noblewomen of the knightly class may choose either style.
Nothing is worn upon the head—a gesture of purity, modesty, and unadorned virtue.
During the ceremony, when the host bestows congratulations, the debutante receives a laurel crown, marking official recognition of her entrance into society.
After greetings, if a debutante has a fiancée—whether both debut or one has already done so—they perform a presentation dance together. Those without a fiancée or whose partners haven't debuted yet dance instead with a relative or a Cavalier chosen by the hosts. The rules forbid dancing with the same partner twice. The adults observe everything—the dance, the etiquette, the chemistry—to gauge a young noble's future potential.
At the Imperial Hosted Ball, every one of these rules appears in the Imperial Family's own code. The event prizes formality and ritual above all else. Each debutante is granted an audience with His Majesty the Emperor himself and receives the crown directly from his hand.
Because of this, participants earn one special privilege: permission to embroider their family crest into their formal attire. No ordinary debutante ceremony allows such embellishment—it is a mark of imperial trust.
Among men, the presence or absence of this embroidery often signals the Emperor's degree of favor.
For women, the rule holds different weight.
Normally, it's considered poor manners to re-wear a robe décolleté. Yet the one worn at this ball—with the family crest—is an exception. It may be worn again, but only during one's engagement ceremony. The custom stems from older times when noble families were few and fine cloth was precious.
Embroidery itself is part of a noblewoman's art. The precision of her stitching can shape her reputation—and even her future.
Of course, I must embroider my own gown as well. I don't dislike sewing, but I'm not fast. Still, I'll give it everything I have.
This ball holds special significance for another reason: it can influence imperial marriages.
Traditionally, partners for princes or future consorts for princesses make their debut at this very soirée.
Unengaged nobles dance with Cavaliers chosen by the Imperial Family. Sometimes, those pairings become betrothals themselves.
The current Emperor has five children, none yet married. The Crown Prince, twenty-one, is engaged, but his fiancée has not yet come of age. The Second and Third Princes, sixteen and fourteen, remain unpromised. The First Princess, twelve, will debut soon.
Since this year's event was postponed, my debut will likely coincide with hers next year.
That would mean I've been selected as one of her potential companions—a tremendous honor.
Still, noble society is a web of intentions. Trying to follow all its undercurrents makes my head spin.
Mother and I now spend every free hour in the sunroom, working on embroidery.
We selected the gown design from her carefully curated collection. Fabric, pattern layout, lacework—all chosen with painstaking care.
The fabric will be a soft, ivory satin with a subtle sheen. The lining uses fine cloth from the Eastern Kingdom.
Mother says, "Tradition must breathe. True elegance comes from weaving the new into the old."
The gown is a simple off-shoulder A-line. A light lace decorates the neckline, and a rose-shaped ribbon lace accents the waist.
The embroidery flows like water across the bodice, centered by our family crest. At the chest, two Kelpies face each other—a symbol of dual strength and grace.
Honestly, it feels endless. Without the seamstress and lace weaver Mother secured in advance, such complexity would've been impossible.
Then comes the house jewel.
I asked if I could reuse the pearl necklace I designed four years ago—a round pearl with iridescent hues between feather-shaped side pearls and tiny blossoms of smaller pearls. It was the first piece I ever designed myself, and it took years to find the right pearls.
"It uses our house's pearls, yes—but the shapes are irregular and the size too modest," Mother said briskly.
"This time, it must be perfect. We'll order new ones. Earrings and a ring too. I'll call the jeweler right away!"
So, apparently, imperfect pearls lower one's rank in appearance. That stung a little.
Still, I got to design the new set with a professional jeweler. Grandmother reviewed both the gown and the jewelry—and approved them.
Thanks to Mother's foresight in collecting fine pearls over the years, production will finish smoothly.
Now, with less than six months left, the Imperial Palace has summoned us.
Notes:
• Cain - Eldest step-brother, eight years older. A magical genius, often traveling between home and the national academy. The heir.
• Alex - Second step-brother, seven years older. Suffers from the rare Monaza Disease, which robs both sight and holy power, but shines as a gifted musician and artist.
• Fret - Third step-brother, five years older. Energetic, sword-loving, and determined to become a knight.