There Is No Place For Fakes [EN]: Chapter 63

* * *

Time passed, and late spring had arrived.

The social season was approaching, with the debutante ball just around the corner.

This year’s debutante ball was particularly special because it would be the official unveiling of the newly discovered Princess.

An invitation arrived for Philomel as well.

The Emperor said she didn’t have to attend if she felt uncomfortable, but…

‘I can’t do that.’

As a state guest, her absence would fuel speculation that she was hiding something. People might think Philomel was concealing something.

That would undermine the hard-won acceptance that she was not an imposter.

When the Emperor stated that the switch between Philomel and Ellensia wasn’t Philomel’s fault, a small ripple of emotion stirred within her.

That’s right. The fact that they were switched, and that she lived as a fake Princess, wasn’t her fault.

Suddenly, she felt a sense of injustice, a feeling suppressed by fear.

Why should she have to live in hiding because of a mistake she didn’t even commit?

Even if she left the Empire, she would have to live in the shadows for the rest of her life if she couldn’t clear her name.

She didn’t want to live like that. She wanted to live freely, on her own terms.

To do that, she had to make a dignified appearance before the people, at least once. She wouldn’t hide.

And there was another, secondary reason. ‘That person’ would be attending the debutante ball.

‘I’m sure he said he was moving to the capital this time, taking his first steps into high society.’

Philomel stroked her cheek.

It was smooth and without scars now.

She looked around the room for something suitable and picked up a cushion from the sofa. Then, focusing all her strength into her right hand, she began to strike it.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Hey, Phil…”

“Gasp!”

Philomel, engrossed in hitting the cushion, almost jumped out of her skin.

Le Guin, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, was looking at her with wide eyes.

“…Please make some noise when you move around. You scared me.”

Philomel said, trying to calm her racing heart.

“I’ll try to do that next time. But why are you hitting the cushion…?”

Well, I guess I don’t have to hide it from him.

“There’s someone I want to hit, so I was practicing in advance.”

Philomel replied in a cold voice.

“…Is it me, by any chance?”

“No! Why would I hit Le Guin? It’s someone else.”

“Whatever. As long as it’s not me.”

It was a nonchalant reaction, considering he had just heard his child’s plan to assault someone.

“…Aren’t you going to stop me?”

When she asked, bewildered, Le Guin gave a typical Le Guin-like answer.

“Why should I stop you? If you want to hit them, you should hit them. I’ve lived my life hitting all the bastards I wanted to hit.”

I don’t know if he’s a back-alley thug or a Master Mage. Philomel shook her head.

She looked at her father, who had collapsed onto the sofa as soon as he came in, and asked.

“By the way, what happened to the book I asked you to look at?”

was still in his possession, and there was still nothing particularly new discovered.

“I’m investigating. It took time for the component analysis to come back.”

“I see…”

It would be nice if something new was discovered through the investigation.

Feeling somewhat disappointed, Philomel fiddled with the cushion in her hand and fell into thought.

“Keep hitting it. I’ll tell you how to hit it so it hurts.”

“Ah, yes…”

At Le Guin’s urging, Philomel felt embarrassed but started hitting the cushion again.

Le Guin, who had been watching the scene with a serious expression, finally spoke.

“You really have no talent for using your body.”

It was an accurate assessment.

Philomel’s slender shoulders slumped.

“…But it’s important to me to hit them with my own hands.”

The stolen Ring of Crimson Flame can be returned.

Philomel was planning to recover the ring from Rosanne and return it to the Imperial Family before the Emperor realized she didn’t have it.

It was a national treasure-level item, but it was a custom-made product—originally, she shouldn’t do that—but it seemed okay to pretend not to know for the time being.

In fact, she couldn’t help but understand Rosanne’s act of handing Philomel over to the Public Security Forces [law enforcement]. Even if it was someone other than Rosanne, they would have reported the runaway fake Princess if they were in the same situation.

However, she would never forgive being slapped. She had to return the favor to feel relieved.

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

A red magic circle appeared in Le Guin’s hand as he readily agreed.

The same magic circle that appeared at Philomel’s feet emitted light. At the same time, power surged through her body.

“Th, this is…”

“Hit it again.”

Philomel, who had been hesitating, weakly struck the cushion.

She clearly tried to hit it weakly, but with a louder bang than ever, the cushion tore.

“…!”

The feathers inside the cushion scattered.

The magician chuckled.

“How is it? Are you satisfied with this much?”

“I love it! I totally love it! It’s a bit much, but it’s much better than being weak!”

The two were beaming.

Jeremiah, who came in at the strange noise, wore a peculiar expression.

“What are you going to do by giving a child an enhancement magic that is used when going to catch high-level monsters…?”

His sigh was drowned out by the bang-bang sound of the cushion.

Other magic circles began to form one by one in Le Guin’s hand.

“I’ll give you automatic defense magic this time.”

Automatic magic was magic that activated regardless of anyone’s will.

In other words, automatic defense magic was magic that automatically activated when the target was in danger.

“Isn’t that dangerous for the people around you?”

Philomel was familiar with automatic magic, but she had dismissed it because there were many potential problems.

For magic to activate automatically, there had to be an objective trigger.

If it was vaguely based on the physical damage the target received, the magic would be activated even by a weak blow.

In extreme cases, a troublesome situation could arise where the magic was activated even when the target just bumped into something.

Le Guin replied nonchalantly.

“There’s a possibility that it will lead to unintended sacrifices, but it can’t be helped.”

“No, you can’t do that. What if even the person who brushes shoulders with me while passing by dies?”

“Okay. I’ll set it to activate when the other person has the intention to harm you and makes contact.”

“Can you do that too?”

“It’s a bit annoying, but it’s possible. If there’s anyone who’s trying to harm you, their limbs will be severed in front of your eyes, and they’ll die in agony.”

“…That’s a bit disgusting.”

If she witnessed such a scene, it would be a lifelong trauma.

“You’re picky.”

“I’m not picky, I’m normal.”

While they were bickering, the magic circles that were finally completed floated one by one at Philomel’s feet.

With this, Philomel had several layers of magic from the Master Mage on her body, which was said to be difficult to obtain even if she spent a fortune. Her stomach felt full enough to skip a meal.

That day, she ended up breaking a few more objects while testing the performance of the magic.

* * *

Ellensia exclaimed when she saw the visitor.

“Are you Mrs. Margaret?”

Margaret bent over, once again touched by the fact that the Princess knew her.

“Your Highness, Princess, I am Margaret Gott.”

Margaret Gott.

She was a well-known dressmaker in Elita [a region or city], but she had not yet made a name for herself in the Empire.

It was only natural since she had just returned from studying abroad. But she was more confident in her skills than anyone else. She firmly believed that in just one year, she would become a dressmaker known throughout the country.

The miraculous news came to Margaret, who was full of thoughts of gradually expanding her reach, a week before the debutante ball.

The new Princess wants Margaret’s dress!

It was such joyful news that she could have danced in the square right away.

Margaret was full of dreams as she rode in the carriage sent by the Imperial Palace.

‘One year is nothing! I’ll be the best dressmaker in the Empire within a month!’

The newly discovered Princess was arguably the Empire’s greatest point of interest.

What if such a person wore her dress and showed herself for the first time?

Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it.

Margaret presented a sketch containing her designs to the Princess.

“Please choose a dress you like from these.”

“Wow! They’re all so pretty! Can I choose several?”

“Of course. We can make the urgent debutante dress first and then make the others slowly.”

She had already heard the Emperor’s message that she could make and offer as many dresses as the Princess wanted.

The Princess, who had been living as a commoner until now, excitedly flipped through the sketches.

Margaret smiled contentedly as she observed the dresses that the Princess lingered over.

‘They’re all expensive dresses.’

There were no cheap dresses among Margaret’s designs, but the Princess recognized the most gorgeous and expensive ones.

That was a contrast to the previous Princess Philomel.

Thanks to Princess Philomel, who was wary of extravagance, a trend of saving money had become popular in society for a while.

That didn’t mean that the noble ladies were looking for cheap dresses, but as they made them less flashy, the price of the dresses naturally went down as well. It could be said that it was a dark age for the dressmakers of Velerov [likely a city or region known for dressmaking].

But looking at Princess Ellensia, it seemed that such a dark age was coming to an end.

However, the Princess’s face clouded over after looking through the sketches for a while.

Margaret asked worriedly.

“Is there perhaps no dress you like?”

That couldn’t be. She was so excited just moments ago.

“No. I like them all, and they’re pretty. But… there’s not one that I’m drawn to as a debutante dress. It’s an important day, so I want to wear the prettiest dress and go…”

‘She’s picky.’ While complaining inwardly, Margaret maintained her professional smile.

“If you tell me Your Highness’s taste, I will create anything.”

“Um… I don’t know much about dresses, but is there no style like this?”

The Princess drew a picture herself and explained the dress she wanted.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Margaret as she listened to the explanation.

‘This is that dress!’

It was very similar to a dress she had vaguely conceived.

It was a dress that she was confident would be a masterpiece if she ever made it.

The Princess’s drawing was terrible, but the composition was clear. Rather, it felt like the details that Margaret was worried about were becoming clearer with the Princess’s explanation.

As if she had seen it in the future.