There Is No Place For Fakes [EN]: Chapter 70

* * *

Rosanne was utterly bewildered by the scene unfolding before her.

She had been admiring the light emanating from the mysterious ring behind a pillar when suddenly, a commotion erupted in the hall.

Curious, she turned around and…

Rosanne gasped, confronted by a man as striking as he was imposing.

It wasn’t simply the presence of the majestic Emperor that awed her.

Up close, Justus was more breathtaking than any man Rosanne had ever encountered.

His jet-black hair contrasted sharply with his pale complexion, his physique honed through rigorous training, and his deep blue eyes held an intense gaze. Even the dark shadows beneath his eyes only added to his allure.

Rosanne was certain that no portrait could ever truly capture his beauty.

She then glanced at the hand he extended, pondering its meaning.

‘He must be asking for something, but what could it be?’

Soon, the answer, along with the sequence of events leading up to this moment, clicked into place.

There was only one thing the Emperor could possibly want from her.

Rosanne raised her hand, the one adorned with the red ring. A surge of overwhelming emotions coursed through her, causing her body to tremble.

Softly, Rosanne’s hand rested upon his gloved one.

The Emperor’s jewel-like blue eyes widened slightly.

As most people in the room held their breath, a hushed whisper cut through the silence.

“What on earth is going on?”

“I don’t know. Suddenly, His Imperial Majesty appeared and asked that young lady for a dance.”

Rosanne flashed a confident smile.

* * *

Philomell stared in disbelief at the scene.

When Justus extended his hand, Rosanne had given him her own instead of the ring.

For a moment, she wondered if she had hit her cheek too hard, causing a concussion.

“Suddenly, His Imperial Majesty appeared and asked that young lady for a dance.”

Hearing the whispers around her, Philomell realized the source of their misunderstanding.

A waltz was indeed playing in the hall, and couples were paired up, dancing.

Interrupting and extending a hand to someone of the opposite sex could only be interpreted as a dance invitation.

The commotion grew louder as people reacted to the unexpected event unfolding before them.

“His Imperial Majesty? No way.”

“Yes, he definitely asked her. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“But His Majesty doesn’t dance.”

“I haven’t seen him dance since Her Majesty the Empress passed away.”

“Could he be interested in that young lady?”

“If so, could it finally be springtime for His Majesty…?”

“Is the Sun’s [referring to the Emperor, often associated with the sun] side finally being filled?”

Misunderstanding piled upon misunderstanding.

Before long, Rosanne was being discussed among the guests as the potential next Empress.

Under normal circumstances, even if the Emperor had genuinely asked an unmarried woman for a dance, it wouldn’t have caused such a stir.

But this was Justus, a devoted husband who had only ever danced with his wife.

Since he had stopped dancing altogether after his wife’s death, it was no surprise that his dance invitation was seen as highly significant.

And the person most thrilled by the growing misunderstandings was, of course, Rosanne.

Holding the Emperor’s hand tightly, Rosanne attempted to lead him to the center of the hall.

“Though my dancing skills are humble, I will do my best to serve you!”

It wasn’t just Rosanne who was excited.

A middle-aged man with red hair rushed forward.

Judging by his resemblance to Rosanne, the man was likely Baron Manon.

“Your Majesty! I am Baron Manon. I have just arrived in the capital. My daughter may have many shortcomings, but I humbly ask for your kind consideration.”

Baron Manon even nudged the Emperor’s back, urging him to dance, seemingly losing his mind at the thought of becoming the Emperor’s father-in-law.

‘What a mess.’

Philomell slowly backed away.

Considering the Emperor’s temperament, a bloodbath might ensue.

‘I should escape before I get caught up in this and suffer the consequences.’

Philomell headed towards the entrance she had come through.

At that moment, Justus, who had been frozen like a statue, moved.

He released Rosanne’s hand and strode towards Philomell.

“Your Majesty, where are you going?”

“Your Imperial Majesty!”

Rosanne and Baron Manon called out desperately, but he didn’t turn back.

Standing at the entrance, he said,

“Philomell, I have just one question. Is she perhaps your friend?”

Philomell realized a beat late that “she” meant Rosanne.

“I swear, she is not!”

She would rather live without friends for the rest of her life than have a friend like that.

“I see. Forget about the Ring of Crimson Flame.”

As Philomell looked at him questioningly, Justus removed the glove he was wearing and threw it down.

“It’s been tainted. I’ll have a new one made. And Polan.”

“Yes.”

Count Polan, who had been there since who knows when, answered from behind.

“Manon, was it? Dig into him and bring me everything you find. Spare no one, including his relatives.”

“Understood.”

“How amusing.”

The sinister smile on his face was anything but amusing.

Philomell preemptively offered her condolences to Baron Manon and his relatives in her mind.

* * *

A few days passed since then.

Philomell was reading the newspaper with her morning coffee. The main topic covered in the newspaper remained unchanged.

[Who is Miss Rosanne Manon, the Emperor’s New Flame?]

[Exclusive! Interview with an Insider of the Manon Family.]

[Following the Return of Her Highness the Princess, More Good News for the Imperial Family.]

[Baron Manon, Is It Too Early to Discuss a Royal Marriage…?]

Various newspapers of the Empire were relentlessly publishing articles about the Emperor’s supposed new romance.

The day after the banquet, only a few newspapers cautiously reported eyewitness accounts of the Emperor asking a certain young lady for a dance.

However, when there was no response from the Imperial Palace, the number of articles gradually increased, and now they were pouring out indiscriminately.

But since there was so little factual information available, most of the articles were simply works of fiction.

[A Charming Young Lady Who Caught the Eye of His Imperial Majesty, Who Had Been Living in Despair.]

[His Majesty, Who Had Been Watching Her Throughout Her Debutante Season, Finally Took the Courage to Ask Her for a Dance on the Last Day of the Ball.]

And so on.

Philomell read the articles with a heavy heart.

Jeremiah, sitting across from her, cleared his throat.

“Don’t worry too much about it. He can’t mourn his dead wife forever. I know it’s complicated for you, but that’s just how life is.”

“Jeremiah, I don’t know what you’re mistaken about, but I’m not a girl feeling depressed about her father’s remarriage.”

Le Guin chimed in.

“Right. Phil is feeling disillusioned by the years she’s known such a shameless man as her father. Seeing his daughter’s age as a woman, of all things.”

“That’s not it either.”

Philomell went to the window and looked out at the scenery.

She never imagined that a single ring leaving her hand would cause such a situation.

‘Oh well, whatever. What will be, will be.’

But it was no longer her concern.

‘The Emperor told me to forget about the ring, so I guess I can forget about it.’

One good thing was that everyone was so preoccupied with the news of the Emperor’s new lover that the gossip about Philomell had completely died down.