Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 133

Shame.

What an utterly irrational emotion. Humans seemed biologically designed to be overwhelmed by unbearable embarrassment and shame the moment they stumbled.

After hearing Derek's explanation, Denise had to brace herself against dizziness while covering her face.

Derek had never harbored any hostility toward Denise from the beginning.

His permission to"stab him in the back"wasn't some bold declaration against an enemy—it was literally consideration for Denise's position.

"Ah, no... Logically speaking, I'm the most renowned young lady of House Beltus. Wouldn't it be natural to assume you'd resent me if you opposed Beltus...?"

"How many times must I reassure you? I hold no particular ill will toward Lady Denise."

"..."

"Do you remember what I always say as a mantra?"

Denise, slumped on the ground, looked up at Derek under moonlight and recited:

"...There are no bad young ladies in this world—only failures of teaching...?"

"Frankly, there wasn't much about Lady Denise that needed correcting in the first place. I understand doubting me, but must you doubt yourself too?"

"No, that's not—I mean logically... this situation..."

As Denise hiccuped, she reconsidered the man named Derek.

He showed no mercy to those who opposed him, displayed malice, or sought to trample him.

He retaliated against attackers, met drawn blades with his own, and killed without hesitation those who sought his life.

But the opposite?

To those without hostility, he was endlessly gentle. Though not one to initiate kindness, he never failed to appreciate what he received.

He carried every mentor from his life's journey deep in his heart, seemingly never forgetting them. Didn't he visit the beggar old man's grave whenever possible, exchange letters with Katia, and brighten at news of Drest?

His discernment of people was impeccable.

Derek was fundamentally reasonable—someone who reciprocated goodwill when shown it. Yet despite knowing this, Denise couldn't rationally process the situation.

Of course she couldn't. Anyone maintaining rationality here would be the abnormal one.

His reason for drawing his sword against the Duke was singular: The Duke had drawn first.

Denise buried her face in her hands and bowed deeply.

"I want to die..."

"Why... so dramatic..."

"Fine... since we're here, I'll be honest. I thought you'd completely cornered me in a trap to punish me..."

"Me?"

"The circumstances suggested it. Beltus clearly held explicit hostility toward you."

Denise already knew.

The Duke had attempted to kidnap Baroness Pellin and was prepared to take Derek's life if necessary.

Challenging such a man was insanity, so she assumed Derek would stop at nothing.

Yet Derek knelt on one knee, lowering himself to meet Denise's eyes.

"That's the Duke's doing, not Lady Denise's, isn't it?"

"I'm Beltus's person."

"So what?"

Denise's eyes widened comically before she fell speechless.

"The Duke is the Duke, and Lady Denise is Lady Denise. Why state the obvious..."

What implications lay in that casually tossed remark?

Coming from Derek—who'd devouredThe Arrogant Lord Robainand understood Denise deeply—she comprehended the unspoken consideration.

What use saying it now? In her life, no one had ever separated Denise from House Beltus.

Thus, when Derek opposed Beltus, she assumed he'd become her enemy.

But the premise itself had been flawed.

This gruff man gazing at her under moonlight as always had always placed House Beltus and Denise in entirely separate categories.

Every achievement for Beltus... every action for Beltus alone...

For a girl defined solely by her house, someone seeing Denise as just Denise was rarer than gold.

Why realize this only now? When teaching her magic, he'd never once treated her as"Beltus's young lady."

Only when she dismissed magic's profundity did he erupt in fury, teaching with all his might.

And when lessons ended? He'd leave without hesitation.

To him, Denise was simply Denise.

Finally, Denise understood why she'd never been able to coldly reject Derek despite living under her house's glory.

He was the only person in this world who saw her separately from House Beltus. Subconsciously, she hadn't wanted to lose him.

"Derek..."

"..."

"If... Beltus's influence crumbles after this, and I end up scorned like Lady Aiselin... would you remain my teacher...?"

Even Denise didn't understand why she asked.

But she needed to now.

"...What nonsense is this?"

Derek didn't even consider it a proper question.

Once a mentor-student bond formed, it endured. His treatment of past mentors made his views clear.

Denise felt something catch in her throat.

Even if"Beltus"vanished from her name, this man would remain steadfast. The reason was simple: They were mentor and student.

Just as countless mentors had lifted the weak Derek, he'd support anyone he called student to the end.

Diela, Elente, Sirine—he'd never abandoned them despite ample reason.

The beggar old man, Katia, Drest—they'd taught him well.

Passing on what he'd learned, just as he now taught others. In this way, everyone was both mentor and student.

Derek had always lived by this.

Having doubted him, shame overwhelmed her.

Denise wiped her face and sighed repeatedly in relief.

What a remarkable man. Steady as an ancient tree while she alone floundered in confusion.

"You've suffered greatly, Lady Denise. Don't worry—this will end soon."

Seeing Derek's reassuring expression, Denise inexplicably felt breathless.

A slum-born nobody. Yet unwavering in conviction, embracing all, never judging by house prestige.

This felt familiar. Bowing her head, she realized—Tracy fromThe Arrogant Lord Robain.

Her breath hitched.

The romance novelThe Arrogant Lord Robain, infused with Denise's desires—its male lead Lord Robain was essentially her self-projection.

That tragic figure who lost precious bonds to house prestige—wasn't the person he loved most someone exactly like Tracy?

Just a fictional character.

Yet after years immersed in Robain's perspective, his values had ingrained themselves deeply.

She'd already rationalized why Robain loved Tracy so.

Thus, facing Derek, she understood Robain's heart.

Someone constrained by house prestige, encountering another who saw them purely—wasn't this the compelling romance she'd written?

And tragically, that creative passion now fueled her own heart's fire.

To her eyes, Derek shone like a jewel.

While the world chanted"Beltus,"Derek's voice asking after her sounded inexplicably sweet.

Denise was rational.

Even with her heart pounding, she objectively assessed her situation.

'This is bad.'

Amidst her house collapsing and monsters rampaging, she tried attributing this to mere adrenaline—but failed.

It felt like charging into brambles. Of course it did.

Derek's romantic entanglements were notoriously complex—just observing gave headaches.

And now she was diving into that warzone? Unthinkable for someone as lazy and easygoing as Denise.

But since when did emotions follow reason?

As an avid consumer of trashy romance novels, Denise recognized this situation better than anyone.

In short—her feelings for Derek weren't purely mentorship.

"...Lady Denise. The situation is urgent—"

"D-Derek, w-wait..."

Flustered, Denise stepped back—only for a tree trunk to block her retreat.

Frantically trying to hide her flushed face, she bowed her head.

Everything was too chaotic.

With monsters raging and demons emerging, emotional turmoil was disastrous. Denise steadied her breathing, deciding to first hear Derek's plan—

- Crack!

- Whoosh!

- Boom!

Just as Denise looked up, Derek was sent flying by sudden magic.

- Crash! Kaboom!

1-Star Combat Magic:"Shockwave"

Derek slammed into a distant tree, dust billowing up.

Though instantaneous, his superhuman reflexes channeled mana to mitigate the impact as he emerged from the dust.

Kneeling, he drew his staff into combat stance—an impossibly quick reaction.

"Wh-what...?"

Looking toward the magic's origin, they saw mercenary leader Orel arriving with a detachment.

A former Imperial Guard commander, his crisis response remained exceptional despite age.

"Are you unharmed, Lady Denise!"

His mercenaries swiftly encircled her defensively. Orel drew his sword toward Derek, who rose from the dust with sharpened gaze.

"C-Captain Orel... what are you—"

"You're safe. Thank goodness."

Orel eyed the rising predator in the brush—clearly no easy opponent.

Young in appearance, but already a veteran mercenary at his peak.