Noble Lady Reformation Guide - Chapter 151

Despite Tricia's desperate pleas—scratching her head raw—Derek remained an impenetrable steel wall, deflecting every request.

For someone as arrogant and loudmouthed as Tricia to humble herself this much, one might expect some leniency. But Derek had principles he wouldn't bend, no matter what.

"Lady Tricia. There's no such thing as'absolute'in this world. Though Lady Diela has the temperament of a raging beast, she'll eventually open her heart if approached with sincerity."

"..."

"When I first met Lady Diela, she dumped a bucket of filthy gutter water on me. Drenched me like a sewer rat while hurling insults."

Derek recalled his first encounter with Diela.

The image of that small girl holed up in the Duplein family's annex, pushing the entire world away, flashed through his mind.

"S-she did that to you? How in the world did you establish rapport with such a troublemaker? What kind of magic did you use to tame that wild horse of a girl into following you so obediently...?"

"Hmm... Let's just say I'approached her sincerely.'"

"No, you need to give me concrete methodology if you expect me to try anything!"

"The details are... confidential."

Despite their prolonged back-and-forth, Derek stood firm.

Tricia finally accepted that no amount of persuasion would move this man. She clutched her head, groaning, having long abandoned any pretense of dignity.

The awkward silence grew unbearable, so Derek sighed and reluctantly offered advice.

"Are you afraid of Lady Diela?"

"Guh... N-no! I'm not scared! I just think keeping company with such a tyrant is beneath me. No dignity... no grace..."

"No need to be so terrified. As I said, despite her violent demeanor, she ultimately operates within societal norms."

"I said I'm not scared! Who's scared of whom here...!"

"You've been in noble society long enough. Remember—Lady Diela is still the young noblewoman of House Duplein, a member of aristocratic social circles."

Ignoring Tricia's groans, Derek continued matter-of-factly.

As always, this man never altered his demeanor regardless of who stood before him—his focus remained unshakably centered on himself.

"What is it that nobles would die for? Surely you, Lady Tricia, know better than anyone?"

At Derek's words, Tricia's fingertips twitched.

Was this a hint? Though his words seemed superficial, they carried weight when coming from Derek.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said."

- Creak

"Apologies for keeping our esteemed guest waiting. Higher titles bring more work, as they say."

Countess Rodea entered the reception room with her attendants in tow.

Tricia suddenly remembered the countess's strict instructions: Baron Ravenclaw was an honored guest—she must maintain decorum.

Yet here she was, spouting nonsense. The embarrassment made her want to punch a wall.

'I-I lost my composure. What an idiot I've been.'

But Derek, as usual, remained expressionless while exchanging polite greetings with Rodea.

Clearly, he hadn't taken Tricia's outbursts seriously.

That was just how Derek operated.

"My apologies for offering only limited support. As I mentioned, deploying excessive resources to another territory isn't ideal. Especially with unsettling developments near the White Labyrinth—I trust you understand."

"Not at all. Your pledged support alone will greatly aid Ravenclaw Territory. Once construction concludes, we'll display portraits or statues of Countess Rodea in the main hall."

"That would honor me greatly. You understand propriety well."

With negotiations concluded, Derek prepared to depart.

Though Rodea urged him to stay longer, Derek—swamped with daily obligations—politely declined.

She'd hoped to foster more interaction between Tricia and Derek, but plans rarely unfold as desired.

Still, establishing this connection between Houses Renuel and Ravenclaw was a diplomatic victory.

Satisfied, Countess Rodea smiled.

"My daughter must have committed many faux pas."

The astute ruler of Renuel County had already deduced Tricia's behavior.

Tricia had withdrawn to the annex, leaving Derek and Rodea to finalize matters privately.

Seizing the moment, Rodea offered a preemptive apology with maternal warmth.

"Tricia is proud and vain. She leans on Renuel's prestige to look down on others, always striving to hold her nose high."

"...That's not entirely true."

"No need for courtesy. I wish for closer ties between us."

Though Rodea remained open-hearted, Derek—a frontier baron—felt uneasy under such attention from a countess.

When Derek simply nodded in thanks, Rodea sighed internally before continuing.

"Well... Tricia likely takes after her father. My late husband Hutton used to teach her nonsense."

"Nonsense?"

"Manly ambitions, audacity, bravado, reading people... Useless power struggles. As you know, such things hold little value for a proper noble lady."

Rodea sighed deeply, recalling her eccentric late husband.

Though social maneuvering had its place in noble society, Rodea—a battlefield veteran—had no patience for it.

Perhaps merchant-turned-noble Hutton had sought to impart what Rodea couldn't.

"We often clashed over Tricia's education. Usually, one of us would yield."

"..."

"Hutton had good judgment, so I conceded often. But telling a seven-year-old to never close her eyes while swinging fists... or to jump cliffs for thrills... That was too much."

Listening, Derek's expression turned incredulous.

Clearing her throat, Rodea continued.

"My husband Hutton was... how should I put it..."

"An oddball."

"..."

"No need to mince words. As I said, I believe our houses can grow closer. Ahem."

"Th-thank you for saying so."

"Hutton was... peculiar. Normally, one teaches young girls etiquette, magic, history, literature—proper lady's education. Yet Hutton—who understood its importance better than anyone—seemed disinterested in teaching Tricia such things."

Rodea's voice grew faintly nostalgic.

Recalling memories often softened one's tone.

"He must have realized something back then."

"..."

Derek didn't ask what. He already knew.

Reading his expression, Rodea sighed deeply.

"Yes. Someone of your discernment understands. Tricia is... unremarkable in every way."

Rodea and Hutton had surely confirmed this repeatedly.

Derek needed no further elaboration.

"Magic, arts, politics, academics, social skills... Whatever she learns, she's either slightly below or slightly above average. Never embarrassingly bad, but never outstanding either."

"Lady Tricia said as much herself."

"Yes. Compared to your dazzling disciples, Tricia must seem like dull charcoal."

Derek couldn't nod, but he didn't deny it either.

Even under his tutelage, Tricia's growth potential appeared severely limited.

His past students all had exceptional ceilings—prodigies like Sirine or geniuses like Denise.

But Tricia's limits were clearly defined.

"Ordinariness isn't a sin."

Rodea lowered her gaze.

"But some are born into positions where ordinariness isn't permitted. No amount of reassurance changes that."

As the daughter of continental hero Rodea and merchant magnate Hutton, Tricia's upbringing was imaginable.

Her constant arrogance stemmed from desperate attempts at validation.

Derek steeled himself.

Clarity now would prevent future complications.

"Even under my direct instruction, Lady Tricia would never reach 3-Star proficiency."

Not speculation—certainty.

Rodea knew Derek didn't make such claims lightly.

She closed her eyes briefly and nodded.

Gazing at the open sky, Rodea reminisced.

Hutton—who adored his daughter—initially taught her academic and magical subjects himself.

Then one day, he abandoned all that, focusing instead on mental fortitude.

He must have seen Tricia's limits clearly.

That sharp-eyed man.

She recalled young Tricia's sparkling eyes as she trailed after Hutton.

Dragging his daughter through forests, scaling cliffs, fishing by rivers—that eccentric man. Though his methods made Tricia rough around the edges, he sought to instill one crucial lesson, discarding trivial ladylike graces.

This dreamy child would inevitably face reality's walls someday.

Amidst brilliant peers, she'd lament her dull talents and bow her head.

So as a father, he imparted one thing:

-'Never lose heart.'

The words of a man who rose from penniless beggar to merchant king through turbulent times.

-'Even if the world tramples you, never lose heart, Tricia.'

Words shared after a day of fishing, by a cliffside fire drying their clothes.

Making his tiny daughter clench her fist in promise.

Let them call you arrogant, brash, whatever.

Let them brand you third-rate, greedy, mediocre—ignore it all.

Never, ever lose heart.

The mantra of a man who clawed his way up through sheer audacity.

Did those words still reside in her heart?

"Anyway, he was an oddball. Uncontrollable, undignified, incomprehensible. Dreadful, really. Marvel we stayed married. Just thinking about it exhausts me."

"..."

"But well..."

Scowling as if recalling an enemy, Rodea suddenly closed her eyes and smiled.

"As a husband... he wasn't half bad."

All in the past now.

Yet the memories felt vivid as yesterday, making Countess Rodea grin.

-'What is it that nobles would die for? Surely you, Lady Tricia, know better than anyone?'

By now, stubborn pride took hold. She'd become Derek's disciple no matter what. Her ego felt scraped raw.

Alone in her bedroom, Tricia ground her teeth before sighing deeply.

The image of that young lioness—eyes blazing crimson, radiating malice—resurfaced.

Diela Catherine Duplein, Ravenclaw School's top disciple... Her sheer presence was terrifying.

How Derek tamed that madgirl into submission baffled her. Seeing Diela act like a docile lamb around him remained unbelievable.

Yet she too was nobility.

What did nobles value above all? The answer was obvious.

"Justification."

Justification, justification—that damned justification.

Would reasoning work on that beastly girl? Yet justification could be spun from wordplay.

"..."

Lying in darkness, Tricia suddenly reached toward the ceiling, clenching her fist.

Her nose stung as she bit her lip, inhaling sharply.

Then, narrowing her eyes... she hardened her resolve.

"I am the most noble young lady of House Renuel."

Swallowing shaky breaths, she tightened her fist.

Her mind began racing.

Four days later, at Rosea Salon's gathering.

A lone girl cut through Elfontaine Hall, where noble scions congregated for academic discussions.

The crowd parted before her.

With each step, onlookers flinched. With every toss of her golden mane, they recoiled.

This little tyrant—now Rosea Salon's de facto leader—surveyed the room with languid disdain.

Worldly power was fickle. Without changing at all, one could plummet to the depths or soar to the clouds based solely on backing and circumstance.

Disinterested in these mediocre nobles, the girl trudged forward.

"Greetings, Lady Diela."

Then someone boldly blocked her path.

Diela frowned, but the other girl lifted her chin higher, inhaling deeply.

"You seem unwell?"

"Tri... T... Whatever your name is."

Though she knew full well, Diela deliberately scraped at Tricia's pride.

Suppressing turmoil, Tricia forced a smile.

Recalling her father's lifelong lessons, she steadied herself.

As Count Renuel's daughter, she must remain dignified, noble, head held high.

Yet life inevitably tests one's limits.

"Get lost."

Diela's words iced the corridor.

The oppressive aura of facing a caged lion.

When confronting an uncontrollable beast, worrying about decorum is futile.

Survival requires readiness to wallow in mud.

The most valuable inheritance from banker Hutton: nerve.

Tricia smiled faintly.

For days, she'd practiced words never before spoken, facing a wall.

Now, she'd utter them lightly. The more shocking, the better.

"Let's fight, bitch."

Elfontaine Hall froze solid.

Ears must be deceiving them. Surely they misheard.

Gaping noblewomen stood petrified.

Rest in peace... Tricia.

As if by agreement, the crowd began silent prayers.