"W-Welcome, Lady Green!"
Jean burst out, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled forward.
He bent at the waist so quickly it looked painful, bowing again and again with the enthusiasm of a man as if trying to erase every sin he'd ever committed.
"My lady," he continued breathlessly, his hands flailing as he gestured toward a shrouded mannequin.
"At last! The design you requested—the daring new style, elegant yet practical, pants made exclusively for women."
His hands flailing as he gestured toward a shrouded mannequin.
"...Ah, forgive me, forgive me, I'm rambling! But I swear, no garment in the empire will rival this one! Truly, I have poured my soul, my blood, my very sanity into this creation!"
He waved his arms like a street performer trying to distract the crowd from a bad trick, his words tumbling over one another, the desperation in his voice unmistakable.
Catalina's sharp green eyes softened briefly, but her attention flicked past him—toward the counter at the edge of the workshop. There, half-hidden behind the desk, a woman in black hair was inching backward, as if trying to melt into the shadows and escape.
That woman… Catalina thought.
Her brows lowered ever so slightly. She remembered that face. The market. The biting words. The accidental offense. What had begun as a misunderstanding still lingered in her mind.
"You there," Catalina's voice rang clear, cutting through the room like glass.
"You were that woman before, aren't you?"
Both Jean and Erika froze. They might as well have been children caught with stolen sweets.
Erika stiffened, head jerking back toward the noblewoman, her expression contorted between guilt and dread.
Her heart dropped.
Oh no, she remembers me.
Jean's entire posture locked up, but inside, his soul was screaming prayers for salvation.
Sylvester, standing tall at Catalina's side, narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired woman.
"My lady," he asked, curious, "do you know her?"
"No," Catalina replied bluntly, though her tone carried weight.
"But there is something I must make clear."
Her voice was calm, even, but to Jean and Erika it sounded like the tolling of a death bell. Punishment, humiliation, exile—it could be anything.
Jean risked a glance at Erika, the kind of look only childhood friends understood.
You're on your own, Erika, his wide eyes seemed to scream before he dramatically turned away, abandoning her like a coward on a sinking ship.
Erika's heart dropped into her stomach.
You bastard, she seethed silently, her thoughts burning with the desire to strangle him on the spot. Outwardly, though, she stood stiff as a board, hands folded neatly in front of her like a schoolgirl awaiting judgment.
Lady Green stepped forward. Each click of her heels made Erika flinch, her entire body trembling as though bracing for a guillotine blade. Finally, the noblewoman stopped just before her.
And then—she bowed.
Not deeply, but enough. A half-bow, precise, deliberate, the gesture of someone humbling themselves.
The workshop fell into stunned silence.
"I must apologize for our last encounter," her voice elegant, sincere, yet tinged with regret.
"If I ever offended you with thoughtless remarks before. It was never my intention, miss."
The three witnesses nearly fainted.
Sylvester staggered, his composure cracking as his jaw fell open. A noble bowing to a commoner—it was unthinkable.
Jean slapped both hands to his cheeks, horror and awe twisting his features like a man watching his entire worldview collapse.
And Erika? She forgot how to breathe. Her blue eyes went wide, her jaw slack, her mind spinning into static.
This isn't real. This can't be real. Why… Why is a noble lady bowing to me?
She stumbled forward in her fluster, nearly tripping over her own feet as her arms flailed like she could physically shove the apology back into Lady Green's mouth.
"L-Lady Green, please!" She bent forward in a clumsy bow of her own.
Erika's voice cracked, panic rushing through her words as she trembled.
"It was me who should apologize! I didn't know you were the client—I took it all wrong, and I spoke so rudely. Please forgive me!" Her arms flapping awkwardly before she forced them stiff at her sides.
For a moment, the two women stood bowing at each other, one with grace and dignity, the other with frantic guilt.
Jean looked like he might faint from secondhand embarrassment.
Sylvester muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "I need a drink. No, perhaps a barrel.…"
Finally, Lady Green straightened slowly, a faint, graceful smile curving her lips.
"I see. Then we are both at peace."
The warmth in her green eyes lingered, quiet but undeniable.
Erika could only stare back, her heart still pounding against her ribs, her awkward smile trembling as if it might break at any moment.
Why are all these tall noblewomen so odd? First the lady I'm tutoring, then Lady Green… At this point, I'm starting to think they were lost twin siblings or something.
Her stomach sank as she realized both noble women now loomed over different corners of her life.
Jean peeked between his fingers, expression frozen somewhere between terror and a scream, while Sylvester still looked like he wasn't getting paid enough for this.
In that moment, the little workshop no longer felt like a courtroom—it felt like the world had turned upside down.