Right, it’s true that I rarely wore dresses.

Noting Alice’s expression, I thought to myself.

“Does it… not suit me?”

I asked straightforwardly.

I don’t trust my own sense of fashion. I didn’t consider myself someone who dressed particularly well in my past life, either. Back then, I would usually just buy whatever was on display in the store, set up on the mannequins. Whether it looked good on me was a different story.

Still… don’t they say the finishing touch to fashion is one’s face? And it’s not just the face but the body as well.

With the appearance of "Sylvia Pangriffon," I was sure I wouldn’t look out of place by anyone’s standards. In fact, beautiful might be the more accurate word.

So unless it was an absurdly mismatched outfit, I thought it would suit me just fine.

The dress I had on was a light blue one.

It wasn’t overly ornate, and it didn’t reveal much skin.

I thought it had a suitably refined design… though, I couldn’t be sure how it appeared to someone like Alice, who’d grown up in the royal palace.

“Uh, no, it suits you well. Really.”

Whether Alice genuinely thought it looked good or was just being polite because she couldn’t bring herself to say otherwise, I couldn’t tell.

Alice could read my expressions with ease, while I struggled to read hers. How unfair.

Not that I was planning to get upset with her; I simply asked again calmly.

“Do you think it would be inappropriate to meet the Grace family in this dress?”

I didn’t think so. Wearing a dress was common for nobles, and this dress hadn’t been cheap. It was something I’d prepared for the academy and hadn’t worn before, but considering the cost, it certainly wouldn’t be "inappropriate."

“Oh, well—”

Alice seemed like she was about to say something but closed her mouth.

For a moment, her expression stiffened. I resisted the urge to tilt my head in confusion.

If she thought the dress was so atrocious that it was outright disrespectful…

I supposed that could be the case.

It’s like going to a fashion show and being noticeably poorly dressed on purpose—while not an official rule, it would certainly be seen as bad etiquette.

Or wearing something overly bright to a funeral, or trying to outshine the bride at a wedding. Nobles might have their own similar rules. Perhaps it was considered bad form for a guest to dress more extravagantly than the host.

“—No.”

But Alice’s rigid expression soon softened.

Then, with surprising haste, she replied.

“Really?” I asked again, noting her suspiciously flustered look. Alice nodded fervently.

“Yes, it suits you well. And it’s not against etiquette. If anyone criticizes it, it’s just because they personally dislike it.”

“…”

For a moment, I wondered if she was just saying that to avoid hurting my feelings, but ultimately, I decided to take her words at face value.

Alice wouldn’t lie about something like this. Over the past ten years, that was one thing I’d come to trust completely.

If we ever had to compete, Alice would challenge me fairly, just as she had when we were children.

“Understood.”

Seeing me nod without protest, Alice seemed visibly relieved.

*

Alice caught herself just before saying, "Maybe it doesn’t."

As someone less adept at hiding her expressions than Sylvia, her stiff face was entirely visible to Sylvia, who could easily observe it.

However, Sylvia’s expression remained unchanged, with only a slight flicker of curiosity.

But it wasn’t as though Alice could simply ask, "Why are you dressed like that all of a sudden?"

In noble and royal circles, words often carried many layers of meaning. Sylvia, who had lived within the royal family for ten years, surely understood this.

If Alice were to ask such a question, "all of a sudden" could imply "why here," "that attire" could imply "plain clothing," and "dressed like that?" could imply "trying to impress someone?" Sylvia would pick up on these subtleties.

And if she connected all those hidden implications, they’d boil down to one word: jealousy.

And that was… childish, wasn’t it?

Alice had never claimed to be Sylvia’s "sister" until recently, when Claire had started calling Sylvia her "big sister."

Sylvia might not have given it much thought yet, but if Alice were to cross a few more lines, Sylvia might realize that Alice was feeling envious of Claire.

It wasn’t a deep, possessive jealousy. Rather, it was simply that Alice was unable to ask Sylvia directly, her thoughts and emotions tied up in questions she couldn’t voice.

So, it was something like this:

Did Sylvia resent being taken to the royal palace by Lucas?

Behind that impassive expression, was there a faint hint of resentment toward Alice?

Had Sylvia never once considered Alice her sister, seeing her only as a means to an end—a tool to secure the future she wanted or avoid something she feared?

Were those occasional glimpses of humanity in Sylvia just an act to deceive Alice?

“It’s getting late.”

Sylvia’s words interrupted Alice’s wandering thoughts.

Alice blinked at the calm look on Sylvia’s face. Perhaps the light blue dress, slightly out of character, made Sylvia seem even more at ease.

Sylvia was, undeniably, beautiful. Almost anything would look good on her.

But, something felt off.

Her shoulders were too tense, standing too rigidly. In hindsight, her shoulders were always like that when she wore her uniform.

It wasn’t the uniform; it was Sylvia’s natural posture.

Too accustomed to behaving like a soldier, she’d developed the habit.

Realizing this, Alice relaxed, her shoulders dropping. She was almost lucky not to burst out laughing.

Sylvia was still Sylvia.

If she appeared different, it was only because Alice herself was seeing her differently.

“I think it would be best to get ready now.”

“Before that, Sylvia,” Alice said, getting up and walking over to Sylvia with graceful poise, like a princess.

Still in her pajamas, it might have looked odd to others, but it was only the two of them here.

Just like in the old days.

“You’re holding too much tension in your shoulders.”

“…”

Sylvia didn’t reply, but her eyes were on Alice. Seeing a faint trace of curiosity in Sylvia’s deep black eyes, Alice felt strangely reassured.

“It’s fine when you’re in uniform or dress uniform,” Alice said, lifting her hands to lightly pat Sylvia’s shoulders, just as her etiquette tutor had done for her as a child.

“But if you walk around that stiffly in a dress, it’ll look far too rigid.”

“Is that so?”

The response was pure curiosity.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Alice sighed without realizing it. Her earlier worries and doubts seemed to melt away with the sigh, leaving her feeling lighter.

“All right, then. Just wait until I’ve finished my shower. I’ll teach you some quick tips for moving around in a dress.”

“There’s a specific way to move in a dress?”

Sylvia’s fleeting thought of changing back was practically visible, and Alice barely held back a laugh.

They’d likely learned from the same etiquette tutor, so why did their lessons feel so different?

“Understood? Stay right here. We’re here representing the royal family, so we don’t want to be an embarrassment.”

With that, Alice turned to head to the shower, only to realize in her excitement that she hadn’t brought any undergarments or a change of clothes.

Looking a little embarrassed, she returned to her bed, retrieved her clothes from the trunk, and then headed back to the shower.

…She was genuinely grateful to be sharing the room with Sylvia alone.