I Proposed to My Childhood Friend After Regressing - Chapter 10

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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After my Regression, I proposed to my Childhood Friend
Episode 10
The Corridor, where the clamor of the Ballroom had begun to fade, settled into a quieter air.
Baloa followed silently behind Beatrice as she walked toward some unknown destination.
Once she’d confirmed that the crowds had thinned enough to leave only the two of them in the Corridor, Baloa let out a sharp cry of pain and sank to the floor.
At the sound of the exclamation behind her, Beatrice turned, hesitated for a moment, then approached slowly.
“I, um… Is something the matter?”
Just as expected.
Baloa’s lips twisted slightly at the sight of Beatrice—every bit as innocent and kind-hearted as she’d imagined.
Beatrice belonged to that category of people Baloa found laughable: useless, powerless, yet brimming with goodwill—easy prey.
‘Well, that works in my favor, at least.’
Stifling an inward snort, Baloa let out a weak moan.
“My… my stomach…”
“Your stomach?”
“It hurts terribly…”
“Oh… ah, I see.”
“I don’t think I can walk on my own. Could you help me to the Rest Room over there?”
“Um…”
Baloa waited for Beatrice to glance between herself and the direction of the Rest Room, all the while studying her face with deliberate precision.
The wavy platinum hair that looked soft to the touch, those pale-green eyes that seemed so gentle, the slightly flushed cheeks that spoke of naiveté—she took it all in.
‘She really does look just like I do.’
Setting aside aesthetics, there was something in her manner—that dull, innocent sweetness.
Even as Baloa assessed Beatrice this way, she never for a moment expected refusal.
Unless Beatrice somehow knew her true nature, people like her couldn’t abandon someone in distress.
‘So hurry up and say yes.’
Just as Baloa’s waning patience was about to snap, an unexpected answer fell from Beatrice’s lips.
“I’m sorry, but… I have somewhere urgent I need to be right now.”
“Urgent? Something so pressing you’d leave a suffering person behind?”
“Well… normally I would have helped, but I promised to meet someone and—”
“…”
“It’s hard for you to move, isn’t it? Just sit here for now! I’ll call a servant on my way and have them help you immediately!”
A promised meeting?
Behind her mask, Baloa’s eyes narrowed as her mind raced.
Now that she thought about it, she did recall hearing talk from those noisy people earlier.
‘Bringing a shawl to the Powder Room—clearly Lord Clyde is as gentlemanly and considerate as the rumors say! Even the Knights’ Order speaks highly of him.’
‘Ah, I’ve heard those stories too… but he seems to have an even cuter, more romantic side than I expected?’
‘A romantic side?’
‘We only caught bits of it from the Powder Room, so it’s not perfectly clear, but it sounds like he’s planning some kind of private event for the two of them. He kept emphasizing that she absolutely had to be there at the promised place. You know, that Ancient Tree in the Garden.’
‘The Ancient Tree in the Garden—isn’t that the famous confession spot?’
‘Yes, that one!’
Baloa’s eyes darkened as she replayed the conversation in her mind.
‘His absence was for this reason? And Beatrice too—this woman would refuse to do something she’d normally do without question, all to meet her beloved husband?’
—A sharp breath.
‘Quite the love story.’
Baloa settled herself onto a stool in the Corridor and continued to track Beatrice’s retreating form with her gaze.
Various thoughts raced through her mind in quick succession.
Should she cover Beatrice’s mouth from behind and slip into some random room?
Now that she knew where Beatrice was headed, should she have her prepared associates ambush her along the path to the Garden?
Either way, it was clear that it would be easiest to act when Beatrice was alone. Yet…
‘I need to see it with my own eyes.’
Once her mood had soured, Baloa entertained a twisted thought: to witness exactly how far this jealousy would drag her down.
‘He’d spare even a moment apart for her? Clyde Dalton?’
She’d never seen or heard or even conceived of him in such a way during all her time pursuing him.
What wounded Baloa’s pride was the discovery that Clyde possessed facets of himself she didn’t know.
Whether it was an emotion directed at her, information she’d ferreted out through covert investigation, or something else entirely didn’t matter—she could not allow herself to be ignorant of anything regarding Clyde Dalton.
‘He’s mine.’
It was a possessive, irrational thought, yet for Baloa it held the self-evident truth of the sun rising in the morning.
‘And if my property really does possess aspects I don’t know about… then…’
As Beatrice’s silhouette faded into the distance, Baloa rose from the stool and drew the Robe she’d brought around herself.
She then followed the exact path Beatrice had taken, moving deliberately, unhurried.
Imagining Beatrice’s excited expression as she hurried forward, and Clyde waiting for her, Baloa found her displeasure curdling into something almost gleeful.
Of course, if Beatrice had known, she would have run at Baloa on the spot.
Because unlike Baloa’s fantasy of a joyfully rushing Beatrice, the truth was that Beatrice ran in sheer terror.
‘Oh my god, this psycho really is following me! What kind of love is worth committing crimes for? Is she insane? Or is this what power looks like? Miss Baloa must find the world such an easy place to live in, oh my god!’
She shrieked this rapid-fire litany of panic the entire way.
* * *
“Gasp… almost… I made it… this is right, isn’t it…? Wheeze, gasp…!”
There’s a reason why a madwoman is called a madwoman!
Beatrice had sprinted to the promised place without drawing a single breath, terrified that Baloa might seize her throat from behind and shake her senseless.
Just as she gripped the Ancient Tree with one hand, her chest heaving, a Water Bottle suddenly appeared in her field of vision.
“Wow, look at that preparation. For now, I’m naming you my savior. Actually, I kind of expected this, but wow, now that I’m seeing it, I’m getting chills!”
“…”
“I swear I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears! Ugh, I feel like I’m dying.”
Assuming it was Clyde, she accepted the bottle and drank deeply—
“For someone on the verge of death, you certainly talk a lot.”
A familiar yet unfamiliar voice reached her ear from close by. Not Clyde Dalton’s voice at all!
Cough! Cough!
“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you like that. Are you all right?”
Cough! Cough! Y-yes… ugh.”
Beatrice finally steadied herself, wiping away the reflexive tears from her eyes, and examined the figure before her.
“Huh? Your Highness Crowell?”
“The same reaction as Clyde. Yes, it’s me.”
“What… what are you doing here?”
At Beatrice’s tone—as though she’d just spotted an unfamiliar neighbor—Crowell let out a small, rueful laugh.
Not that she was entirely wrong.
Crowell’s mother, the Empress Iyette, and Beatrice’s father, Jeddrick, hailed from the same country and were, in the broadest sense, extremely distant relations.
Crowell offered a light shrug at those wide, pale-green eyes.
“I came because Clyde asked for help. I carved out the time from my schedule for him.”
“Help? With what?”
“Well, he said if I waited here by this Ancient Tree, I’d find out soon enough. For now, all I’ve managed is handing you that water.”
At Crowell’s words, Beatrice’s eyes narrowed.
That Clyde boy had a face that made everything look effortless, but he was cunning as a fox when he put his mind to it.
‘Something doesn’t add up. I bet he didn’t tell me everything.’
Clyde had explicitly stressed that she stay glued to his side, never knowing what that unstable Baloa might do.
This meeting place was supposed to be a rendezvous point in situations where they couldn’t help but be separated—like going to the washroom.
In other words, the two of them had planned to jointly confront whatever Baloa might do and work out solutions together.
‘That’s why I even pestered Father into getting me an Obscura for recording!’
Whether traditional nobles would accept the recorded contents as evidence was another matter entirely, but that had been their plan.
‘If this isn’t where I’m supposed to meet him, then where the hell is he and what is he doing?’
Beatrice was frowning, fingering a Brooch that glimmered with an artificial light, when—
—Crash! Smash!
“…Huh?”
A sound of something being hurled and shattering, followed by an acrid burnt smell, assaulted her senses.
Confused, Beatrice poked her head around the Ancient Tree—and her mouth fell open.
“Your Highness, that… that… that over there—!”
“Oh dear.”
Because standing beside the small flames that had just begun to blaze were Clyde—the very person she’d been secretly cursing moments ago—and today’s troublemaker, Baloa Edvain Crawford.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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