“To you in an imperfect world, wishing for perfect salvation.”

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“Your manners are as lacking as your appearance.”

A girl’s harsh words poured cold water on the lively banquet hall.

“Still, I should finish my greeting. It’s truly an honor to meet you, Count Sion Laurel.”

The ensuing insult cut off the remaining laughter, and the nobles froze in place at the sudden thunderbolt.

The nobles enjoying the party stared blankly at one girl.

The name of that girl in the aqua-colored dress was Ibi Ariate.

A candidate for the next Saint, and the culprit who had just shattered the atmosphere of the banquet hall with just two sentences.

A chilling silence fell over the banquet hall centered on that girl. And at that moment when everyone was flustered, Ibi, the cause of the situation, was very quietly, yet more intensely than anyone, in shock.

‘What did I just say?’

Ibi looked around the silent banquet hall with startled rabbit eyes. Then she looked up again at the gorgeous man standing before her.

His name was Sion Laurel. The younger brother of the Grand Duke Laurel who hosted this banquet, and the very person who had just been accused by Ibi of lacking manners.

While Ibi was frozen stiff, blinking her eyes, the Count opened his mouth.

“What did you just say?”

At the Count’s monotonous question, Ibi snapped back to her senses and tried to make an excuse.

Or rather, she tried to make an excuse.

“I said you lack manners befitting your appearance, but it’s an honor to meet you, Count.”

But what actually tumbled out of Ibi’s mouth was a spirited jab, and Ibi gasped in horror, swallowing empty air.

‘W-What’s going on?’

Something was wrong. Otherwise, there’s no way the well-mannered Ibi would spout such rude words to someone she just met today.

Ibi was so shocked that she quickly shook her head.

“I-I apologize, Count. What I meant to say was…”

“Or.”

The Count leaned towards Ibi, cutting off her explanation.

As the distance closed, the Count’s face drew nearer. So Ibi looked at the face just a span away with a perplexed feeling.

That Count was an extraordinary beauty.

His delicate features were flawless as if chiseled, and the shoulders he lowered to meet Ibi’s gaze made her realize how tall he was. Moreover, his golden hair shimmering under the chandelier was dazzling like a halo.

If there was one thing different from the rumors, it was that his sky-blue eyes, said to be empty and lifeless, now held a strangely intense hue.

“Or what were you trying to say?”

The Count asked, staring at Ibi. It was impossible to tell if he was giving her a chance to explain or suppressing his anger.

But the desperate Ibi answered, putting judgment aside.

“Mind your manners, you ill-bred brat.”

And she wished she could just die.

‘This must be a dream…’

Once again, her mouth moved on its own, plunging Ibi into predicament.

Ibi stared blankly at the Count like a trapped rabbit, unable to believe this situation.

Meanwhile, the Count’s gaze as he looked back at Ibi remained enigmatic.

He seemed angry, as if observing something curious, and as if contemplating how to punish the previous rudeness.

His ambiguous gaze and the silence in the banquet hall choked Ibi.

The nobles watched Ibi silently. They all looked curious as to why the kind and gentle Saint candidate suddenly committed such an eccentric act.

Ibi wanted to explain or make excuses to them. But she couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth for fear of saying something strange again.

The frightened Ibi hesitated and hesitated before biting her lip hard.

Then, leaving behind the countless gazes piercing her, she finally fled from that banquet hall.

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‘What on earth is going on?’

Ibi, having boarded the carriage, recalled the previous incident while catching her breath.

Just now, Ibi had insulted Sion Laurel, a high noble, in front of hundreds of aristocrats. Even going so far as to mention his lack of manners.

It’s an utterly impossible thing.

In this land of Tienda, only four families are called high nobles, and among them, the Laurel Grand Duke’s family is ranked first.

The Laurels are the nobles among nobles and the de facto rulers of this continent without a king.

And to insult Count Laurel at a banquet hosted by the Laurel Grand Duke himself.

Ibi, feeling like crying, imagined what the nobles at that place would whisper.

―My goodness, was she always like this?

―It’s fortunate we found out her true nature before she was selected as a Saint.

―As for manners, she’s no different from a commoner from Bis, as expected.

Ibi squeezed her eyes shut at the naturally imagined criticisms.

Although she’s currently considered a strong candidate for the next Saint, Ibi is actually a lower-class person from Bis, the lower continent.

Ibi, who had been living in an orphanage in Bis, received God’s blessing at the age of fifteen. That’s how she caught the eye of the Tower Lord and came up to Tienda, the upper continent and the world of nobles.

After that, when she turned eighteen and officially stepped into Tienda’s social circles, the conservative nobles harshly cold-shouldered Ibi, a lower-class person. Some young nobles even made childish bets on when that commoner would run back to Bis.

However, despite that solid malice, the rejection towards Ibi didn’t last long.

It was because of Ibi’s marvelous abilities blessed by God, and her kind and warm personality befitting those abilities.

Eventually, even the cold nobles opened their hearts one by one, and now they love her enough to consider Ibi as the next Saint candidate.

But today, all those efforts crumbled. Ibi had blurted out rude words frivolously in front of everyone.

But I swear to heaven, Ibi had no intention of saying such things.

‘The words came out on their own. Without me knowing. Why on earth…’

As Ibi was pondering in confusion, searching for the cause, she suddenly gasped.

Come to think of it, her butler had told her something like this before.

―Miss Ibi, if you’re going to enter high society, you should also know about curses.

―It’s a very rare case, but nobles sometimes commission curses just as they would arrange assassinations.

―Those curses put the target in a predicament in bizarre ways. So you must be careful.

Yes, she had heard about it before. About curses.

Recalling those words, Ibi simultaneously became certain of her condition.

Maybe, no. This is definitely a curse. Otherwise, there’s no way her mouth would move on its own like this.

As her thoughts reached this point, Ibi’s tender eyes wavered anxiously.

‘If I say it’s because of a curse… will everyone believe me?’

If I say it wasn’t my intention to insult Count Laurel, a high noble, if I say it was all because of a curse…

Ibi squeezed her eyes shut as she thought like that.

She felt a little disgusted with herself for being more concerned about the nobles’ gazes than the unidentified curse.

But it couldn’t be helped. An insurmountable wall of status existed between Tienda and Bis, and within it, arrogance was a right and servility was a duty.

While Ibi was just stomping her feet, the carriage had already arrived at her mansion.

The servants hurriedly came out to greet their mistress’s early return, but Ibi ran straight to her room, ignoring them. Then she leaned against the door and took a deep breath.

‘If I want to explain, I need to know what kind of curse this is first.’

Thinking this, Ibi looked at the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

In the mirror stood a pure-looking girl with black hair cascading down, holding her breath. The sight of her carefully adorned appearance, pretty even to her own eyes, made her newly sad about her fleeing situation.

Ibi bit her lip in frustration and whispered towards the mirror.

“I am Ibi Ariate. A Saint candidate of the Manyana Tower, and Ibi Ariate who is presumed to be cursed…”

Ibi mumbled a few words as they came to mind, then made a crying face again. Unlike when she spoke rudely to the Count, now her words came out properly.

‘Why? Could it be that my words only get twisted in front of other people?’

It’s a plausible assumption, but it was too early to conclude. Even in front of the Count, Ibi had been able to speak properly for a moment.

As Ibi was staring at the mirror, pondering repeatedly, a knock-knock sound was heard.

“Miss Ibi, it’s me.”

A calm voice was heard from outside the door. It was the voice of Dies, Ibi’s butler.

“I heard you returned. You came back earlier than expected, did something happen?”

The butler asked politely, but Ibi didn’t have the energy to explain and tried to brush it off.

“I called Count Laurel ill-mannered at the banquet hall and couldn’t handle the aftermath, so I ran away.”

“…Pardon?”

“Gasp!”

No, she tried to brush it off.

But Ibi’s voice once again defied its owner’s will, and Ibi covered her mouth in surprise.

Again. Her mouth moved on its own again. Why? Why now of all times…

‘Wait, could this be…?’

Ibi, who had been standing still in a daze, gasped at a certain premonition.

Come to think of it, it was like that. When unwanted words came out of Ibi’s mouth, there was always a specific situation preceding it. The first time, the second and third times, and now too.

Ibi swallowed dry at the ensuing speculation. Then she carefully asked the butler outside the door.

“Um, butler. Can we set aside this story for now and let me ask just one question? Anything you’ve been curious about.”

“What do you mean…”

“Just once, please. It’s important.”

Ibi urged the hesitating butler. To that, the butler reluctantly began.

“Then, Miss Ibi, did you really break the Tower Lord’s statue by accident this time?”

“No, I deliberately kicked and broke that one.”

There was a moment of silence following Ibi’s unfiltered answer.

Ibi opened her eyes wide in surprise, and the butler outside the door was also silent for a moment.

“…Why?”

“Because the Tower Lord pissed me off.”

It was the same when the butler asked for the reason. Ibi answered without realizing and froze in a daze.

After a meaningful silence, the butler quietly asked again.

“Then, Miss Ibi, do you perhaps know the whereabouts of my limited edition Berdad teacup?”

“I do. It’s buried in the flowerpot in my room.”

“Did you break that too?”

“Yes. But this one was an accident.”

“Then why did you say you didn’t know every time I looked for it?”

“Well, because you’re terrible with nagging and holding grudges… S-Stop! That’s enough!”

At the butler’s continued questioning, and at the confessions flowing smoothly from her own mouth, Ibi panicked and stopped the Q&A.

The butler shouted to open this door. So Ibi held onto the doorknob tightly and groaned while resisting.

“This can’t be…”

Ibi finally realized. What kind of curse she was under, and that she couldn’t make any explanations to the nobles, including Count Laurel.

Ibi Ariate, the Saint candidate known for her gentle and noble character, was cursed.

Certainly, it was a curse that made her answer others’ questions honestly without fail.

And just an hour ago, Ibi, who had become honest due to the curse, said this in front of everyone:

―Your manners are as lacking as your appearance.

―Mind your manners, you ill-bred brat.

“Ah, aah…”

Ibi’s face turned pale as she mulled over her words.

At this point, she had to admit it.

These cheap insults, which she had attributed to the curse, were actually Ibi’s pure, honest thoughts.

The kind and gentle Ibi Ariate originally had a prickly and materialistic personality, but had been pretending to be docile solely with the determination to become a Saint.

But the curse that fell like a bolt from the blue happened to be one that exposed that pretense entirely, so Ibi, realizing the situation, sat down with her back against the door.

Then, forgetting even how to breathe, she screamed silently.