Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 853: Orange and Violet

“Hello.”

The voice was smooth. Balanced. Polished.

Everyone turned.

Jesse looked up—then froze, just for a heartbeat.

Pink hair.

Purple eyes.

Valeria Olarion.

Daughter of a famed Arcanis bloodline. A student noted not just for power, but for restraint. A name that came with weight… and a gaze that cut too clean to be dismissed.

Valeria’s smile was soft. Not mocking. Not sharp. But there was something beneath it Jesse couldn’t quite read. Something… watchful.

The circle stilled.

As if a thread had snapped loose in the weave of idle conversation, tension crept in quietly—soft but precise.

Valeria Olarion’s presence wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

She moved like a falling petal through a still pond—no sound, but all eyes followed.

Jesse straightened instinctively, her fingers tightening just slightly at her side.

’She’s here.’

She hadn’t expected it. Not truly. Not after that stare from across the courtyard. Not after the duel. Not after the way Lucavion had stood close to her—spoken to her—before the ceremony. Jesse had assumed the girl would remain in the Arcanis cluster of polished heirs and scholarly favorites.

But now, Valeria stood here.

In their circle.

Wearing a lilac-stitched gown cut just above the ankle, light enough to dance in, elegant enough to bow kingdoms with a blink. Her hair—pale pink, almost silver in the ambient glow—was tucked behind one ear, revealing a delicate chain of imperial silver resting just beneath her jaw.

And her eyes—

They were locked on Jesse.

Not rudely. Not challengingly.

Just… directly.

As if she had seen through every word unspoken during the duel.

As if she already knew too much.

“Valeria Olarion,” she said smoothly, dipping her head with court-trained grace. “Of the Olarion House. It’s a pleasure.”

The Arcanis nobles—those nearest to the circle—straightened immediately. A few offered formal bows, others murmured acknowledgment.

“The Lady Olarion—how rare,” someone whispered again, breath caught between admiration and disbelief.

Another voice—a boy from the House of Verdine—murmured, “Didn’t think she’d attend something like this…”

“Not her scene,” someone else added, almost to themselves.

Valeria tilted her head slightly, catching the words without looking at the speakers. Her smile didn’t shift, but there was a faint pause—enough to signal that she had heard.

“Why?” she asked softly.

A simple question.

And yet, it landed like a stone dropped into still water.

The Arcanis nobles—bright, polished, trained for wit and maneuver—fell silent.

Not one of them answered.

Not because they didn’t have thoughts, but because none dared voice them.

Because what do you say to a girl like her?

Because you don’t usually grace us with your presence.

Because you tend to walk alone at events like these.

Because everyone knows Lucavion wouldn’t have fought without you in the audience.

Because your House once protected the Crown—and now, you barely show up at all.

But no one said that.

Instead, they bowed their heads slightly. Courteous. Quiet.

Respectful.

Too respectful.

Jesse caught it all.

She watched the way Valeria’s question sucked the air from the group—how not even the most talkative dared offer a jest in reply.

It wasn’t just reverence. It was weight.

In hindsight, this was something that her family indeed lacked.

Maybe it was the way she carried herself.

The kind that surrounded a name steeped in something older.

’Strange woman.’

This woman was strange.

And when the silence lingered, the Lorian students—slightly less shaken, if only because they were less familiar with Arcanis hierarchy—moved.

A few of them stepped forward.

Not in challenge. Not in boldness.

But with the kind of caution reserved for old names and long shadows.

Just then someone greeted.

“It’s an honor, Lady Olarion. Your house name still carries across the sea.”

Another followed. “Even if the Dukedom’s no longer held formally… the Olarions once stood at the side of the Crown, didn’t they? Protectors of the old line.”

Valeria’s smile did not waver.

But the warmth behind it cooled by a fraction.

Not to ice.

To something older.

Sterner.

The moment the Lorian girl mentioned the title—no longer held formally—something in Valeria’s expression turned. Just slightly. Just enough.

Jesse saw it first.

It was subtle, too subtle for most: the shift in the angle of Valeria’s jaw, the quiet stillness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Not anger. Not offense. But a withdrawal. Like shutters closing behind stained glass.

The air grew taut again.

The Lorian noble who had spoken blinked, realizing too late the line she’d crossed.

And then—

Cali stepped in.

Light-footed as always. Sharp when it mattered.

“Oh, Lady Olarion,” Cali said quickly, flashing an apologetic smile as she looped her arm halfway through Jesse’s like it had always belonged there. “Don’t mind her. We’ve been drinking in too many footnotes and too few facts. No disrespect was meant—only awe.”

She offered a slight bow—graceful enough to be diplomatic, casual enough to pass for charm.

Valeria turned to her.

And after a breath… nodded once.

“No lies were spoken,” she said quietly. “The title was stripped. We do not pretend otherwise.”

But her voice—

It was clear.

Sharp as a knight’s blade.

She took the statement head-on, like armor catching a strike. She did not flinch, nor deflect. She wore the truth as if it were steel over her spine. And somehow… it made her feel even larger in the room.

There was no wounded pride.

Only the kind of poise that came from surviving history itself.

Jesse narrowed her eyes, watching the lines around Valeria’s mouth, the precision of her breath. This wasn’t a girl humiliated by a political fall. This was a girl forged in the aftermath. Someone who didn’t need the title to command respect—because she had already earned it somewhere else.

And then—

Valeria looked at her.

Straight on.

Their eyes locked.

“I watched your performance,” she said, no rise, no dip in tone. Just clarity.

Valeria’s words didn’t come with the syruped cadence of flattery.

They didn’t need it.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, voice even. “Your sword was swung not to impress—but to reach. It wasn’t clean. Not perfect. But it was honest.”

That earned a flicker in Jesse’s eyes. Not a reaction—just a spark of acknowledgment. A language warriors understood: She saw it.

Valeria went on, her tone untouched by sarcasm. “Prince Adrian mentioned earlier—quietly, of course—that according to Lorian customs, the one representing them isn’t composed of the Empire’s strongest.”

She let the weight of that settle.

Then—

“But if what I saw today wasn’t your strongest… then we might be in more trouble than we thought.”

The Arcanis nobles nearby went still. Half stunned. Half amused. A few of them exhaled as if holding back laughter—but not mocking. Not this time.

And the Lorian nobles—

They shifted. Just slightly.

Because she was right.

Jesse’s performance had exceeded every quiet expectation they’d nursed behind folded hands and formal etiquette. She had been good. Far better than they could’ve anticipated from a girl once whispered about only in the context of “Burns” and “war.”

A beat of silence followed—until one of the students, cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said with a tight smile, “I wouldn’t say we’re holding back all our strongest. That would be… rude.”

A ripple of low laughter passed through the group. Carefully measured. Politely amused. No one dared look proud—Lorian arrogance had been punished too many times on too many stages.

But still.

There was pride.

Even Adrian’s mouth twitched at the corner, a half-smile threatening.

Cali grinned wider and nudged Jesse with her elbow. “Congratulations. You’ve become our terrifying secret weapon.”

Jesse didn’t reply at first. Her gaze remained on Valeria—measured, cautious.

Because she didn’t quite trust this woman.

But praise from someone like her?

It carried weight.

“I wasn’t trying to scare anyone,” Jesse said quietly.

“I just wanted to remind someone.”