Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

It didn't take long.

The moment she stepped beyond the threshold of the Banquet Hall's central floor, the tide of conversation shifted subtly—like water bending around a new stone.

Eyes turned. Not all. But enough.

The ones that mattered.

She could feel the familiar stares of young noblewomen, draped in hand-embroidered lace and the heavier silks reserved for ceremonies that meant something. A half-dozen of them gathered in a loose crescent near one of the mana-crystal fountains, where the light pooled across their gowns like liquid opal.

Lady Fiorenza was among them, wearing sea-glass blue and that same sharp-lipped smile that never quite touched her eyes. Lady Ameline, too—newly betrothed to a minor duke's second son, her posture already stiffer than necessary. And of course, Fiorenza's shadow—delicate, sweet-voiced Celestra, who said little but watched everything.

Their conversation fluttered briefly when they saw her.

Then one of them—Celestra, likely pushed by Fiorenza's glance—offered a small wave.

Valeria approached with neither urgency nor reluctance, her pace steady, her expression poised.

"Lady Olarion," Fiorenza greeted, her voice lacquered smooth. "We were just wondering when you'd arrive. We feared the banquet would begin without one of its more recently favored stars."

Valeria caught the nuance immediately.

It wasn't just curiosity in their voices—there was something else beneath it.

Timing.

That was the real reason.

The entrance schedule was a message, and every noble in the room had read it.

She had arrived after them.

Not late. Later.

In these circles, where social power hung on the subtlest of signs, that mattered. A higher-ranked arrival—positioned to draw attention. To imply favor.

And they had noticed.

Of course they had.

Fiorenza's greeting was sweet on the surface, but brittle underneath. A test. A needle.

Valeria said nothing at first. She simply folded her hands at her waist, letting her weight shift slightly—enough to match their poise, mirror their posture. Her smile was faint. Dismissively polite.

But inside, she sighed.

So this was how the evening would unfold. Again.

So much attention spent on the arrangement of chairs and timing of arrivals. On glances. On the metaphor of whose foot touched which carpet first.

This was the world they cherished.

And the reason she never quite belonged to it.

Still, she answered smoothly. "You needn't have waited on me, Lady Fiorenza. I assure you, I would not have expected such devotion."

There was a flicker of something behind Fiorenza's eyes—annoyance, quickly lacquered over with amusement. "Oh, we're simply pleased to see our dear circle gaining such… variety."

Ameline stepped in, her tone light. "We were just speaking of how exciting this year's cohort will be. With so many commoners invited, the conversations alone will be worth remembering."

Valeria's eyebrow ticked upward by the smallest margin. "You're looking forward to the conversation?"

"Of course!" Ameline giggled, tucking a curled strand behind her ear. "I've always wondered how they think. What they do for… fun."

Celestra chimed in softly, "Do they even know how to dance?"

"Do they even know which fork to use?" Fiorenza added, laughing just a hair too sharply.

The others followed suit.

Polished, practiced amusement. All very tasteful.

All very ugly.

Valeria's expression didn't change.

She kept her tone neutral. "I imagine they'll manage."

Fiorenza smiled at her. "Oh, of course. I'm sure the Academy will provide enough etiquette courses. If not, I suppose someone will have to take the role of guide. A... patient mentor."

"I'm sure someone will," Valeria murmured.

And she didn't add:

But it won't be you.

She let the conversation flow past her then, offering the expected gestures—smiles, nods, soft comments—but already, her thoughts were drifting elsewhere.

Because the clock had turned. The hall was nearly full.

And still…

He hadn't arrived.

A strange tightness bloomed at the base of her throat.

One she wouldn't name.

Not here. Not now.

But her eyes—cool, unreadable—flicked once toward the entrance.

Waiting.

Just a little longer.

******

The banquet hall had already begun to fill with the velvet hush of ceremony—the kind of silence that wasn't truly quiet, but laden with murmurs wrapped in etiquette and glances polished like glass. The chandeliers glowed with a light too refined to flicker, and the scent of rare spices, polished wood, and aged wine mingled with the faintest tinge of ozone—freshly cleaned air, touched by light magic.

Selphine stood by one of the perimeter columns, her posture as precise as her braid, silver threads laced through black silk. She held her goblet with two fingers and a thumb, just so, the very picture of idle grace.

Aurelian leaned beside her, far less rigid in bearing but equally observant. His doublet, a rich navy offset by pale gold, fit cleanly to his form, the embroidery understated but finely worked. He sipped his drink with the bored indulgence of someone who had memorized every rule and knew exactly how to bend them without breaking.

Nearby, Elara and Cedric—Elowyn and Reilan, to the outside world—stood quietly, though not awkwardly. Elara's gown was midnight-laced velvet, shifting in texture as she moved, an echo of starlit calm. Her chestnut hair was drawn back into a loose half-knot, allowing gold-flecked strands to frame her face. There was no trace of tension in her now—only awareness. She seemed to listen without appearing to, gaze drifting over the hall with thoughtful detachment.

Cedric—Reilan—was her opposite in hue, clad in ash-grey formalwear that matched his eyes and complemented his sharp-edged presence. He looked like he'd been carved out of quiet resolve and a thousand unsaid thoughts. The way he stood just slightly to Elara's right, always within reach but never overbearing, spoke of instinct rather than court training.

"Fifty silver says Lady Fiorenza's first target is someone from Loria," Aurelian murmured.

"Fifty?" Selphine scoffed. "You think that little of her ambition? I'd say she's aiming for the Crown's guest list."

"Elowyn," Aurelian said, turning slightly. "Remind me, when do we, the lowly baron-born, get assigned our court-approved dance partners? Or are we expected to watch from the edges like romantic tragedies waiting to happen?"

Elara arched a brow, deadpan. "I assumed we'd been brought early to clean the floors."

Cedric snorted quietly at that, then masked it with a sip of water.

Selphine's smile was thin and knowing. "We're not being ignored," she said. "We're being observed. They just haven't decided what kind of problem we are yet."

Indeed, they were one of the earliest groups to arrive—expected, as scions of the lesser nobility, to come before the showpieces walked in. The banquet always moved like a hierarchy in motion. Barons and viscounts arrived first. Then the higher bloodlines. Then the strategically late—those with enough power to rewrite the order.

Already, the hall was beginning to change.

The shimmer of finer embroidery. The rise of voices trained to control a room without needing to raise in volume. Each new entrance was marked not by a herald, but by the subtle shift in attention—shoulders angling, gazes turning, laughter softening to make room for silence.

Selphine sipped her drink. "Lady Ameline just arrived. Blue lace, three paces behind House Merden's heir."

"That's not a mistake," Aurelian said. "She's signaling alliance. Or submission."

"She's always been subtle like a war hammer," Selphine replied dryly.

Elara watched them both, amused. "Do you memorize every noble's stride pattern or do you just do it for fun?"

"Both," they said in unison.

Cedric gave her a look that nearly qualified as conspiratorial.

Still, no one approached their group. Not yet.

A few glances passed their way—half-curious, half-dismissive—but nothing lingered. In this room, power was measured in inheritance and alliances, not test scores or battlefield survival. And while they were known—they were not yet noteworthy.

Selphine, for her part, looked entirely unbothered. "Let them look past us now."

Aurelian smiled faintly. "They won't be able to for long."