The Protagonist's Party is Too Diligent-Chapter 294

“I already knew that.”

Lena blinked at me with a puzzled expression, and for a moment, I was speechless.

Oh, right.

She did say she remembered everything.

This was the difference between those who had just now realized the past had changed and me, who had never thought anything was strange to begin with.

Of course, that meant Lena could recall how I had rewound time just to sample every single parfait on the café’s menu.

“...”

Well...

Yeah, compared to what Lena had just shared, my confession was embarrassingly trivial. The story of a father giving his daughter a stuffed animal because he couldn’t be there for her—compared to “I like sweet things”—it wasn’t even close.

But I couldn’t take it back. That ability was long gone.

So I had no choice but to expand on it, make it sound deeper than it actually was.

“I spent my early years without parents.”

That should work.

Even those who knew about my ability to rewind time didn’t know much about this period of my life. And since I had only learned to use my power after getting beaten up, my time at the orphanage was one of the few stretches of life I had experienced fully, without interference.

Which meant it was one of the only parts of my past I could speak about honestly.

Lena inhaled sharply.

This was starting to feel like I was competing in a who had the worse childhood contest, which was kind of unsettling. But I felt bad that I had made her share something so personal while I had only given her a shallow confession, so I pushed forward.

I moved to sit in a chair, still holding the plush toy in my hands.

“When I became aware of myself, I was in an orphanage. Which makes sense. If my existence was created by the goddess, then naturally, I would have no biological parents.”

Lena quietly took a seat across from me, her eyes serious.

“The food at the orphanage... was hardly edible. But at the time, I thought it was delicious.”

That was only half true.

The food itself had been garbage. Unseasoned, cold oatmeal—bad in both texture and taste.

But even trash tastes palatable when you’re starving. At the time, with an empty stomach, I had been able to appreciate the faint nuttiness of the occasional grain or fragment of fruit hidden in the sludge.

And, of course, I had given most of my portion to the younger children, keeping only the bare minimum for myself.

Not because I was a saint.

It was just that I couldn’t bring myself to eat my full share while others sat beside me, starving.

Besides, those kids already had a miserable future ahead of them—I didn’t see the point in making things worse.

In some ways, it had been an act of resignation. I had thought there was no way to save them, or myself. Maybe I had been thinking like a vet putting down stray dogs. Arrogantly.

“After I left the orphanage and became a princess, I finally got to eat real food.”

People joked about British cuisine being terrible, but that didn’t apply to the palace.

Bread and meat? That was a combination that could never go wrong.

Some dishes didn’t suit my tastes, sure, but overall, the food had been incredible. By the standards of my old world, it would have been considered fine dining.

And in those early days—when I had only just escaped the orphanage—those meals had tasted even better.

And of all the things I had eaten, the ones that left the biggest impression were—

“I especially liked sweet desserts.”

That was it.

The parfaits at that café had been particularly delicious. So much so that my face had practically melted with joy after eating them.

I wasn’t sure why I had developed such a strong attachment to sweets.

My past self had enjoyed them, sure, but only at a normal level. Not enough to justify rewinding time just to try every single flavor.

“...I suppose it must be because I wasn’t able to have such things when I was younger.”

Like how food tastes so much better after coming out of military training.

Maybe my instincts told me to enjoy things while I could—because I had already lived through a time when I couldn’t.

“...”

Lena was silent for a moment before speaking carefully.

“I... had never even imagined such a thing. I grew up in a happy household, after all.”

It was clear her father had played a huge role in shaping her personality.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

She hadn’t been forced into the life of a soldier—she had chosen to follow in her father’s footsteps, out of admiration.

And the dual-wielding style she used? That wasn’t exactly military standard. Maybe her father was as eccentric in battle as Jennifer.

“Well, everyone’s circumstances are different. Just because you’ve heard my story doesn’t mean you have to feel guilty about it.”

Claire had been accepted as a daughter despite lacking blood ties.

Alice had been born with royal blood but was largely ignored by her father.

Lena had been raised by a busy father—but in a household that had been warm and intact.

Someone else’s misfortune didn’t mean that her happiness was a mistake.

You couldn’t define one single way of life as “happiness” and expect everyone to conform to it.

“...It’s surprising that the princess of an empire developed such a commoner’s fondness for sweets.”

“A-Ah, no! Not at all!”

I had said it in a teasing tone, but Lena still flinched in alarm.

I decided to drive the point home.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share this with anyone.”

Alice and Claire definitely already knew. Leo had probably heard by now as well.

But still, I meant it.

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

Charlotte had once watched me enjoy a simple Imperial parfait and had looked at me like I was some kind of pitiful creature.

From the perspective of someone from Belvur, a country famous for its cuisine, seeing me delight in something so... ordinary probably did look kind of sad.

If Charlotte ever learned about my past in full, how would she react?

...Even I had my pride.

No, especially because I had my pride, I had gone to such lengths to maintain my persona.

I wanted to stand among my friends as an equal—not as someone to be pitied.

“I understand.”

I wasn’t sure how much of my reasoning Lena had grasped, but she nodded with a serious expression.

That was enough to convince me that she wouldn’t spread the story.

“Then I suppose that makes us... secret-sharing friends now.”

At my words, a faint blush spread across Lena’s cheeks.

And, honestly? I felt a little jealous.

No matter how much I practiced, no matter how many times I rewound time, I would never be able to match that effortless sincerity.

Because Lena wasn’t acting.

She was that way.

“...Ah, please wait a moment.”

Suddenly remembering something, Lena stood up.

She walked over to her desk, opened a drawer, and rummaged through it.

“...Here.”

Finding what she was looking for, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) she carefully approached me and held out her hand.

It was a tiny version of Digger the Dog.

The small figurine was about the size of a knuckle and made of a porcelain-like material.

Attached to its head was a sturdy metal pin, which looped through a simple iron ring—not the stainless steel I was familiar with, but something cruder, meant to be bent open and closed.

It suited the era. Keychains weren’t a widespread concept yet, and materials science was still in its infancy.

Wordlessly, I picked it up and looked at Lena.

“...I want you to have it.”

Lena averted her gaze slightly as she spoke.

“Are you sure? This must have been a gift from your father as well.”

“That’s exactly why I want to give it to you. I know you’ll take good care of it.”

“...”

I stared at the small figurine in my hand before curling my fingers around it.

It was still warm from Lena’s touch.

“Then... I’ll accept it. I suppose I can consider this a symbol of our friendship?”

I smiled slightly as I spoke.

But Lena didn’t see it.

She had lowered her head, her ears burning red.

...Had she not had many friends her age back home?

The thought crossed my mind, but I didn’t ask.

Everyone had their own secrets.

I had pried enough for today.