My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

When Ulrich took the first step, Esther nearly gasped.

It felt as though her body had moved on its own.

The sensation was strange, stranger than any practice she had ever done before. She had danced many times already with Elana, and with her sisters as well, and even when she was the one following, she had always felt as though some part of the movement still belonged to her. There had always been room to hesitate, to correct herself, to choose how quickly she adjusted.

With Ulrich, however, it felt certainly different.

One of his hands rested gently at her upper back. The other held her right hand with controlled hold. Those were his only points of contact, and yet through them he seemed to govern everything, the pace of her steps, the angle of her turns, the exact moment her feet should shift and close. He was not merely dancing with her.

He was leading her.

Esther had thought that might frighten her more.

For the first few breaths, it did.

She felt almost alarmed by how easily he moved her, by the way her body responded to his guidance before her mind had fully caught up. It felt too smooth, too easy, too unlike the clumsy little uncertainties she was used to during practice. For one panicked instant, she thought he was going too fast for her.

But he was not.

Or rather, if Ulrich had wished, he could have.

She had seen him dancing with Louise only a short while ago. Even from afar, she had noticed how fluid it had looked, how beautiful it had been. They had chosen one of the slower rhythms of the Skargardian Waltz, but compared to what he gave Esther now, even that had been quicker.

This was slower.

Ulrich had chosen the gentlest rhythm possible for her.

And Esther, though nervous and overwhelmed, understood why. He was adjusting the dance to her. Not forcing her to rise to him all at once, but bringing the rhythm down to where she could breathe inside it. It was her first time dancing at such a grand event, with dozens upon dozens of eyes upon her, and she was already shaken from everything that had happened earlier. A single mistake could have panicked her completely.

So he made the pace easier.

Not so slow that it became obvious. Not so gentle that it looked patronizing.

Just enough.

More than that, Esther slowly realized he was adjusting even within the dance itself. Tiny changes. Subtle shifts. A fraction slower here, a cleaner pause there, a turn shortened by the smallest measure, all to find the exact rhythm her body could follow without fear.

And as expected, he found it.

After about a minute, Esther felt it click.

Her earlier confusion softened. Her steps stopped feeling dragged and began to feel guided. She found the pattern beneath his lead and slipped into it more naturally. Dancing with him was different from dancing with Elana or with her sisters. Different height, different reach, different force in the movement, but she began to adapt.

And the moment she did, her heart only started pounding harder.

Keep your head raised.

Meet the eyes of the one leading you.

Show confidence.

Elana had repeated that often enough that Esther could hear her voice even now. But doing it in practice and doing it here, now, with Ulrich, were two completely different things. It felt almost impossible to raise her gaze to him while standing this close. She had always been aware of his presence before, aware of his authority, his coldness, his strong intimidating aura, but like this, inside his hold, with him guiding her step by step, that presence felt stronger than ever.

More than ever reassuring.

That surprised her most.

Still, this was an opportunity she would likely never have again.

So Esther gathered her courage once more and slowly raised her eyes.

They were still reddened from crying, but the tears left her sapphire gaze shining more brightly than before. Wet lashes framed them, and the light of the hall caught there too, making them look almost luminous as she finally looked up at him.

Ulrich’s gaze had been directed outward the room even now.

Then he lowered his eyes to her.

"I—I am sorry..." Esther managed at last.

Ulrich looked at her in silence for a brief moment.

Then he asked, "For what?"

Esther swallowed.

"For disappointing..." She said meekly. "No one wanted to dance with us..."

The sadness in her voice returned at once now that she had said it aloud.

Ulrich did not answer immediately.

Instead, after a short silence, he asked, "Why do you think they did not?"

Esther bit her lip.

Even repeating the answer felt painful.

"B—Because..." Her voice thinned. "Because they hate us... because we are witches..."

Ulrich’s expression did not change.

"Why do you think they hate you?" He asked.

Esther blinked.

"B—Because they are afraid of witches," she answered.

That was what everyone said, after all. Witches were feared because of what they could do, because of the strange way they wielded mana and runes without a mana core, because from the point of view of ordinary humans, witchcraft looked too unfamiliar, too dangerous, too destructive to be anything but frightening.

Ulrich watched her for another step before he said, "Did they look afraid of you?"

Esther faltered.

"T—That..."

She remembered the sneers. The laughter. The boldness in their eyes when they insulted her and her sisters. No, it had not looked like fear. Not truly. Not in the way she had meant it.

Ulrich answered for her.

"Hatred has been nurtured in this kingdom against witches for generations," he said. "Here, witches will always be treated as evil first."

Esther flinched.

The words were hard, and because they were spoken so plainly, they struck deeper. There was no false comfort in them, no gentler phrasing chosen to spare her feelings.

Only truth.

Then, after a brief pause, he added, "In that case, you prove them wrong."

Esther looked up at him again.

"Prove them wrong...?" She repeated quietly.

Ulrich guided her through another turn before replying.

"It is their first time seeing you and your sisters. They know nothing about you. They have no right to judge you, yet they do." His hand remained softly at her back. "That is how cruel the world is."

Esther listened without daring to interrupt.

"If you want something from this world," he continued, "you do not wait for fools to hand it to you kindly. You work for it. You endure. You become too bright and fascinating to dismiss."

Her lips parted slightly.

Ulrich’s voice remained calm, but each word landed deeply inside her.

"Work hard," he said. "Prove them wrong. And in the years to come, they will have no choice but to acknowledge you and your sisters."

His gaze stayed on her.

"Perhaps one day," he finished, "they will respect you. They will admire you."

Esther stared at him, breath caught somewhere between her throat and her chest.

"A—Although they hate witches...?" Esther asked softly.

Ulrich did not answer her question directly.

Instead, he looked down at her and said, "When I brought you to New Ruben, how did the people react?"

Esther blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change.

She thought back immediately.

"At first... they were scared," she muttered. "But then..."

Her voice trailed off on its own as the memories came back more clearly.

The first looks had indeed been fearful, suspicious, and uneasy. She remembered that very well. But she also remembered what came after that. The smiles. The laughter. The warm greetings. The way people in New Ruben had gradually begun looking at them not with fear, but with trust, sometimes even with something close to affection.

And because she remembered all of it, she understood immediately what Ulrich was trying to make her see.

Still, she could not help but lower her gaze for a second and say, "It was because of Lord Ulrich’s presence..."

"Yes," Ulrich said without hesitation.

He guided her through another turn before continuing.

"Because they respect me."

His voice remained calm and serene just like his steps.

"They know what I have done for them. They know what I continue to do for them. They believe that what I allow within my territory is not done carelessly. That is why they accepted placing their trust even in three witches."

Esther listened carefully, her eyes widening little by little.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

She nodded at once, though not weakly this time.

"They respect Lord Ulrich because of what you have done for them," she said.

Ulrich did not reply.

He did not need to.

The answer itself was enough, and his silence served as confirmation more clearly than words would have.

Something inside Esther loosened.

A quiet wave of relief passed through her so suddenly that for a moment it almost made her dizzy. It was not as though Ulrich had told her something she did not already know. In truth, she had known it all along, somewhere deep down. Witches were hated. That would not vanish because she put on a beautiful gown, learned noble etiquette, and stepped into a ballroom with her head held high. Hatred built over generations did not disappear in a single evening.

She had only let herself hope otherwise.

That had been her mistake.

She had hidden that hope even from herself, dressing it in prettier thoughts. Maybe if they behaved perfectly. Maybe if they smiled enough. Maybe if they danced well. Maybe if they proved they were not frightening. Then perhaps these people would treat them kindly.

But of course it would never be that easy.

Esther understood that now.

And strangely, instead of crushing her, that realization lifted something from her heart.

Because Ulrich had not spoken to her as if there were no hope at all.

He had not told her to endure the hatred forever and expect nothing better.

He had given her something real.

A path.

People in New Ruben had not turned warm toward them by miracle. They had done so because they trusted Ulrich first. Because he had shown them again and again that he was capable, dependable, and worthy of their faith. The respect the people bore him had extended toward the three sisters because he had put his name over them and because his people believed in the judgment of their Count.

Remembering the smiles in New Ruben now, Esther felt something stir deep in her chest.

She remembered elders waving at them in the streets. Children smiling and laughing.

She wanted that.

Not because it came through Ulrich alone.

But because now she wanted to earn it too.

She wanted people to smile at her that way because she had done something good for them. She wanted to become someone whose presence could ease fear rather than cause it. Someone who could make others feel safe, wanted, and happy, just like how Ulrich was for her and the people in his territory.

She wanted, just once, for people to look at her and feel glad she was there.

As that thought settled in her, something changed.

The ache from the last ten minutes did not disappear completely, but it lost its hold over her. The sneers, the whispers, the cruelty of being left untouched while others danced around her. All of it began to shrink in importance compared to the future suddenly opening in her mind.

This did not have to be the end of what others saw in her.

This did not even have to remain the truth.

Her doubts faded.

Her hesitation followed.

And before she fully realized it, Esther lifted her gaze toward Ulrich again.

This time there were no tears in her expression, only bright, shining resolve, and then, slowly, a smile spread across her face.

A real one.

Wide, warm, and luminous enough that even with her eyes still faintly reddened from crying, she looked transformed.

Ulrich saw it.

He said nothing, of course.

But Esther no longer needed him to.

He continued to lead her through the dance, and now she followed him far better than before. Her steps no longer felt dragged by fear. Her body moved more easily, more willingly, as if the words he had given her had settled straight into her feet as well as her heart.

And perhaps his words made her a bit bolder as she leaned closer to him, fully keen on appreciating this dance with the man she trusted and admired the most in the world.

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