You’ll Regret Stealing Him from Me — My Sister Who Took My Fiancé and Celebrated Was a Fool - Chapter 21

“Seraphina, come here.”

“Yes.”

Lord Maximilian moved and called out to a group of people gathered in one corner of the venue. There were five or six men in military uniforms, all with sturdy builds and the disciplined air characteristic of soldiers.

I joined him in their circle. As we approached, I could hear their conversation—loud and unguarded, a volume unthinkable at a civil noble’s party. Yet, it wasn’t unpleasant. Rather, it was lively and comforting.

“Hey, Liebenfeld. Glad you could make it.”

A bearded man clapped Lord Maximilian on the shoulder. A gesture reserved for truly close friends.

“Long time no see, Maximilian. Still busy with work at the palace?”

Another man spoke casually. At a civil noble’s party, the conversation would have started with formal greetings. But here, it was different. They jumped straight to the point.

The soldiers welcomed Lord Maximilian not with stiff formalities, but with the warmth of greeting an old friend. They clapped each other on the back, shook hands, and confirmed each other’s well-being.

Then, their gazes turned to me. Curious, but not intimidating. There was no cold appraisal, just pure interest.

“So, this is the rumored fiancée?”

“Pleased to meet you. I am Seraphina of House Altvier, currently under the care of the Liebenfeld Marquisate.”

I greeted them politely, straightening my posture with the perfect etiquette honed in high society. In response, they smiled warmly.

“Ah, so well-mannered.”

They nodded approvingly, as if they’d seen something rare.

“Welcome, Lady Seraphina. If you’re Liebenfeld’s fiancée, then you’re one of us.”

“Don’t hold back, enjoy yourself.”

They welcomed me openly, their sincerity unmistakable. Unlike the calculated pleasantries of civil nobles, their warmth was genuine.

This difference felt refreshing. At civil nobles’ parties, I always had to read between the lines. When someone said, “Welcome,” I had to wonder if they meant it, if it was just obligation, or if there was some hidden intent. Conversations were a constant game of strategy.

But here, it was different. Words carried their literal meaning, simple and straightforward.

I joined their conversation. Their topics revolved mainly around military affairs.

“The Third Unit’s maneuvers in the recent drills were outstanding.”

“Yeah, that was impressive. Their encirclement formation was flawless. The young officers are well-trained.”

“Who’s going on the next northern patrol? Snow’s about to start falling.”

“My unit’s been assigned. We’re fully prepared—cold-weather gear, rations, everything’s ready.”

Discussions of tactics, troop movements, training, logistics, weather, enemy movements; topics never heard at civil nobles’ parties. There, the focus was on art, literature, the latest trends, and court gossip. Which noble was engaged to whom, which young lady’s dress was stunning, which musician’s performance was brilliant.

Military nobles and civil nobles. Perhaps this was the core difference. Though both were “nobles,” their concerns were entirely different. Their values were different. What they cherished was different.

Neither was right or wrong just different. And I had to understand that.

After listening for a while, one of the soldiers a man in his forties with a kind face turned to me with slight embarrassment.

“Lady Seraphina, I hear you made quite a name for yourself in high society?”

He asked hesitantly, his voice filled with respect.

“Oh, not to that extent.”

I tried to be modest, but Lord Maximilian interjected.

“No need for humility. Your skills are widely recognized.”

My face warmed at his praise. It made me happy but also a little embarrassed.

“Actually,” the soldier continued, looking even more sheepish, “my daughter is about to debut in society. I was wondering if you might have some advice. I’m completely clueless about these things, and she’s nervous too.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his awkward fatherly demeanor. This large, rugged soldier suddenly looked so worried about his daughter. It was endearing.

“Of course. I’d be happy to help.”

“Really? That’s a relief!”

His face brightened.

“Honestly, I have no idea how to pick a dress color. I thought I’d just leave it to my wife, but my daughter said, ‘I want Father’s opinion too.’”

“That’s wonderful,” I said sincerely.

“The right color depends on her hair, eye color, and skin tone. The season of her debut matters too—soft pastels for spring, deeper shades for autumn.”

I tried to explain as clearly as possible.

“I see, I see.”

He nodded seriously, hanging onto every word. He even pulled out a notepad and scribbled furiously. A sight that warmed my heart.

“For her first party, it’s best to avoid anything too flashy. Elegant, modest colors leave a better impression—soft pinks, light blues, cream tones are safe choices.”

“Right, soft pink… light blue…”

As he scribbled, the other soldiers smiled.

“Robert, you’re such a doting father.”

“Shut up. Caring for my daughter is a father’s duty. You’d be the same if you had one.”

“Haha, maybe so.”

They teased each other, but their expressions were warm—mutual respect, shared happiness.

“Lady Seraphina, thank you so much.”

The soldier named Robert bowed deeply.

“Not at all. I’m happy to help. If you have any other concerns, feel free to ask. I hope your daughter’s debut is wonderful.”

After talking with them, I realized something.

Even without lavish decorations or refined cuisine, this place had warmth; real connections. That was what they valued.

Love for family. Trust in comrades. Open joy, sincere gratitude. Not calculations or games, but honest emotions. That was what filled this space.

As I listened, I also observed the staff’s movements and noticed something else.

The timing of the food service was impeccable.

Just as conversations lulled, just as topics shifted, just as someone was about to stand. New dishes arrived seamlessly.

The staff moved flawlessly, never interrupting or obstructing. Like shadows, they worked efficiently.

At civil nobles’ parties, staff moved elegantly; almost as part of the performance. Their service was part of the spectacle.

But here, it was different. They moved solely for the guests’ comfort. Not to impress, but to support.

The quality of service wasn’t lacking. In fact, in some ways, it was more advanced. Constantly observing, perfectly timing every need.

This wasn’t “cultural backwardness.”

It was just different values.

What military nobles sought—

Substance over appearance. Comfort over formal beauty.

Trust over formality. Genuine connection over rigid etiquette.

Merit over rank. Achievement over titles.

Comfort over extravagance. A relaxed space over dazzling decor.

These were the things they cherished. They enjoyed parties by different standards values unlike those of civil nobles.