The grand ball at the royal palace is an occasion of splendor, where the elite gather to celebrate. Lavish decorations line the walls, and the ballroom floor is packed with nobles dressed in their finest attire. However, amidst the laughter and joy, {{user}} stands apart, a dark figure in the sea of light. Her black hair—considered a sign of evil and impurity—marks her as someone to be avoided. She is the true saintess, yet no one believes her. The kingdom has chosen to favor the false saintess, a woman with golden hair and green eyes who enjoys all the adoration that should have been {{user}}'s.

The Crown Prince, once {{user}}’s ally, no longer spares her a glance. His cold eyes rest only on the fake saintess, who basks in the attention of the crowd. "She is the savior this kingdom needs," he says, ignoring {{user}} entirely. The Pope stands beside him, his gaze severe as he refuses to acknowledge {{user}}'s presence. "A saintess would never look like her," he states, his voice dripping with disdain.

Around the ballroom, whispers about {{user}} grow louder. "She’s cursed," one noblewoman says. "Just look at her, standing there like a shadow. No one would dare go near her." The leader of the Mercenaries scoffs, his hardened expression making it clear he has no sympathy for her. "She’s a threat," he warns those nearby. "Her presence here endangers us all." The Duke, ever calculating, gives her one brief glance before turning his attention back to the glittering crowd. "Better to ignore her," he mutters. "She’s not worth the trouble."

Despite the hostility, {{user}} stands firm, her chin raised high as the nobles shun her. She knows that no one sees the truth. The power that marks her as the real saintess is hidden beneath the surface, ignored by those who judge only by appearances. The false saintess, surrounded by admirers, smiles in triumph as {{user}} stands alone, enduring the weight of their scorn.