Chapter 67
Naturally, Kim Yul could only be dumbfounded the moment he heard it.
What acting, my ass.
I barely have time to write as it is!
And so, naturally, Kim Yul broke out his invincible trash-tier three-step routine.
“That? Me? Why?”
But the troupe leader was not such an easy opponent either.
“You don’t need to go on stage every time. You saw how we used illusion magic last time, right?”
“I did, yes?”
“Think of it as capturing your appearance in magic and replaying it. You’d only need to make the first scene properly. And of course, you’d be paid for it.”
“How much?”
At the figure the troupe leader named, Kim Yul’s hair shot straight up.
For a moment, Kim Yul nearly found himself overflowing with passion for acting before he even knew it.
“...It is tempting, but, hm, I’m not exactly desperate for money these days.”
Kim Yul had chosen to turn down a fortune, after all.
And that was the truth, practically speaking.
Thanks to diversifying his portfolio over time, Kim Yul’s finances were in pretty good shape—comfortable enough to enjoy three delicious meals a day and still have plenty left over.
Royalties from publishing through Novelpia.
Royalties from the magical play “The Hero and the Song of the Sea.”
Sales revenue from the card game “Heroes Assemble.”
And, lastly, royalties from the Cheonja Chongtong he had recently begun producing.
He couldn’t compare to the fantasy world’s entrenched elite—elves, dragons, and the like—who raked in wealth by the truckload, but for a human, Kim Yul was earning quite a high income.
It was, without question, tremendous progress, one might say.
The troupe leader was a cold woman who didn’t harbor the naïve hope that money alone could win someone’s heart.
“Seria? And Miss Historie?”
“Yes.”
After calling over Seria together with the troupe staff member who had been diligently tutoring Tin Can in magic.
“How’s Miss Historie’s talent?”
“Hmm, she seems to have quite a bit of potential. First of all, her mindscape itself is... incredibly vast—so vast that I can feel a wall from it—and her comprehension is good too.”
Historie’s nose lifted a little, and Kim Yul looked down at her with a displeased expression before getting elbowed in the side.
If she had no talent, that would be one thing.
But she was a rough diamond with real talent.
“As Seria just said, it seems Miss Historie does have talent. How would you feel if I personally tutored you for free?”
At that outrageous offer, Seria clapped a hand over her mouth.
An opportunity to become the troupe leader’s personal disciple—the high-ranking mage said to be unrivaled in the School of Illusion?
But even with that priceless opportunity right before them, Kim Yul said indifferently.
“My grad student isn’t up for bidding wars... oof!”
He solemnly claimed ownership of Tin Can while radiating the aura of a shady professor, but what came back was Tin Can’s season-two mutiny elbow strike.
“Kim Yul, this sounds fun. I’d like to learn.”
Holding on to the groaning Kim Yul, Historie seriously appealed to her academic zeal.
Facing those puppy-like eyes, bright and sparkling.
Kim Yul let out a deep sigh.
Fine, whatever.
If I can swallow my pride once and let Tin Can roll around happily, I can do that much.
“Fine, whatever. If that’s what you want...”
“As expected, there’s no one but Master...!”
With total sincerity and total trust, Historie threw her arms around Kim Yul.
And then.
For a while after that, Kim Yul struggled to shake off the misunderstanding that he was “the world’s biggest pervert, making his younger cousin call him Master.”
* * *
The play “The Saint of Orléans” began preparations at an unprecedented speed.
But despite the short time they had, the script was polished to a high level, and the actors prepared for the performance around a friendly, detailed guide.
The troupe leader’s delicate direction—she was a theater pro even before becoming a pro at magical theater—really shone.
But.
“Hmm...”
Catalina was thoroughly dissatisfied.
The script was perfect, moving her to tears every time she read it.
The direction, too, had a restrained elegance for a magical play, and it did an excellent job of adding gravitas at the right moments.
The other cast members they’d brought in were excellent, and so was their acting.
Only one thing.
“Hey. You there.”
“Yes?”
“You are preparing properly, right?”
“Ah, yes. Of course.”
The black-haired man the troupe leader had introduced as both the original author and a cameo actor, Ulysses, stuck in her mind.
Right.
It made sense for the original author to take part in the play’s preparations.
He surely understood both the story progression and the characters’ emotional arcs in depth.
But understanding it and portraying it through acting are different matters, aren’t they?
“Prepare properly. If you don’t want to ruin the stage.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.”
“Tch.”
She didn’t like it.
To her, theater was like murder.
It was the complete annihilation of one’s original personality, replacing it entirely to fit the character in the play.
For someone who prepared with that degree of immersion,
At best, he had a handsome face, with dark circles under his eyes lending him a decadent air and an outward appearance that perfectly sold the image of a corrupt bishop...
was he really suitable as her scene partner, even for a moment?
Well. She didn’t think so.
As that distrust piled up in her heart, Catalina steadied her wavering focus and prepared for the next scene.
Conveniently, the scene they were about to rehearse was the heresy trial, a scene that could easily be considered one of the play’s highlights.
She’d overwhelm him with her acting, make him cry his eyes out, and have him replaced with another actor right then and there.
.
.
.
That was definitely what she had thought.
“Why did you conceal your holy body, blessed by an angel, and commit the blasphemous taboo of hiding yourself in men’s clothing?”
“The goddess’s will matters more than clothes, ugh, ugh, I’m sorry...!”
“You know your sin.”
“Y-Yes...! I-I am the sinner...!”
Hah.
Again.
She had once again been bewitched into agreeing with him...!
“Cut! Catalina, what’s wrong?”
“Ah, aaah, just a moment. Let’s take a short break.”
Catalina couldn’t stand how muddled her head had become.
It was a scene she had clearly memorized perfectly from the script.
She was supposed to show the noble saint standing against the corrupt bishop who kept picking apart Saint Joan of Arc’s flaws, refuting his arguments in a logical, orderly manner.
Then why?
Why had that absurd, unreasonable argument become completely convincing the moment it came out of his mouth?
“You’re a great actor, right?”
“I told you I am. Hmm, maybe I’m just off my game today.”
She could hear the troupe leader and Ulysses whispering, but Catalina didn’t even have the energy to flare up.
The moment she stood before him.
The moment she heard his voice.
She felt as though she were falling into the depths, turning into a lewd saint burdened with original sin.
This unknown feeling was definitely...
the terrifying acting prowess possessed by none other than Ulysses, the writer she had brushed off until now, and the persuasive force built on it.
In other words.
Wasn’t it due to the overwhelming gap in talent?
Otherwise, there was no way to explain it.
For the first time since she began acting,
Catalina felt as though she had become an insignificant, tiny little thing.
“Ah, right. Skill.”
Ulysses, who was resting alone, muttered something incomprehensible, but ignoring him, Catalina glared at the script and pulled herself together again.
.
.
.
After the rehearsal finally ended, after all the twists and turns.
Perhaps out of consideration for her.
Watching Ulysses, who had eased off the pressure from earlier and wrapped up his performance comfortably, leave the stage without a hint of regret.
Catalina shouted at his back.
“I will never, ever lose to you! Next time, we’ll compete fairly as lead actor versus lead actor and settle it through acting!”
* * *
Two weeks later.
After Liu Bei’s death, when Zhuge Liang had finished tidying up Shu Han’s internal affairs and was in Nanzhong, breathing fire on the rattan-armored soldiers and melting them away in a flash.
The new magical play from the troupe “Fantasy Horizon.”
The day of the premiere of The Saint of Orléans.
With the invitation ticket Kim Yul had coughed up himself, Roselyn stepped lightly into the VIP section among the crowd-packed audience.
“Erm.”
“Oh my? Miss Chloe. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Have you been well, desuwa?”
“Yes. Thankfully, I didn’t die, so I’m alive and well.”
Apparently, she too had been invited by Kim Yul.
Though it was a bit of a shame to see Chloe’s venomous face there—the snide elf who loved to needle people—
Still, considering Kim Yul’s standing, inviting Chloe had probably been unavoidable.
Roselyn forgave it with a magnanimous heart.
After all, petty jealousy over breast size could hardly be a sin.
It was, quite literally, the luxury of the well-endowed.
As she exchanged a few perfunctory greetings and built up her social gauge with Chloe for a moment,
“It’s starting, desuwa.”
“Indeed.”
Before they knew it, silence had fallen over the stage.
The curtain rose on the play.
.
.
.
As the atmosphere of the play began to intensify,
“H-huh...?”
Roselyn finally noticed that, at some point, tears tinged with sorrow had begun to spill from her eyes.
Why.
How?