Who's the More Ordinary One?
The hidden-camera video of the Heirloom Seal of the Realm naturally became a hot topic. Most people laughed it off, but there were also occasional comments railing that even the imperial family's openness had its limits.
And unlike the twenty-first century I had lived in, this world's Chinese territories had no censorship apparatus like the Great Firewall, so I could also see plenty of comments from furious Chinese netizens.
I lightly hit the recommend button myself, then checked Sofia's expression.
"Well. Even I think this one was a bit over the top."
Sofia spoke evenly after glancing over the comments.
"You did it knowing you'd get this kind of reaction?"
"Well, the concert's coming up soon anyway, and I probably won't be posting on the daily channel for a while."
Fair enough. Even a genius pianist wouldn't have room for prank videos if she needed to focus on a concert.
"Speaking of which, how are the concert preparations going? Any inconveniences?"
"Of course not—who do you think I am? As long as I'm in good shape on the day, there won't be any problem."
"No, I don't mean your playing. The other stuff. The venue, the production side, that sort of thing."
Given that it was a concert with the Empress herself performing, any number of companies must have scrambled for it—but it had been settled during the period when I was in "seclusion," so I didn't know much about the details either.
"Ah. That kind of problem? There was one, but I handled it myself. Or more precisely... there was a problem, and then it disappeared?"
There was a problem and then it disappeared? Don't tell me Sofia applied pressure somehow without my knowing. Surely she hadn't used imperial authority to "persuade" some previously scheduled performance into yielding its slot...?
"Sofia, you didn't..."
When I stared at her, she shook her head rapidly.
"No. No. It's not what you're thinking... The truth is..."
The rumor that Empress Sofia planned to hold a concert in Danamo had already spread widely before the imperial couple even arrived there.
The Empress herself had mentioned several times on social media things like "thinking about a concert" and "maybe I'll have good news from Danamo," so it was all but confirmed.
The scale and venue, however, were still undecided, so people in the industry sent long, pleading emails every day along the lines of "Please, please work with our production company."
After all, merely having the imperial couple attend an event you managed elevated its prestige—if the Empress herself performed, that company would skyrocket overnight. At the high end they might land corporate events for major conglomerates; at minimum they could host smaller functions for the Gyeonghwa Sajok.
"The Empress is holding a recital in Daebuk, so of course our Daebuk Arts Association should take charge of this, shouldn't we?"
The chairman of the Daebuk Arts Association—whose name sounded like a state institution but was, surprisingly, a private company—slammed the table as he spoke.
They might lag a little behind the mainland megapromoters in funding and other respects, but as the crude saying went, even a dog eats half its meal at home. What's more, if you counted only halls purpose-built for classical music performances, ignoring scale, there were three—and all three had collaborated multiple times with the Daebuk Arts Association, which was based right there in Daebuk.
"By any means necessary, we must! We have to secure this performance. Understood?"
Conversations of that sort were not limited to the Daebuk Arts Association.
Sofia, of course, took little interest in the cutthroat preparations of such companies. Even in her days as a pianist rather than an empress, those decisions had belonged to her agency.
But when your position changes, so do the things you must do.
Empress Sofia stared in bewilderment at the attendants who approached carrying stack after stack of proposals.
"What is all... this?"
"These are the proposals from production companies capable of staging a performance worthy of the imperial family's dignity—excluding the absurd ones, of course."
"I understand that, but why are you bringing every single one of them to me...? Where's Tanya?"
Wasn't that exactly why the Imperial Household Agency and the eunuchs existed?
"Well... Lady Tatiana also knows little about concert production, so she said it would be proper for Her Majesty the Empress to decide..."
The Imperial Household Agency attendant answered with a slightly reddened face, as if embarrassed. He wasn't exactly wrong. Had there ever been a recital of this sort inside the imperial family? At most, small private concerts for close acquaintances at the palace or a secondary residence.
There was no precedent for an empress—a figure of near-imperial rank—performing before the general public, so of course everyone involved was a complete outsider to concert production. Even if you turned the entire Imperial Household Agency upside down, no one would know more than Sofia.
"Ah."
Of course, Sofia herself only knew a little more than they did; she couldn't judge which proposal was truly better. She only had a vague sense that this one felt preferable to that one.
"Ugh... Looking at documents like this isn't my job... But I can't just dump it all on Tanya either..."
While leafing through the papers, Sofia soon hit upon a "brilliant idea."
"These things are always done best by the people who want them the most!"
"So you summoned the company presidents and made them give presentations?"
"Pretty good solution, right? Only three people actually showed up. And the one whose presentation I liked best was the president of that Daebuk something-or-other Arts Association. So I went with them."
Thump.
"Ow!"
She looked so insufferably pleased with herself that I lightly smacked her on the head without thinking.
"Sofia. Do you honestly think that was a good idea..."
"Huh? It wasn't?"
"People from the imperial family can't just casually summon whoever they want. It can send the wrong signal. Luckily nothing major seems to have come of it this time."
If stories had circulated that Sofia had thrown her weight around as a "power abuser," they would have reached my ears, but there was nothing of the sort—so apparently even the "presidents" had found the choice unconventional rather than unreasonable.
"Signal?"
"If word spreads that I had a private meeting with some company outside of an official schedule, that company's stock price shoots up right away, doesn't it?"
"Ahh..."
"This time the cause was obvious, and the Daebuk Arts Association—or whatever it's called—is unlisted, so the stock market didn't swing much. That's lucky. But I'm sure rumors flew through that industry long before you noticed."
"Yikes. Really?"
"Well. Those people wouldn't say anything to your face, but they'll definitely be thinking you're a rather... distinctive person."
The presidents who attended that presentation had probably formed a consensus that Her Majesty the Empress had quite the unique personality.
"This is bad."
"Do you really need to look that serious about it?"
"But if the people think the entire imperial couple is eccentric, that's not great either, is it? I'd at least like them to know I'm an ordinary person."
"Ordinary people don't shoot hidden-camera pranks with the Heirloom Seal of the Realm. And what's wrong with me? I'm plenty ordinary, aren't I?"
Secretly working as a web-novel writer wasn't exactly ordinary, but setting that aside, I was fairly certain I was the one who best demonstrated what an ordinary person looked like.
"Sigh... Fine. If thinking that way makes you feel better..."
Sofia shook her head and left to prepare for the concert.
No matter how I looked at it, I still seemed closer to ordinary than Sofia.