9. Black and Gold (28)
9. Black and Gold (28)
The day before the two-week provisional contract period ended, a Monday.
The draft selections gathered in the courtyard in front of the Palace of Miracles for their interviews.
About thirty acrobats stood in a line before the reporters.
Two weeks had passed since the entrance exam, and by now most had decided their futures.
A few troupes announced they had arranged trades to secure the talent each needed.
The teenage acrobats were split: some chose to remain with their troupes, others to enroll in the school.
Contrary to many predictions, the numbers were roughly even.
The Wonder Stage at the Sky City Hippodrome was every acrobat's dream.
People assumed that since even renowned performers swallowed their pride to grovel their way into the major circuses for a sponsor, young acrobats would hardly refuse an opportunity like this.
But these teenagers had placed near the top of a grueling entrance exam.
They weren't just starry-eyed children chasing a fantasy.
They could see reality with a colder eye than anyone gave them credit for.
Those who joined the top-ranked teams awarded stars by the Christian Guide mostly chose to stay with their troupes. Those who ended up in the lower-ranked teams, however, mostly chose to enroll.
They had judged it was a worse investment to spend two years floundering in a troupe with little hope of reaching the finals than to receive the proven education of Rekachev.
A few honest troupe leaders went so far as to advise them flat out—don't let the tournament blind you to your education; go to school.
And so many teenage acrobats chose enrollment over membership.
Simon Magier, his character flaws aside, was a man who always gave his all to his work.
He never forgot his sponsor's periodic demands for attention.
Before the reporters, he held forth as if he'd just shared a deeply meaningful lunch with Duke Slagbort.
"The Duke's collection is as staggering as the rumors claim. Objects you couldn't possibly imagine are housed there. No one knows the playwright Christian better than he does."
A reporter then threw out a question.
"Did you happen to see the 'Illusory 13th' there as well?"
Simon paused a beat.
The playwright Christian had officially published twelve scripts in total.
But rumors persisted that he had been working on an unpublished thirteenth before he died.
He had released a new script every year without fail.
Yet the announcement window for that year's work had already passed by the time of his death.
The rumor of an unpublished script wasn't entirely groundless.
Of course, it had never been found anywhere.
But people speculated that Duke Slagbort, known as an authority on the playwright Christian, might know where it was—or perhaps even possess it himself.
Simon's mind raced.
If he claimed he'd seen it, he'd be lying.
And his words could subject the Duke to an irritating storm of pestering inquiries.
But if he blandly admitted it wasn't there, there'd be no story at all.
So he chose a path to catch both rabbits.
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."
He put on a solemn face as if he held deep secrets, leaving room for the reporters' imaginations before swiftly pivoting the subject.
He brought up his trade negotiations with the Wonderstein Troupe.
This was equally juicy material for the reporters.
Ella and Reina, first and second in the last competition!
Where would each end up?
But here too he deftly sidestepped the core questions, dangling nothing but bait to tantalize the rumor mill.
"Tomorrow's trade will send shockwaves. Ah, I can't speak prematurely—it's that significant. But I assure you, everyone will be astonished."
With that, he ended the interview.
Thanks to his deliberate ambiguity, speculation among the reporters boiled over.
Possibilities swirled: that the swapped status quo of Ella and Reina would be made permanent, that Reina would choose enrollment over rejoining, or that the Golden Carnival would manage to secure both Reina and Ella.
People pointed to the disparity between the two troupes as evidence for the third theory.
A genius like Ella deserved better than to keep grinding away in a no-name troupe with barely a dozen members.
The reporters cast Ella as a bumpkin ignorant of her own talent, stuck in a third-rate contract with a troupe beneath her notice.
This was the fruit of two weeks of Lord Fantastic's careful whisper campaign behind the scenes.
He cast himself as the benevolent savior who would pluck her from the mire.
Ella sensed the atmosphere around her during the interview turning strange.
She realized then that Simon had been running a behind-the-scenes operation.
She wanted to grab him by the collar right there, but with reporters watching, she had no choice but to hold back.
She barely suppressed the impulse to seize his mustache and yank it clean off, waiting for tomorrow.
Even as he gave his interview, Simon didn't forget to check the Wonderstein camp.
He scrutinized Reina's state in particular.
She was still performing the 'Golden Libra' act before the crowd, exactly as he had programmed her.
Wonderstein seemed to have no influence over her whatsoever, holed up in his carriage as he was.
As expected, Reina hadn't broken free of the restraints he'd placed on her.
That outburst the day before yesterday must have been nothing but a fleeting impulse.
Fifteen years of painstakingly woven hypnotic suggestion and indoctrination couldn't unravel so easily.
Reina would return to him.
And he'd get his hands on Ella too.
Simon couldn't stop smiling at the thought of holding the era's two most talented aces in his palm.
Reina's interview was stiff and bland.
Usually Lord Fantastic would support her with his florid eloquence, but now she was on her own.
She was exactly the trained ice princess she had always been.
Haughty posture. A tone that dismissed everyone she addressed.
The reporters shook their heads at her attitude.
"Now we see why Lord Fantastic is so cowed by his own daughter."
"Right. With a prickly attitude like that, where's the charm?"
"She keeps this up, and no wonder Lord Fantastic is being stern with her this time around."
Her expression didn't waver at their snide remarks.
She maintained her cold, detached demeanor.
"If there are no further questions, kindly step aside. I wish to return to my quarters and rest."
Reina gave the slightest frown, and the reporters moved back.
She stretched out her long legs and strode unhesitatingly through their midst.
Model-tall with a mature figure.
Chiseled features and dazzling blonde hair.
And a haughty gaze with an icy expression that naturally exuded intimidation.
She looked like an untouched, thousand-meter glacier that permitted no one's approach.
Reina climbed into the carriage.
Wonderstein was already inside.
He offered a cheerful greeting, but she gave a single curt nod in return.
Provisional contract or not, it was unbelievably insolent toward a troupe leader.
If she'd decided to stay, she'd never act like that.
"Looks like she really is leaving the Wonderstein side."
"Of course. What reason would she possibly have to stay there?"
"So the first trade hypothesis is definitely out."
The carriage exited the courtyard and headed toward the plaza.
Reina glanced around through the window before closing the cover.
Then she turned to Wonderstein and cried out at the top of her lungs.
"Dad!"
She lunged at him.
He smiled wryly and caught her in his arms.
She beamed up at him, nuzzling for affection with a face that would have horrified the reporters.
"Dad, how was I back there? Was I pretty?"
"W-well, of course...."
Reina burst into a satisfied laugh at his answer.
It was the pure, artless laughter of a child.
"Heehee, and I did the announcement well, right? I did just what you told me! Pet my head, please!"
"Huh? Uh, s-sure."
Wonderstein nodded with an awkward smile.
In the next instant, Reina's laughing face flipped.
She fixed him with a rigid, stone-faced glare and spoke in an icy voice.
"A dad uses casual speech with his daughter. Perform properly. You promised, didn't you?"
At her stern look, he corrected himself in a hurry.
"Ah, uh, yeah.... G-good job, my daughter."
At that, her face bloomed into a broad smile again, and she settled onto his lap.
"Heehee, that's right! Now, pet pet!"
"Y-yeah...."
Wonderstein stroked her cascading blonde hair.
His height of 187 cm was on the taller side, but Reina was 178 cm herself.
Tall enough to be rare among women, and especially so for a seventeen-year-old.
Faced with the sight of this woman—who by all appearances was a mature adult—babbling like a child and clinging to him, he felt the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and bang his head against the carriage wall.
Whether she sensed his feelings or not, Reina wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled in.
"Dad, tell Reina she's a good girl, a good girl!"
"Yeah. You're such a good girl, Reina...."
He patted her back.
And he continued to grant her every request after that.
All the way until they arrived at the villa.
***
Reina had come to my room two days ago and declared her intention to stay.
Seeing me hesitate, she began listing the memories she'd made here over the past two weeks.
"Teaching the troupe members, rehearsing with you... I found courage here. Something I'd never felt before."
Her attitude had shifted so positively that I felt a real sense of reward.
But realistically, I couldn't afford to keep her.
"It can't be helped. Tournament regulations make it impossible for me to keep Miss Reina."
I tried to ignore the Member Quest window floating before my eyes, along with Gaston's incessant grumbling in my ear.
Reina, fortunately, was understanding about my situation.
"I have no intention of making unreasonable demands either. I don't want to stay at your expense."
A shadow crossed her face as she continued.
"But if I go back to my father as things are... I'll revert to what I was. Seeing his eyes, hearing his voice, following his orders—all of that, and I'll become a doll again."
She fidgeted with her fingers on her lap.
I had the sense she was finally getting to the real point.
"It was the first time I'd felt it. The feeling of calling someone 'Dad'...."
"Ha-ha, it was a little embarrassing for both of us."
She shook her head firmly at my words.
"No... I felt a kind of fulfillment."
"Did you? Heh, well, that's a relief."
I could understand that.
Simon Magier had forcibly excised her childhood.
But what she asked for next flustered me.
"So... for the remaining two days, would it be all right if I called you 'Dad'?"
Her words sent an internal alarm through me.
Wait... what?
Having finally worked up the courage to ask, she squared her shoulders with a bit more confidence.
"If I can do that, I think I can leave with one less weight on my heart."
I sorted out my thoughts.
Her request wasn't anything special.
It was simply asking to play house for the remaining two days.
Eager to finally silence the not-quite-a-curse of Gaston's grumbling ringing in my ears, I accepted her proposal.
"All right. If it can ease Miss Reina's heart."
I didn't think much of it.
Who hasn't, at some point, wanted to belatedly fill a hole left from a lost childhood?
It reminded me of those TV gigs where people got paid to act as a stand-in guest at a wedding.
I just had to put on the 'dad' performance she wanted for two days.
I just needed to do the opposite of everything Simon did.
Be kind, be affectionate, grant whatever she asked for.
But she showed a side that far outstripped my imagination.