14. Melting Point (43)
"Hello! My name is Nika!"
The ash-haired boy delivered it with a crisp, energetic bow. Ella rose and cued the troupe's applause, and cheers and clapping rushed at him from every corner.
"Ha ha ha! A pleasure, a real pleasure. Fate does love weaving our paths together."
Minova, who had shared a carriage with him before, signaled his recognition loudly. Ruelo ducked behind her father, suddenly shy, stealing quick glances at the boy's face.
'Nikola Sergeyevna.'
Wonderstein confirmed Nika's real name through his Status Window. He had a passing familiarity with the Kiev naming convention: given name, patronymic, family name. So, daughter of Sergei — Nikola.
'Nikola... shortened to Nika, then.'
Anais had remarked that Nika's natural bearing reflected deeply ingrained noble etiquette. Even to Wonderstein, who had been in this world less than a year, the girl's aristocratic origin was unmistakable. Yet her patronymic lacked a family name, which was peculiar.
'Denied her father's recognition... an illegitimate child, it seems.'
In this era, a noble surname could not simply be claimed on the basis of biology. Wonderstein found it a little easier to understand why a high-ranking noble's daughter might wander abroad with only a few attendants.
She probably had unpleasant circumstances that made staying home difficult. Her wish to join the circus for a three-month temporary stint might well be an escape of sorts. He regarded Nika with a touch of sympathy.
Of course, that was entirely his own misunderstanding. The only child Emperor Sergey II of the Durik dynasty formally recognized through the imperial grand ceremony was his son, "Nikolai Sergeyevich Durik."
The System had classified Nika as a daughter rather than a son, which tagged her as a child who had never received an official family name. Thanks to that, the Crown Prince's true identity remained hidden from Wonderstein.
'Insisting on men's clothing must have its reasons, too.'
Wonderstein resolved to offer her a few accommodations. Sharing a washroom with the male troupe members would obviously be uncomfortable for her, so lodging her in his own quarters seemed the best solution. His body required neither washing nor toileting, so the girl could use the bathroom freely.
Given the choice, he would have given her a private room. But the troupe had just entered a period of financial tightening. Effective today, even their leader was forced to double up.
The trouble had arrived in a letter the previous evening, sent by the Mario Three Brothers.
They disclosed that the Vice Cult Leader, the Rabbit Witch, had uncovered their operation. She had always known the three brothers lacked the skill to extract Anais from Wonderstein's reach, and she had seen right through his scheme to use them.
Out of pure spite toward Wonderstein for shielding Anais, the Rabbit Witch had retaliated. Her message was simple: in exchange for allowing Anais to remain with the troupe, the trading company's financial support would be cut by more than half.
'Petty doesn't even begin to cover it...'
The days of cushy travel were over. The troupe's sudden growth over the past few days compounded the problem: Anais, who had joined two days ago; her butler Bartel and his friend Carlson the masseur; and today's additions, Nika and her lady's maid Natasha, who was in reality a senior agent of the Imperial Intelligence Department.
None of them qualified as performers under the competition rules, but the System still registered them as troupe members. The number of members the System could accept scaled with the circus's Fame, which now exceeded three hundred — enough room for all of them and several more.
More mouths to feed, less rice in the pot. Every budget line grew tight. The single saving grace was that the troupe had gained a specialist equipped to straighten out their financial mess.
"Troupe Leader, what exactly is the meaning of this!"
The moment the welcome gathering for Nika ended, Wonderstein found himself summoned by the troupe's new finance manager and subjected to an inescapable scolding. A woman in a crisply ironed white blouse, black vest, and neatly pressed black skirt marched in, brandishing a sheaf of documents like a club.
"Thirty water guns? What in the world is this purchase from a week ago?"
"Ah, that? Exactly what it says. Water guns. For the hot springs. Just a little recreation..."
"And you spent this much money on toys?"
"The water pressure on these isn't ordinary. They give you the sensation of an actual gunfight..."
"I see. And will you have further use for them?"
"Well, I suppose... maybe if we visit the sea in the summer? Ha ha... I'm sorry..."
When Anais fixed him with a blistering glare, his head dropped swiftly. Next, she flipped through the performance revenue sheets and raised her voice again.
"And why are the admission fees set like this? At this rate, you're practically giving shows away. Only two seating tiers? I don't care how much support the trading company provides — are you running a charity event? What did you learn at the Rose Windmill Cabaret? Sustainable performances require income!"
"I underpriced the tickets because I wanted to raise Fame faster... No, I mean... I'm sorry. I have no excuse..."
She leafed through months of ledgers and called out every instance of his lax financial management, point by point. Each time, Wonderstein offered only apologies and a bowed head, offering no real rebuttal.
Anais's criticisms were sharp and precisely aimed. She let out a deeply exasperated sigh and fanned herself.
When she glanced around, the troupe members who had been watching flinched and quickly looked away. Whenever money was the subject, her gaze carried an intimidating, unapproachable fierceness.
"Are we finished?"
"Not yet. But continuing this in front of the troupe would be discourteous to you, Troupe Leader. Follow me."
She prodded his chest with the rolled-up papers. Wonderstein, shoulders slumped like a scolded dog, trudged after her into the room.
The instant the two entered the room, their voices cut off. It seemed Wonderstein had blocked the sound with Sound Room magic.
He probably wanted to preserve his dignity as troupe leader. The members lowered their voices and began whispering.
"Lady Anais is genuinely terrifying."
"The boss can't even get a word in."
"Not much he can do. She controls the purse strings."
They pitied their leader's public humiliation, but no one dared to interfere. Considering Anais's status, this was arguably the natural order of things.
The senior members had spent about two months traveling alongside Viscountess Bergson before, and they remembered her old demeanor. Back then, she had treated Wonderstein with the deference owed to a benefactor. In the months since they had last seen her, however, something in her had plainly shifted.
She had been worn down by the company's demands, she had told them — so she had handed management over to a deputy and set out with her butler for a few months of travel. The troupe assumed her presence would mean a return to the luxurious accommodations of the past. Instead, she cut their funding by over half the moment she arrived, then began scrutinizing the books and hassling Wonderstein at every opportunity.
The members traded theories about her true objective in seeking him out. The dominant one: she intended to use her position as sponsor to bring him to heel. Since the sweet, innocent approach had not worked, she had opted to wield money and power instead.
"That does make sense."
"She's trying to mend her wounded pride?"
"The boss really did build himself a fortress of indifference. She's a patron and a noble..."
"Ha! Even a catch like me could not talk back to a sponsor. Our leader got too cocky because of that face of his!"
The members nodded along at Minova's blunt assessment. But five among them wore expressions of open resentment: Ella, Maya, Yurakne, Reina, and Nika. They stared daggers at the room where the two had disappeared.
'You think acting like that will make him fall for you? That demon sees everyone else as nothing but tools for his goals. Hmph. Everyone except me, of course...'
'Twenty years old and her chest is barely bigger than mine. As if a man like our Troupe Leader would ever fall for a woman like her.'
'The Troupe Leader must be building up plenty of grievances against her too. When he comes to vent, I will offer my chest for him to bury his face in and soothe him with understanding. And if the mood is right, we could take it straight to the bedroom... eeeek!'
'Tied together by nothing but money. Is she even worth worrying about? The bond the Troupe Leader and I share was acknowledged by Kirkeus himself in the form of a curse — it is more than an ordinary father-daughter connection.'
'Confessed and got rejected? Tch. What a ridiculous woman. Is that why she acted so familiar? A man who stood unflinching before the Crown Prince will not be swayed by a few coins.'
They scoffed at Anais's efforts, each trying to banish unease from her own heart. Then Baron Dosville, sprawled in a corner, drawled out a lazy sneer.
"So we are all supposed to keep traveling like paupers until the man finally submits to our sponsor? Tch. He could just treat it as playing around with a rich young lady, sleep with her a few times, and everything would run a lot smoother... ah, no, never mind..."
Feeling the murderous stares of the women boring into him, he clamped his mouth shut. The other members burst out laughing at his retreat.
But none of them knew what was actually happening inside that room. They assumed the same scene was replaying itself behind closed doors. The reality, however, was nothing like what they imagined.
Anais's office was the largest and finest room in the lodgings the troupe had rented. Its current occupant, however, was on her knees on the floor. In front of her, Wonderstein sat on the edge of her work desk, legs crossed, reviewing the documents she had prepared.
The boldness that had sharpened her gaze moments ago was gone. She was watching his expression like a nervous puppy eyeing its master, fidgeting with apprehension.
"Hmph. You met the target I set. That much is satisfactory."
He tossed the stack of papers to the floor. They scattered across the boards.
She had spent all night organizing those documents. The casual dismissal of her effort stung — and sent a tingling thrill between her thighs at the same time.
She looked up at him with frightened eyes. His expression was little different from before, the same unchanging smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.
It looked as kindly as ever, but Anais did not relax. Days of experience had taught her that behind that face he could spit the foulest insults and convey utter contempt without a flicker.
"Troupe Leader... I, I did well, did I not? I found every place the finances were bleeding, just as you ordered. A-and I acted like it was all my own initiative in front of the members. Your Affection level should not have dropped..."
He gazed at her in silence. Her whole body trembled with anxiety.
What if he was disappointed? He had said that if I could not secure enough funds, he would put me to work as a whore. Take on customers. A few at a time...
The moment her trembling grew visibly worse, his palm covered her head. He stroked her hair and murmured in a warm voice.
"You did well, Anais."
A foolish giggle spilled from her lips. He had praised her. He had acknowledged her. That alone flooded her with happiness.
"Ehehe."
She basked in the touch of his hand, handling her like a subordinate. Anyone who knew the old Anais would never have imagined her behaving like this.