7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (5)
7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (5)
"She was barely a month old. Too young to have the faintest idea what kind of man I was or what kind of life I'd lived. And yet that little thing wrapped her hand around my finger and gave me the sunniest grin. Do you know what went through my head the moment I saw that smile? That I wanted to protect it. That I wanted to become a father she wouldn't be ashamed of. The feeling just boiled up from my chest. Never in my life imagined someone like me could feel that way..." He let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. "And just like that, the mad gamecock vanished from the world that very day."
Minova rambled on in that same reminiscent vein for a while, recounting the precise details of how a wild rooster who'd once rampaged freely through the world had folded his wings and settled into a cage—how he'd blunted the beak and talons he'd spent a lifetime using to torment others.
'Minova harbors a formless rage against the world and a seething envy of others, born from a grudge with nowhere to go.'
What a brutally abridged explanation. I clicked my tongue inwardly at the Tril Trillo dev team's typical carelessness with character writing.
"Are you sure it's wise to lay your soul this bare to someone you've only just met? You said this isn't even something you've told your daughter. What if I decide to use it as leverage?"
His face, which had seemed so genial a moment before, twisted into something vicious. The warm light in his eyes sharpened, glinting with a predator's focus.
"You little sh—... Are you... are you planning to tell Ruelo?"
The words came out as a low growl, laced with hot breath. His eyes flashed with the lethal edge only someone who'd clawed his way through every back alley in the world could muster. Inside, I flinched and froze up, but thanks to my practice with the Smiling Man, my exterior stayed perfectly composed. I spread both hands and shrugged.
"Heh heh. Of course not. I won't breathe a word to anyone. But speaking of which, weren't we in the middle of discussing a way to treat Miss Ruelo's illness?"
His expression shifted to belated realization. Not the attitude of someone who'd come here to ask a favor. I clicked my tongue internally. Softened as he was by fatherhood, the old temper clearly hadn't gone anywhere. So much for that mad gamecock vanishing from the world.
He swayed his mohawk from side to side, scratching at his head.
"S-sorry about that... Old habits slipped out before I could stop them..."
"It's fine."
I gave another shrug, and he looked at me with a hint of newfound respect.
"I knew your skills were impressive, but your nerve is just as remarkable. Usually when I let out that kind of aggression, people just freeze up in fright..."
"How frightening can a man be whose whole act is walking around pretending to be a chicken?"
My joke coaxed a deep sigh from him, along with a wobbly shake of his comb.
"Hmph. This outfit is..."
That was when we heard Ruelo cry out.
"D-don't!"
Minova's head whipped around with the speed of lightning, the belligerent fighting-rooster mask he'd just shown me snapping back into place.
I turned toward the source of the cry too.
A child slumped on the floor, clutching her head and weeping. Our three troupe members stood around her, looking thoroughly at a loss.
Ruelo's animal pajamas were no ordinary sleepwear. Plush yellow fur, chicken-foot slippers, wing decorations on the sleeves, and the hood modeled to look like a chick's head, pulled down low. It was closer to a full-body mascot costume than pajamas. No wonder I'd mistaken her for a stuffed chick doll the first time I saw her.
Right now, though, the hood that formed the chick's head had been pulled off.
"Don't look at me!"
Ruelo's voice came out tangled with sobs.
The head she'd kept hidden beneath the hood was now exposed. Whispers rose from all around, bystanders murmuring about her.
Minova had told me she was past four years old. Yet her hair grew only in thin, sparse patches, like that of a newborn—or an old woman. On a little girl, no less.
She clutched at her own scalp and let out a whimpering moan. Was that another symptom of her illness?
"Ru-Ruelo..."
Ella stood beside her, frozen, unsure what to do. Dangling from her hand was the chick hood Ruelo had been wearing. It seemed that, whether out of mischief or simple curiosity, Ella had pulled the hood off. And in doing so, she'd exposed the one thing the child had desperately wanted to hide.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."
Ella hurriedly replaced the chick head over Ruelo's, then produced a handkerchief and dabbed at the tears streaming down the girl's cheeks. She gathered the sobbing child into her arms and patted her gently on the back.
Minova let out a deep breath. He seemed relieved his daughter hadn't been hurt, just upset.
"It's because of a drug the Alchemy Guild produces called 'Milky Way.' Developed as a treatment for the Curse Plague, but it's also effective at suppressing tumors, so we've been using it. But as you can see... the side effects are brutal. Nausea, vomiting blood sometimes. Losing her hair is nothing compared to the pain she's actually going through. Of course, to the child, that's the part that breaks her heart the most..."
He lifted the thoroughly drained Ruelo into his arms. Her constitution was so weak that even a brief crying fit was enough to make her sag toward sleep.
"Ruelo... I'm sorry for earlier."
Ruelo shook her head at Ella's apology.
"It's okay... I'm sorry too... I shouldn't have yelled at you just because I was startled..."
A bright smile spread across the child's face.
"You'll show me your taming act again later, right?"
The animals answered before Ella could. Jjiksun popped up onto her shoulder and shot out a tiny front paw, thumb raised. Gudol settled on top of her hat and spread both wings into a V. There were moments I genuinely questioned whether those two were really animals. Ella nodded, as if she already knew what they'd done without needing to look.
"Yeah. They say they'd love to."
"Hehe, then see you later... Bye-bye, you two..."
With that, Ruelo buried her face in her father's shoulder and fell asleep. Minova stroked her back as he spoke.
"My daughter is the only thread that still ties me to this world. Without this child, the world would hold no value for me. For her sake, there is nothing I would not do."
He repeated the last phrase for emphasis.
"Nothing."
I understood perfectly what he was trying to say. Name any price, and he would pay it—just cure his daughter. I gave him a reassuring nod.
"We'll talk through the details after the event is over."
"Understood."
Minova and Ruelo headed back to their own seats. Ella stared blankly after their retreating figures, her grip tightening around the handkerchief she'd used to dry Ruelo's tears. I recognized it at once. It was the one I'd picked up for her at the Viscountess's manor.
"Must be nice... having a family..."
There was a wistful ache in her voice. I could guess exactly what she was feeling. I'd grown up in an orphanage myself, just as she'd grown up in the circus school. Most of the friends I'd had in that orphanage ended up dead when the director went on his rampage—just as she'd lost most of her friends to Wonderstein.
An outcast who'd lost both the place she was born and the place she was raised. She was in the same situation I was. I hesitated midway through trying to offer some word of comfort, suddenly aware of who I was. I wasn't the boy who'd survived the orphanage anymore. I was Wonderstein. Her sworn enemy.
Any comfort I offered would look like grotesque hypocrisy. Any claim that I understood her would sound like mockery. There was nothing I could do for her. Nothing except stand here in silence, wearing a meaningless smile.
"What're you staring at?"
Ella jutted out her lower lip and glared at me. I shook my head.
"Nothing. I was just noticing you've kept that handkerchief in good shape. Doesn't the hotel leave a fresh luxury handkerchief in your room as a gift every single day?"
Ella studied the handkerchief in her hand for a moment, then answered flatly.
"It was my mother's."
I gave a nod. I'd figured it was something precious like that.
"Do you have any memories of your mother?"
"No. My master told me a dying woman handed me over to her, along with this handkerchief."
Ella's expression abruptly pinched into a scowl, and she shook her head as if she had no desire to continue the conversation. I understood. I was Wonderstein. I wasn't someone she ought to share this kind of story with.
Under a slightly subdued atmosphere, we found our assigned seats and sat down.
***
The preliminary event unfolded in a more restrained atmosphere than the opening ceremony. No music, no spotlights, no show. Manager Bwallet took the stage amid the low buzz of the crowd. With the practiced ease of a seasoned host, he swiftly gathered every eye in the room.
"What, in your view, is the single most crucial element of a performance?"
An abrupt question. The competitors seemed momentarily taken aback, but they quickly began throwing out answers. Unlike an academic presentation or a corporate board meeting, no one here was trying to read the room or waffle. They were all people who lived on the stage—accustomed to being watched, living for it. They threw out their opinions without hesitation.
Some cited acting ability. Others picked the script. One argued that each performer's unique specialty and talent was what truly mattered. Another insisted originality was key.
Bwallet listened, nodding along.
"Indeed. Everything you've named is important. But here is my take. The most critical thing..." He formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger, grinning wide enough to flash his teeth. "...is money."
Disbelieving sighs and snorts rippled through the ranks of competitors. Sure, money matters. You can't put on a show without it. But what's his point? This is a competition, isn't it? Isn't this the place where skill is supposed to shine free from financial concerns? And come to think of it, why is a business manager emceeing? I'd been expecting General Director Maroine.
Bwallet didn't flinch at the openly hostile reception. People who considered themselves artists always reacted like this. The moment money was mentioned in the same breath as their creative work, they flew into a fury. Children who'd never learned how the world actually operated. Still, he was gratified to note that at least one person at each table was listening calmly. He didn't need to check nameplates to identify them. The troupe leaders, most likely. They, at least, had to wrack their brains over the realities of "management" every single day.
'Hoh, even that young one over there seems to get it.'
The young Deputy Leader of the Wonderstein Circus Troupe. He'd long since noticed how close she was with their troupe's employees, and Old Man Maroine was always raving about her talent. He hadn't expected her to have a head for management as well.
"Ahem. Does the word 'money' sound a little crass? Shall I call it box-office success instead?"
The stir began to settle. Bwallet wore a satisfied smile.
"And by box-office success here, I don't simply mean pulling in a large crowd." He pointed toward the snacks and drinks arrayed on each competitor's table. "I am, you see, a liquor merchant. Heh heh. No offense taken—it's not exactly an insult. The truth is that the vast majority of our theater's revenue doesn't come from ticket sales, but from beverages. The ticket fee barely covers maintenance. Occasionally, we even hand out free admission."
Free admission. Revenue from food and drink. Wonderstein and Ella both recalled the same memory at the same moment. Hadn't they been reeled into watching Count Wolfenstein by a free admission ticket? They'd walked in, pleased it was free, only to be fleeced at the concession stand.
"Free to Enter, Pay to Enjoy."
A smile played on Bwallet's lips.
"How much revenue can you generate when entry is free?"
He threw both arms wide. Behind him, two long scrolls unfurled from the ceiling all the way to the floor, revealing the very phrase he'd just spoken.
<Free to Enter, Pay to Enjoy>
Ba-dum-ba-dum tssh!
His feet tapped across the stage with the same sprightly footwork he'd shown at the opening ceremony, prancing like an excited colt. Then he turned and shouted to the competitors.
"That is the challenge for this trial!"