7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (7)
7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (7)
The Trade Center at the docks of Rouge served visiting merchants.
On its first floor were counters handling harbor affairs.
There, merchants applied for berthing, cargo handling, and facility use and paid the corresponding fees.
The second floor rented out spaces for trade between merchants.
The bulletin board at the second-floor entrance was plastered with schedules listing who was meeting in which room today.
One entry drew particular attention.
6:00 AM-8:00 AM: Bergson Trading Company & ......
8:00 AM-10:00 AM: Bergson Trading Company & ......
10:00 AM-12:00 PM: Bergson Trading Company & ......
2:00 PM-4:00 PM: Bergson Trading Company & ......
4:00 PM-6:00 PM: Bergson Trading Company & Leibniz Trading Company
Except for a two-hour lunch break, Bergson Trading Company had reserved the same seminar room for the entire day.
That in itself wasn't unusual.
Important deals often required meetings spanning several days.
What was unusual was that the opposing party in the talks changed every two hours.
It was reminiscent of children being called one by one into their parent's room for a scolding.
Anyone who diligently read the newspapers would recognize the names and realize the comparison was apt.
Every counterparty Bergson was meeting had stood on the prosecution's side during the opening ceremony trial, orchestrating the conspiracy.
In other words, today's proceedings in the Trade Center's largest seminar room, though dressed in the form of trade negotiations, more closely resembled a discussion of post-war reparations.
No swords or guns had been drawn, but the incident at the opening ceremony had been a political war.
The other side had launched a surprise attack and lost.
Paying a price for that was only natural.
Anais had achieved considerable results in the previous four rounds of talks.
The opposing envoys had tried every angle to reduce their war indemnity, but none of it held up against her, a woman renowned as a genius of the business world. The envoys seated across from her had been forced to cough up most of what they'd prepared before rising from their seats.
Internally, a few of their executives would probably be made to step down, taking responsibility for this affair.
That was how Anais came to welcome her fifth guest.
She felt a slight tension.
Unlike the ones before, this final negotiation opponent was no pushover.
Leibniz Trading Company.
A major trading company equal in scale to Bergson.
"Tomato futures, you say?"
Anais raised her voice upon hearing the compensation proposed by the Leibniz side.
Here, 'futures' referred to a sales contract promising the future delivery of physical goods.
It was a method primarily used by merchants trading agricultural products.
Leibniz Trading Company's offer to hand over tomato futures meant they were offering Bergson the rights to purchase several years' worth of tomatoes.
Anais hadn't asked for clarification out of confusion.
She was stunned by the sheer impudence of Leibniz Trading Company in making such an offer.
The current value of tomato futures was next to nothing.
The tomato was Charlotia's symbolic fruit.
There was the legend of Queen Charlotte's 'Golden Tomato'; the tomato itself was a staple on the tables of Charlotia's people; and, most of all, it was one of Charlotia's major exports, making it one of the most important resources after rice.
Yet the price of tomatoes had been in steady decline for the past few years.
The cause was an oversaturation of tomato farms.
Prices hit rock bottom especially in June and July, when tomatoes flooded the market. In recent years, lords had made it an annual tradition to pelt residents of bankrupt tomato-farming villages with tomatoes. After all, it was those same lords who had pushed the farmers to grow tomatoes, handing out fertilizer and tax cuts.
The Bergson territory, of course, had avoided such disgraceful events, as Anais had predicted the price collapse years in advance.
Offering tomato futures now was tantamount to offering nothing at all.
In fact, one could call it an outright insult.
Anyone in the business world who couldn't see the obvious collapse of value was treated as a fool.
Anais glared at the person seated across the table, clenching her teeth.
She had known Leibniz Trading Company wouldn't offer proper compensation. But she hadn't expected them to be so brazen.
The overlapping sphere of operations between Leibniz Trading Company and Bergson Trading Company was primarily the Caribbean Sea region.
Meaning, Bergson's only way to strike back at Leibniz was through its Caribbean trade network.
The problem was that most of the Caribbean branches were under the faction of her uncle Pierre.
They had no reason to cooperate with Anais over the trial matter.
They had likely played their own part in spreading rumors within the company.
It was clear that Leibniz Trading Company could act this way because they knew the internal situation of Bergson Trading Company.
In the end, the negotiation was concluded.
With enemies already inside her own company, she didn't have the luxury of a protracted struggle with Leibniz Trading Company.
Her fury unabated, Anais took her fork and crushed the hapless roasted tomato that had made its way onto her dinner plate.
It was the first humiliation she'd suffered in a commercial battle since taking the president's seat.
Her mood only lightened a little when she received word that the Regent had dispatched Gaston Haliwooden, gardener of the Tomato Greenhouse, to the Metropole Hotel.
Anais's eyes glinted sharply.
If the Regent was backing her side, negotiations with political figures would proceed somewhat more smoothly than this.
Setting aside her ruminations on the past for later, she began to strategize for what lay ahead.
'I wonder if the Troupe Leader is doing well?'
Anais looked toward the Rose Windmill Cabaret.
He, too, would be fighting his own battle on his own battlefield.
She decided against interfering more than necessary.
He was a man who wished to prove himself by his own hand.
***
The lottery drawing was over.
The format of this trial was one-on-one matches.
Each week, two circus troupes would compete in revenue; the higher earner would receive a Star.
"I will first announce the two contestants for Week 1."
The side taking the test first naturally bore the greatest burden.
They had the shortest preparation time and no precedent to refer to.
Still, since it was a one-on-one match, the order wouldn't affect who won or lost the trial itself.
"A troupe of all mages! No one steps onto the stage! A show that delivers visual ecstasy purely through illusion—the 'Kinema' is exceptional! Led by the master of Illusion Magic, Eunmak Arno... the Silver Screen Circus!"
A figure clad in a white long coat draped with a silver cloth mask stepped onto the stage.
Eunmak Arno.
His voice was deep, so one would call him 'he,' but nobody actually knew whether he was a man or a woman. Because no one had ever seen his real face.
Rumor had it that even the appearance he presented now was entirely illusion.
Following behind him were a short, plump woman and a slender woman carrying a crystal ball, her hood pulled down low. The former was the Deputy Leader of the Silver Screen Circus, and the latter was a newcomer who had worked as a fortune-teller before recently joining the troupe.
"I hope for a fair competition without shame."
Arno stated his ambition, brief and dignified as befitted a Troupe Leader.
Bwallet forcibly suppressed the urge to retort, 'Show your own face before saying such things!'
He then flipped to the next cue card to introduce the opposing troupe facing the Silver Screen Circus.
Checking the name, he glanced sideways at Yug Maroine seated beside him and broke into a smirk.
"Famous for the tale of walking willingly into Bastig Prison in his youth and breaking out! Even if he fell into the infinite Abyss of Ruin, he could escape! The grandmaster of the magic world, hailed as the Father of Escape Magic!"
"Grandmaster my foot."
Maroine grumbled beside Bwallet.
"Featuring the legendary magician Rudini... the Pandora Magic Show!"
An elderly magician strode out, a white beard covering his nose and the entire lower half of his face.
He walked boldly, his orange cloak billowing behind him. This was the same magician who had been the first to protest the free admission fee earlier and had even shouted at Maroine.
Unlike the scrawny Maroine, he possessed a large, solid frame.
Each heavy step he took across the stage radiated strength.
Following him came a man whose upper body, including his head, was tightly wrapped in chains, and a woman cradling a cube-shaped purple box against her chest.
Strangely, the chain-wrapped man moved the chains on his body as if they were his own limbs. Like a cow swishing its tail to chase away flies, he flicked the ends of the chains from side to side.
The cube the woman carried had a question mark etched onto all six faces. The box rattled and made odd noises all by itself.
"A trial cooked up by that fellow Maroine—I'll pass it in a blink!"
The aged magician Rudini's voice was remarkably robust for his years.
A roar of cheers erupted from the audience.
He was an industry elder, but his flashy showmanship made him quite popular, even with younger audiences.
Watching him strut around the stage as if it were his own front yard, Maroine couldn't help but feel perversely annoyed.
Maroine and Rudini were famous in the industry as bitter rivals.
One commanded dozens of staff and was called a director; the other, even at that age, still personally performed escape acts that were nearly a one-man show.
The performance styles of these two, pitted against each other since their youth, had never converged with age.
Bwallet chuckled, observing the two old men glaring daggers at each other.
He knew that such storylines helped the box office.
He then moved on to the next step.
It was time to introduce the two contestants for Week 2.
"Renowned for their disciplined, military-precision movements! Famous for their 12-tier human tower, the 'Hourglass,' built by 88 acrobats! Hobbs, the immovable leader who wouldn't budge even if a train rammed him once he's rooted... Papael Circus!"
A middle-aged acrobat stepped onto the stage.
It was the man who had been sitting at the table across from Magician Rudini, supporting his statements.
Hobbs pulled a bugle from his chest and let out a brassy blast.
At that, a giant exceeding three meters tall marched out with crisp, disciplined steps like a soldier on parade.
The astonishing thing was that it wasn't a real giant.
Eight acrobats were holding and supporting one another to portray a single, massive figure.
Movements that mimicked a single person's motion so perfectly were utterly impossible without bleedingly intense practice.
"What do you think? Our newly prepared act: the 'Leviathan'! This is a simplified version with eight—the real one uses a total of over thirty acrobats!"
He blew the bugle again, and the eight-member giant performed a backward somersault.
The crowd cheered for the incredible, barely believable feat.
Bwallet introduced the next contestant.
"Haha, now here's a welcome name I haven't seen in a while! A troupe founded by former members of our very own Rose Windmill! Heh heh, a place where the flamboyant group dance, true to their roots in our theater, is second to none! Led by Sol, once the Cabaret's lead dancer... the Mango Troupe!"
A dark-skinned man in his early forties with a mustache stepped onto the stage.
He had unbuttoned his shirt, exposing the firm muscles of his chest and abdomen.
He moved across the stage in time with the beat, each step a gliding shrug of the shoulders.
Behind him, dancers arranged in a fan formation followed his moves flawlessly, without a hair's breadth of error.
When he extended a finger toward the ceiling and stopped with a snap, the backup dancers halted, mirroring the pose but pointing in the opposite direction.
He cranked the microphone volume to maximum and thrust a pointing finger toward where the Papael Circus members were sitting.
"You like military circuses! Know this: Circus is about the groove! Doesn't matter if you stray from the script a bit! Just shake it however your body wants!"
Papael Circus's leader, Hobbs, shook his head with an awkward smile.
Sol then aimed his finger toward Maroine and shouted.
"Master! Your disciple has returned!"
Maroine let out a deep sigh and turned away from him.
Seeing him reawakened the nightmare of all the times Sol had gotten carried away and wrecked the stage.
Sol then shouted toward Mare, the choreographer standing next to Maroine.
"Long time no see, Mare!"
The choreographer Mare also averted her gaze.
Though an old friend, seeing him act so immaturely at his age made it embarrassing to claim him as a friend in front of such a crowd.
"I'll walk my own path, even if it kills me!"
Bwallet calmed Sol down and sent him off the stage.
Even as his junior dancers dragged him down, he didn't stop shouting.
"Just you wait, Wonder Stage!"
Wonderstein, listening to Sol's shouting from behind the stage, muffled a laugh.
The dancer Sol was a named character who appeared in TT2.
He hadn't appeared in TT1.
Meaning, he would be eliminated from the Grand Prix, and four and a half years later, he would cease his solo activities and return to the cabaret.
Next came the introduction for Week 3.
"This man's got incredible pipes! Word has it, when he serves as an event's emcee, he can coax words even out of a monk on a vow of silence! Featuring Rooster Minova as its master of ceremonies... the Morning Star Circus!"
A man with black feather decorations stuck into his back swaggered onto the stage, shaking his red comb. On his shoulder sat a young girl dressed as a chick.
Behind him, a line of acrobats in awkward postures followed, bowing repeatedly in every direction toward the audience seats.
Minova laughed boisterously toward the opposite side of the stage and shouted.
"Hey, I don't know who the opponent is, but you're finished! Surrender early and leave for the next city first—that's your best shot at earning a star! If you don't leave, I'll kick you out by the seat of your pants!"
And a moment later, he regretted saying that.
"Formed just over half a year ago! Most of its members are rookies with scant experience! The sensational comeback that shook the opening ceremony! The man who stood at its center! Led by the magician Frank Wonderstein... the Wonderstein Circus!"
A handsome blond man, a girl in a red tailcoat, a clown whose face was hidden behind a skeletal mask, and a woman with violet hair tied back with a hairpin emerged from backstage.
Minova stared at the man standing at the very front of the group with a dumbfounded expression.
Wonderstein smiled at him and offered a handshake.
"Let's make it a fair fight."
"Uh... y-yeah, sure...."
After an awkward exchange of greetings, the two teams descended from the stage.
Only once the introductions of the twenty circus troupes, up to Week 10, were complete did the day's schedule come to an end.