7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (End)
7. Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (End)
They had lost.
Ella squeezed her eyes shut.
A thick wave of desolation washed over her as two months of effort crumbled into nothing.
Yet a strange sense of relief, unwelcome and unacknowledged, stirred in a corner of her chest.
She couldn't put a name to what it was.
But for a fleeting moment, a scene from a play she'd watched as a child surfaced in her mind.
During the final curtain call, a nobleman stormed the stage uninvited, shoved the leading man aside, linked arms with the leading lady, and waved to the audience as if he owned the place.
The actor who had seemed the bravest, most dashing man in the world was pushed away without a word of protest, and the actress who had seemed his perfect match fawned over the nobleman right before his eyes.
Later, when she was older, she learned such scenes were commonplace in the performing world.
But to her child-self, who had believed the world onstage existed as its own separate truth, it was a deeply jarring memory.
'At least my place wasn't stolen from me.'
She kept her lips carefully flat as she spoke.
"So the Viscountess's advocacy didn't work?"
Wonderstein shook his head at her question.
"The Viscountess didn't advocate for us."
"What?"
Catching the confusion on Ella's face, he smiled.
"It seems Mr. Bartel didn't fill you in completely. There was no need for advocacy."
The Golden Tomato draw from the previous night.
Its final victor was none other than Minova, leader of the Morning Star Circus.
"Our earnings are ours to spend until the day's final tally, correct? So I used almost every coin we earned today to buy cards."
His declaration sent a stunned silence through the entire hall.
Wonderstein kept his composure on the surface, but privately he was just as incredulous.
Technically, nothing he had said violated the rules.
The troupes were permitted to buy goods from one another's booths.
In fact, Minova's own daughter Ruelo had gotten her portrait drawn by Umon, and Sven had purchased a massage baton from the Morning Star side — much to his fellow members' scorn.
Of course, that permission existed to encourage troupes to sell merchandise appealing enough that even rivals would buy it.
Dumping an entire day's haul of coins to sweep a single prize was something the organizers had probably never imagined.
Worse, he revealed that while the audience had been watching their performance, he'd sent staff to gather the cards — twisting the knife of betrayal twice.
The crowd boiled over at the absurdity.
"Does this look like a joke to you?"
"You pulled a stunt like that behind our backs while we were watching the show?"
"Have you no shame, you rooster-headed bastard!"
Minova scoffed at the protests and bellowed back.
"What difference does a few coins make when you were going to lose anyway? Hah! If you've got a problem, step right up and say it to my face!"
His brazen retort left them speechless.
Not many men had the nerve to pick a fight with a giant whose shoulders each measured over thirty centimeters across.
Even Baron Dosville, always so confident in his sneering, pressed his lips shut and retreated a step.
Minova silenced the rest of the complaints with a few more roars and a flex of his muscles.
His boorish, bullheaded way of bulldozing through had been entertaining to watch — being on the receiving end of it was nothing short of infuriating.
"What a piece of work."
"Just as the rumors say. Exactly as they say."
"Word was he'd reformed, but he's still nothing but a thug!"
But no matter how angry you were, that last word shouldn't be spoken in front of him.
Especially with his daughter watching.
Minova's head snapped around.
"What did you just call me?"
He seized the man who'd spoken by the collar and hauled him up.
"Aaaah! The acrobat's hitting someone!"
"Papa, stop!"
"Boss, hold back!"
Ruelo and his subordinates rushed over and barely managed to calm him down.
Once everyone else had cleared out, Minova gave Wonderstein an awkward look.
"My patron ordered it. I had no choice. Said it didn't matter if we lost the contest — I was to secure this no matter what."
A patron.
That explained why Minova had gone so far as to rig things to get his hands on that cocktail.
"Then why pick a fight with everyone?"
Seeing how abruptly calm Minova had become, Wonderstein realized the earlier bully act had been just that — an act.
Minova scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.
"Tch. The patron wanted as little gossip attached to their name as possible. Haha, I just played the villain and took the flak on their behalf."
It was a role he'd played often in the old days, when he'd survived by his fists.
Whenever he settled a situation with a brawl, well-dressed people would appear afterward to sweep up the spoils. He had taken the money in return.
"Don't fret too much. My reputation's not worth much anyway. This troupe is set to dissolve once the competition's over."
He said the words, but he didn't look especially pleased about it.
No wonder — he'd started this circus to build a new life, only to end up pulling the same old tricks. It couldn't sit well.
That was the flaw of a project-based circus troupe.
Even when selling merchandise, he had to follow the patron's orders, and just now, at the decisive moment of the match, he'd had to throw away a chance at victory to serve the patron's greed.
"I'm not sure I should accept this victory."
"Why? Because the sponsor's muscle is too big?"
"Exactly."
Minova burst into a hearty laugh.
"Wahaha! So if a bunch of gambling hall punks had thrown their weight around and handed us the win, would I be able to hold my head high?"
Wonderstein closed his mouth.
He hadn't thought of it that way.
"You're the winner this time. You've got my guarantee on that — your opponent's word."
He clapped Wonderstein twice on the shoulder.
"Ah, then about the wager..."
"Wager?"
"The one we made before the match. Since Mr. Minova lost, that means you're acknowledging our Miss Ella is superior to Ruelo, yes?"
At his teasing remark, Minova's face twisted into a scowl.
"You little punk — don't push your luck! Hey! Bring that cocktail back here! I'm getting a refund!"
"It was one Roti, you know."
With the matter settled that way, Anais was spared the need to argue on behalf of the Golden Tomato.
Though their final-day revenue had amounted to zero, the Morning Star had similarly sunk most of their daily coin earnings into funding the patron's demand.
When the tally was complete, victory was confirmed for the Monster Circus.
Wonderstein produced a jewel from his coat.
It was slightly larger than a coin and emitted a red glow.
"A star."
Ella took the gem he offered and examined it.
It had been carved into the shape of a layered rose, its petals overlapping in multiple tiers.
A badge clip was affixed to the back, ready to be worn.
Ella sat still, turning it over in her fingers.
So these were the things she needed — seven of them — to step onto the Wonder Stage.
She remained quiet for a moment before speaking.
"In the end, their side or ours — it all came down to being jerked around by the patrons."
Ella tossed the star into the air and caught it again.
"Now I see why everyone else is so sick of free shows. I feel like a dancing bear at a merchant's money game. The actual work of improving the performance ends up neglected."
"Neglected?"
"Maya's illusions."
Wonderstein nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.
Maya had poured the majority of her magical energy into printing those pictures.
So for this performance, her illusions had been forced into a drastically simplified form.
Just as Ella said, external concerns had lowered the quality of the show.
Free to Play, Pay to Win.
He'd enjoyed plenty of games like that in his own world.
Games that advertised themselves as free-to-play while chasing profits through limited items and randomized draws, leaving the actual game development sloppy and unfinished.
The theme set by the Rose Windmill could only degrade the quality of the performances.
With free admission, no amount of effort on stage would translate into direct earnings.
There had already been a precedent in the second-week matchup.
The Papael Circus, which had steadfastly focused on their acrobatics, had lost to the Mango Troupe, which had leaned hard into addictive jingles and merchandise sales.
He pictured Bwallet's face, the man who kept insisting money was the most important thing.
There was no way someone who had managed a cabaret for so long hadn't foreseen this outcome.
He must have intended this from the start.
"Still, that doesn't make Mr. Bwallet completely wrong. Turnout matters. The stage, the props, the equipment, the wages — it all comes from money. But I don't think it's everything."
"I agree."
The theme of this matchup had forced him to borrow the business model of game developers, but the games he truly loved weren't like that.
He preferred games like the Tril Trillo series — dense with collectibles and hidden depth, built around high freedom.
"Right. Anyway, we've got the badge. Shall we start researching the next trial?"
Ella reached for her notebook, but Wonderstein blocked her hand.
She pushed out her lower lip and glared at him.
"Oh, what now. Reading a little is fine."
"That's not..."
Just then, the door opened and someone peeked in.
It was Yurakne.
She tilted her head at the two of them.
"Um, boss? Ella hasn't changed yet?"
"We were just chatting. We'll be down shortly."
Wonderstein set Ella's notebook down on the table.
"We've got a trial completion party to attend."
"Oh, right. That's right."
Ella hurried into the adjoining room and changed quickly.
The clothes the steward had taken for mending had come back pristine, as good as new.
She swapped her nightclothes for a blouse and skirt, put on her tailcoat, and set her hat on her head.
As naturally as if it owned the place, the dove settled into the hat, and the mouse climbed onto her shoulder.
Back in the hallway, Ella held out the gem to Wonderstein.
"Here."
"Ah, the star?"
He paused for a moment, then smiled gently.
"You keep it, Miss Ella."
"What?"
"I think that badge would look lovely pinned to your coat."
His words flustered her.
"A-are you serious? Th-this is a star! Proof that we passed a trial at one of the Six Great Theaters!"
"You've more than earned the right to wear it."
"B-but you're the troupe leader..."
"Put it on."
At his firm insistence, Ella snatched the jewel and clutched it tight.
"F-fine. No take-backs?"
She pondered where it would look best, then clipped it to the collar of her tailcoat.
Even against the deep red fabric, the gem's glittering crimson stood out vividly.
The two of them walked together toward the dining hall.
No words passed between them.
But perhaps because they had shared a stage for so many days now,
Ella found the silence far more comfortable than it used to be.
Then a question that had lingered in her mind for a long time surfaced again.
"Come to think of it... why are you so determined to reach the Circus Grand Prix Finals?"
"Heh. Something I want is there."
"Something you want? Can't you just take it by force with your power?"
"No. I can't."
"Is it that precious?"
In answer, he pointed at the badge pinned to her chest.
"Let's say it's worth more than that jewel."
They reached the banquet hall.
The other members had already arrived — the noise bursting from inside made that clear.
Before they entered, he gave her one last word of caution.
"We don't leave for the next city until Miss Ella has fully recovered. So don't push yourself. Focus on getting your strength back."
Ella started to protest, to put on a show of saying she was fine, but she let it go.
A woman who'd collapsed twice already had no business making such shameless claims.
Yes. From now on, she couldn't let herself become a burden like that again.
She would train harder. Grow stronger.
So that no matter what happened, she would never be shoved off the stage again.
The doors to the banquet hall swung open.
The smiles and laughter of her fellow members came rushing out to greet her.
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The Trial of the Rose Windmill Cabaret (End)