Filming Begins

The studio on the broadcasting station's top floor.

The atmosphere in the massive central control room was drawn taut with a pleasant, humming tension.

"Here. The profile of our last male contestant — Number Six."

I took the parchment Sylvia held out.

Marie's recent addition had evened the gender ratio at six and six, and this was the final commoner contestant I had tasked Sylvia with recruiting herself.

The man in the profile photograph ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had his long hair pulled back in a half-tie and wore an easy, good-natured smile. Sharp features, with a strangely languid air about him.

"His name is Julius. Age twenty-four. An unknown actor knocking around a traveling theater troupe in the capital's back alleys."

"An actor. You recruited an actor for a dating show?"

"His looks and his way with words are a sure thing. The troupe got swindled, so he's sitting on a mountain of debt. He's staking his life on the prize money. He'll throw himself at this without holding anything back. I'm certain he'll be to your liking, Director."

I flicked Julius's photograph with a finger and let the corner of my mouth curl up.

"Is that so? Fine. Let's see if the Vice Director's eye is as good as she thinks."

Looking at that face, Sylvia clearly hadn't picked him at random. Easygoing, affable eyes with a hint of leisure in them. Dimples that appeared when he smiled. Even as a commoner, he had that refined, almost aristocratic quality actors sometimes carry.

It was a face perfectly suited to the so-called Catfish role — the kind that could dismantle the female contestants' wariness in a single glance. A rather attractive card for shaking up Vivian, the wealthy merchant's daughter, or those noble young ladies who didn't know how the world worked.

"Well then. With Julius on board, every last preparation is complete."

I sat at the main panel and stared at the dozens of monitors floating in midair.

The past week. During that time — invisible to the viewers — I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kept all twelve contestants under thorough control and run them through pre-production training.

The core of that training was a single rule.

Never, under any circumstances, let them figure out who the others are.

The flower of a dating reality show is that breathless first-impression moment — when a man and a woman open a door, walk in, and their eyes meet for the first time. If they got familiar beforehand, you would never get that raw tension in front of the cameras.

So the past week's training had been conducted strictly as individual lessons. They even took their meals alone in their own rooms, their paths perfectly separated.

On top of that, I had prepared one more special piece of magic to maximize the psychological warfare of this broadcast.

In this fantasy world, a noble's appearance is their calling card. The dazzling golden hair and blue eyes of House Argent. The cool silver hair of the Valter margraviate. You could drill them for a hundred days on hiding their identities, but the moment anyone saw their hair and eye color, every citizen of the Empire would know exactly which family they came from.

So I adapted a 9th-circle wide-area illusion spell and laid a special barrier over the interior of Signal House. The instant anyone crossed the mansion's threshold, every contestant's hair and eyes locked into pitch black. The brilliant gold, the icy silver — all of it overlaid with ordinary black hair and black eyes.

The design was to make them compete on features, physique, and innate charm alone. It was also a device to erase the prejudice that distinctive coloring carried, making it that much harder for them to deduce who the others really were until the very end.

And one more absolute, lethal rule.

Inside the house, regardless of age or station: use polite speech with each other as a baseline. Dropping formality by mutual agreement was a problem for later. At first meeting, they had to observe proper courtesy, no exceptions.

"Oh, Director. The first arrival is here."

At Sylvia's report, I set my thoughts aside and propped my chin on my hand.

On the monitor: a grand mansion nestled beside a beautiful lake on the outskirts of the capital. Signal House. The camera swept across the mansion's wide front courtyard.

Today's arrival rule was simple. The male contestants gather in the courtyard first and wait. Then the female contestants enter one by one, in sequence.

A classic bit of staging I had seen used to death on a certain dating show back on Earth — the kind that wrings the tension for all it is worth.

Creeeak—

The courtyard's massive iron gates opened, and a man carrying a large suitcase stepped inside.

Male Contestant Number One: Aaron Valter, Northern Margrave.

His trademark cool silver hair had turned pitch black. He was still handsome, but with just that one change of hair color, the oppressive presence of the North's guardian deity had vanished. He just looked like a solid, reliable young man.

So you were riding that hair a little, too, huh?

Face tight with nerves, he walked to the waiting chairs set out in the empty courtyard, sat down, and straightened his back ramrod-straight.

Soon after, Male Contestant Number Two, Derikkan, came in. Walking with the easy stride of an underworld boss, he offered Aaron a light nod of greeting.

Aaron half-rose in an awkward scramble and bowed in return. An unmistakably stiff greeting between male contestants. That was an entertaining beat in its own right.

Following them came Lucas Dayroon, eldest son of a ruined viscount family; Drexler, eldest son of a massive merchant house; and the mage Edgar, entering in turn.

Five men sitting side by side in the courtyard chairs. A suffocating silence settled over them.

An invisible, taut reconnaissance was underway among them. With no way to tell who was a noble and who was a commoner, nobody could afford to make a careless move. They all swallowed dryly and nursed their water glasses for lack of anything better to do.

And at last, the final Male Contestant Number Six, Julius, made his appearance.

Even with a heavy suitcase in hand, his breathing never faltered. He smiled, smooth and easy. A face that strangely suited black hair — fine-lined features, and a charming smile that reached his eyes.

I nodded as I watched Julius on the screen.

He has to be nervous, but his eye contact is completely natural. That's an actor for you. Among the other men, that gentle impression really stands out.

Once all the men had assembled, a dry, production-crew voice flowed from the magitech speakers installed in a corner of the courtyard.

As the rule was delivered, a peculiar ripple crossed the men's faces. Expectation and tension colliding over who their counterpart would be.

Watching this, Sylvia tilted her head and asked me,

"Director. Does this actually mean anything? Making them carry luggage based on numbers alone, when they don't know anyone's status or tastes. Wouldn't it be better to let them naturally go to whoever they're drawn to?"

I tossed a piece of popcorn into my mouth and answered.

"Come on. Then nobody goes. If there's no signal at all from the start, the men just eye each other in that awkward atmosphere and nobody steps up. The second they hesitate, the whole mood freezes over."

I pointed at the men on the monitor.

"I just slapped a sign on them for now."

"A sign?"

"Right. The numbers give them a pretext — for the moment, you two are provisionally paired. An excuse for a man and a woman meeting for the first time, same age range, to carry a bag and exchange a few words naturally. That's where the little spark starts. Of course, if someone they actually like shows up later, they'll have to fight for them."

Listening to the explanation, Aaedos let out a sound of admiration.

"Ohh! Insight that sees straight through the human ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heart! As expected, you are no ordinary man!"

Then the monitor screens switched in a hurry. At last, a carriage with an ornate crest had arrived at the mansion entrance.

The carriage door opened, and the hem of a silk dress heavy with frills appeared first.

Female Contestant Number One: Rosalyne Argent.

Her hair and eyes had turned black, but there was no hiding that haughty gait, or the way she held her chin just slightly lifted. She stepped into the courtyard with two heavy travel bags at her side, and Male Contestant Number One, Aaron, shot up from his seat.

Aaron, solid as a bear, strode toward her on tense legs and hoisted her bags as if they weighed nothing. It was a load two ordinary adult men would have grunted under, but to a Sword Master like Aaron, it might as well have been a feather.

Rosalyne's gaze lingered on that reliable figure for a moment.

And then a scene unfolded that overturned everyone's expectations.

Rosalyne clasped her hands neatly, offered a shy, gentle smile, and bowed in greeting. Gone without a trace was the high-nosed, arrogant ducal daughter. It was a perfect act of coyness — like an innocent country girl falling in love for the first time.

The studio erupted.

"Well. Didn't see that coming."

I muttered, eyes wide, and Sylvia shoved her face toward the monitor as if she couldn't believe it either.

"This is actually getting interesting. I never thought that foul-tempered princess would behave so meekly in front of a camera. Her acting is top-tier."

"Heh. Clever girl. She understands what a broadcast is. She's calculating exactly how she needs to come across to win the men's favor."

Aaron, completely captivated by Rosalyne's prim smile and her soft, polite speech, flushed and fumbled his reply.

A successful first meeting. Rosalyne's entrance had gently thawed the awkward air among the men.

Then the second carriage arrived.

Female Contestant Number Two, Seria. True to an A-rank mercenary, she walked in casually in trousers and a light shirt. Male Contestant Number Two, Derikkan, approached with an easy smile and took her bag.

Seria said, "Oh, I can carry it myself," looking a bit sheepish, but Derikkan led the mood with practiced smoothness.

Third was Female Contestant Number Three, Vivian. As she entered, adorned in lavish jewels, Male Contestant Number Three, Lucas, approached with crisp, disciplined movements and took her luggage.

A debt-ridden fallen noble meeting the daughter of the Empire's wealthiest merchant. Vivian gave Lucas's face a sidelong once-over and smiled a smile that gave nothing away.

Fourth to appear was Female Contestant Number Four, Chloe. True to a reclusive mage who found other people's gazes almost unbearable, she hurried in with her head bowed low. Male Contestant Number Four, Drexler, took her small bag and spoke to her kindly, but Chloe only answered in a tiny, shrinking voice.

"Alright. Next is Number Five. I've been looking forward to her."

I muttered, chin in hand.

"The count's daughter who's obsessed with romance novels, you mean?"

"That's right. Cecilia — the girl who dreams of fated love straight out of a novel. Right about now, her head is packed with fantasies of a knight on a white horse, or a dangerously charming grand duke, taking her luggage."

Creeeak—

Cecilia stepped down from the carriage with her cheeks already flushed. She looked around in every direction like a fairy-tale princess, eyes waiting for her destiny.

The man who walked out to greet her was Number Five. None other than Edgar, chief researcher at the Hephaestus Magic Workshop and a hopeless magic geek.

Edgar bowed stiffly and grabbed Cecilia's suitcase. But for a researcher whose only strength training was breathing, a bag packed with thirty dresses was a formidable opponent.

Cecilia's expression went ice-cold. She had been expecting a fated meeting of eyes and romantic dialogue. Watching Edgar grunt and struggle, she wore the look of a girl whose fantasy had just shattered.

"Puhahaha!"

Aaedos clutched his stomach and burst out laughing, and I swallowed a chuckle of my own.

"You're cruel, Director. Crushing that girl's romantic dreams right from the start."

"That's reality TV for you. The catharsis of the gap between fantasy and reality."

And at last, the final carriage arrived.

The finest raw gem I had scouted off the street myself. Female Contestant Number Six: Marie.

Creeeak—

The carriage door opened, and the instant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her shoe-tip touched the ground, every contestant watching the courtyard through the living room windows froze as one. A strange atmosphere, as if the air itself had stopped.

The Marie who stepped from the carriage was not the simply dressed girl from before. She wore a finest-grade silk dress I had put the imperial chief designer through the wringer to create — no excessive ornament, just a perfect rendering of her figure and her natural poise.

As she entered the courtyard, the male contestants' gazes were pulled toward Marie as if bewitched.