A Sturdy Rudolph

More of them than I thought.

The plaza was busier than I'd expected. Plenty of people must have been bored—or else they'd simply needed a crack in the everyday. Lunch hour had no doubt done its share. They'd gathered with convenience rations in their hands.

"So everyone's got the plot down, right? Sir?"

"It bothers me, though. Can't I just be Santa the uncle? At my age, 'Grandpa' is a bit—"

"Sir!"

"Tsk."

"Everyone's got the plot, right? Right, sir?"

"Why are you only looking at me? Hurts a man's feelings."

"You have got it, right?"

"Of course I do!"

The plot was the same one they'd used at the event nine years ago. It wasn't anything grand, and the whole piece was over in a few minutes, so understanding it wasn't difficult. The problem was that the hastily recruited cast had no time at all to learn a script. In the end there was only one solution.

"It's a simple story, so just stay inside it and handle the rest yourselves. Everyone clear?"

Read the room, and act.

"Clear, sir!"

The most confident answer came from Hocheol. Of course it did. Reindeer Number Two had no lines.

Rudolph, however, did. Why an animal was expected to deliver dialogue in the first place, I couldn't say.

"You know me, little brother! I'm a master of thinking on my feet!"

I'll grant he's quick on the uptake. Acting, though, is another dimension entirely.

In truth, the one with the most lines was the warehouse keeper. The lead wasn't Santa—it was the role the keeper had taken, the older brother. The one mercy was that he'd been preparing the show from early on and already had the dialogue down cold.

"Mr. Rudolph, back Santa up from the side, will you? I'm really counting on you, brother."

The warehouse keeper's desperate plea. Backing him up meant staying alongside the Physiognomist and keeping him from blurting something insane. The mascot suit hid my face completely, and we were far enough from the crowd that a low voice would reach only him. Coaching, in other words, was possible.

"Haa... I'm shaking. Shaking. I practiced so much and I'm still nervous."

This warehouse keeper was quietly serious about the performance. Hadn't it all been about the money? Nerves like that were a fine way to forget everything he'd rehearsed.

"Isn't this your first time? Even if it's a little rough, people will understand. Why not take it easy?"

"What are you talking about? If you're going to do it, do it properly."

"Diligent. Didn't expect that."

"Who knows? If this goes well, more work like it might come in. I could become the only professional actor in the whole government complex! Then I can quit this miserable warehouse job!"

Ah. So he wanted a change of career.

"Whew! All right then—shall we all take the debut stage?"

The warehouse keeper, who had to carry the opening alone, slipped out of the alley first.

"Little brother, so who's playing the younger sibling?"

"The younger sibling only exists. They don't actually come on."

"Oh? That how it was?"

"...I don't think you've actually learned the plot. Listen carefully."

Santa comes to bring the brothers gifts and meets the older brother first—the one who had been waiting for him. Thanks to that, the little sibling never appears.

If the younger sibling had been onstage too...

There wouldn't have been anyone suitable to cast. A good thing they don't appear—

Oh. There was that kid.

If I'd told Min Yeo-jin to fetch Cheon Su-hyeon, he would have come without question. I could have worked him entirely for free. The share of ammunition meant for him, I'd have kept for myself.

Should've rewritten it and stuck the little brother in.

Is this why I never get rich? The knack for making money really is a separate talent.

Outside, the older brother's solo opening monologue was underway.

"Santa Grandpa ought to be here soon, right? I don't need a present, so I must be sure to tell him—please give my little sibling two, mine as well as theirs."

The warehouse keeper's voice had changed completely. He was actually doing this properly.

"Little brother, when do we go on?"

"After all that racket is finished."

Bang.

Outside, fireworks started going off. In broad daylight. Fireworks that had lain under the dust, crammed away in the warehouse—all of them marked for disposal, so they'd decided to burn through the lot.

Fireworks. Memories.

The first ones I'd ever seen were ones the Old Man brought. A winter night. Strange, how the scorched-powder smell from back then was still vivid. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Not that fireworks were the only things that smelled of burnt powder.

After the fireworks it went quiet—probably the snow now. At the event nine years ago they'd used spray to fake falling snow as well. The ones preparing the show had surely prayed that real snow would fall on cue, but snow is the sort of thing that refuses to come when you tell it to. Anyway, the leftover spray in the warehouse was also slated for disposal, so they were using every bit of that too.

Once the fireworks and the snow had set the mood, it was time for the sleigh.

"Let's pull."

"Yes, sir!"

Squeak. Screech.

Rust had the wheels barely turning. We were hauling the sleigh on pure strength.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!"

"Do that once we're out."

"Ah, I can't start from now?"

"It's not that you can't. It's just easier to pull if you sit still, so please hold still."

Santa's sleigh was supposed to come down out of the sky, the reindeer pawing the air with elegant grace. Instead—

Squeak. Screech.

"Whew, this is harder than I thought, sir! Even postman work isn't this rough, sir...!"

It was closer to dragging a tank. The reindeer were going to die.

"Oh! Santa Grandpa is here! Santa Grandpa!"

That one was the only person having fun.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!"

Two sturdy reindeer hauled Santa's sleigh out through clenched teeth. And that was how Santa made his entrance—from a back alley. The very height of grandeur.

"Wow! It really is Santa Grandpa! It's winter, but the day is so... hot that he came in a swimsuit!"

The warehouse keeper was drenched in sweat himself. He looked hot.

"Wow! A round of applause!"

The crowd clapped along as he cued them anyway. Even the applause sounded reluctant.

The audience was much larger than before. I'd never seen this many people gathered in this outskirt plaza. Maybe that was why there were more collection boxes than planned. I'd heard they were only putting out one, but I could see them in every direction. All of them had been hauled in by Administration Headquarters staff. They meant to manage the money themselves.

I tried to look around and count how many there were—

Ugh. The eyeholes don't line up.

The holes cut into the reindeer's face were spaced just slightly wrong. If I tried to fit both eyes at once, everything doubled and overlapped; if I lined up even one eye properly, the other was half-blocked. A fully covered eye would have been better. These were cut halfway, so every time I blinked my lashes caught on the rough, jagged edge.

"Can you see in front of you?"

"You can't see well either, Senior?"

I'd known it from the moment I put the costume on, and there was no way to adjust it, so I'd simply been enduring. Trying to actually look around made it miserable.

"Same here, sir. That's why I've got one eye shut, sir..."

"Tsk. Guess that's the only way."

Nothing was working.

"Hello, Santa Grandpa!"

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! What is your name!"

"Uh... my name is..."

The Physiognomist was botching it from the opening line. Well, he hadn't had time to learn the setup properly.

My turn to step in.

"Mister, Santa already knows everything about a child. Who's been good, who's been bad—he knows all of it, remember? And you're asking for a name?"

"Ho...! Ho! Ho!"

A blessing, at least, that the man was shameless. No matter what happened, not a shade of color changed on his face.

"The truth is, I already know your name!"

"Oh, really?"

"Kim... Seokga?"

Yeesh. Of all the names, why that one.

"Th-that's right! Wow, he really is Santa Grandpa!"

"Ho! Ho! Ho!"

The Physiognomist climbed down from the sleigh. As he passed beside me, I gave him a light kick with a front leg.

"Mister, you don't actually know what Christmas is, do you?"

"I know everything. I'm Santa!"

This was the problem with the Physiognomist. I could never tell whether talk like that was a joke, or whether he was saying it because he actually knew something.

"Yes, Seokga! Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes! Actually... I have a request. You don't have to give me a present, so could you give my little sibling two?"

"Hm? And why is that?"

The reason was that the older brother was fated to die soon. This was the part where he was supposed to cry, but stirring an audience's feelings took more than ordinary acting. Nine years ago, not a single person had wept.

"I have a secret I can't tell... hhk."

"Why do you weep? Do not cry—speak. I cannot give a gift to a crying child."

"Mister! You don't have to say that right now!"

And then—

The warehouse keeper had suddenly begun to sing.

This beautiful voice?

Skill I hadn't expected. For the first time in my life, I felt as if I were washing out my ears. I was being pulled in. Seen through a single eyehole, he was the older brother itself. I could hardly keep calling him the warehouse keeper. This wasn't something a little practice could produce.

"Senior? We were wrong to say we'd wear the costumes, sir."

"Hm?"

"It would've been much better to skip the ammunition and just be in the audience, sir."

He was right. Watching through these miserable eyeholes was enough to suffocate a man. This was a show worth paying ammunition to see.

Only now did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I feel it.

That smell.

When he'd cried out for Christmas, I hadn't felt this atmosphere. But now there was definitely a smell. His wish hadn't been Christmas after all.

An actor's dream.

While the song went on, ammunition, medicine, and other offerings began to pile up in the collection boxes.

"That guy could actually make a living at this."

"Right, sir?"

They say that in the old era, you could get rich from acting. A fortune, just for imitating something.

Of course, acting still mattered in this age. You needed it to survive. I was confident in mine. I'd even seen it work at the Human Meat Factory.

But I wouldn't stand a chance against this guy.

It was the best acting I'd ever seen.

"I think I'm going to cry... the costume hides it, so it's all right, isn't it, sir?"

"You can let them fall openly. It'll look more real. Crying on cue is hard."

But then—

Good lord.

"Oh? Santa's pretty good too, sir?"

Had that belly been a pouch full of songs? His tone was nothing next to the older brother's, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the rest was art. That volume. That skill of quivering like a goat. Offerings piled wildly into the boxes. The audience was completely hooked—people covering their mouths, overcome. Off to one side, someone was bouncing with pure delight; probably the Administration Headquarters bastards who'd been promised thirty percent of the take.

And so the song ended.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! I understand. Then I shall give your sibling the gift I meant to give, and a new gift besides!"

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Santa Grandpa!"

The short performance was already racing toward its end. The second gift Santa had prepared for the sibling was, predictably, the older brother. More precisely, the older brother's new life was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the gift. Once the story closed on an and-so-they-lived-happily-ever-after, Santa was supposed to exit the way he had come, by sleigh.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! What a kind heart. Very well! I shall grant your wish!"

About time to get ready to leave, then.

"The gift for our Seokga's sibling is... the older brother! I shall gift you a brother!"

"Yes? What does that mean, Santa Grandpa?"

"Ho! Ho! Ho! It seems difficult to understand! I shall explain!"

No matter how I looked at it, the casting had been good. At this rate, was the old fellow going to end up in a Santa suit every single year?

"Gifting a brother means just that—I gift you a brother! It is a pity our Seokga will soon be going to heaven, but the living must live! So that the sibling may get along, I shall gift them a new older brother!"

"Yes...?"

Ah.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!"

We were finished.

"Was this the story? It's different from what I understood, sir."

How was I supposed to fix this? No—fretting over it wouldn't solve anything. This was a problem for Santa and the older brother. Still, I ought to at least tell him.

"Mister, gifting the brother doesn't mean that—"

"Hm?"

"Not giving them a new brother. The original brother's—"

But then—

The crowd murmured.

"Hm? Little brother? Were you going to finish?"

"..."

"Senior?"

Then—

Thud.

The older brother had collapsed.