The Voice of the Heavens (1)

Oscar stared up at the enormous screen.

Every time the woman before the microphone launched into a simple dance move, her wavy, pale-pink hair billowed around her. Looking at that face with its soft, gentle smile, you'd sooner believe she was a saintess of the Church than a singer.

But the most beautiful thing of all was her voice. Layered over a lively melody, it was the kind of tone that could, quite literally, melt your ears off. Just listening quietly made him feel as though his heart were being healed.

"...She really can sing. Is she famous?"

"Marin Maria. A singer who burst onto the scene like a comet three years ago. Her signature voice puts listeners at ease, so they call her the Voice of the Heavens—or the Singing Saintess."

So she earned those grandiose nicknames in a mere three years?

"She's like a mermaid."

"I hear the rumors say she's something close to one, actually."

Close to one? Either she is or she isn't—what does 'close' even mean?

Taking his eyes off the screen, Oscar asked, "Why would a top star of that caliber need a bodyguard?"

"I don't know the details myself. You can ask once you're there."

Kilian fished a pass out of his sleeve and handed it over. "Tonight at ten. The meeting place is Room 1702 of the Grand Baran Hotel. But before that..."

He rummaged around some more, produced a few banknotes, and held them out. "First, get yourself fitted for a proper suit. Otherwise they won't even let you through the door."

"...I'll buy it myself. I have money, you know."

Oscar frantically refused the gesture. No matter what, he couldn't take pocket money from his friend's son.

Once full night had fallen, the city's atmosphere shifted yet again. The streets blazed so bright and dazzling in every direction that it was hard to tell whether it was night or day at all.

Whew. Still, I won't be late for the appointment.

Having purchased clothes and shoes from a tailor, Oscar had popped in a pair of red-tinted lenses and even stamped on a fake tattoo. Since he was supposed to be playing Kilian, he needed to look as much like him as possible.

No time to dye my hair, but... this should pass.

Perhaps because he'd swept his hair back and tied it, his eyes looked far sharper than usual.

The Grand Baran Hotel.

Riding toward the hotel in one of the horseless carriages called a "taxi" that Kilian had told him about, Oscar let out a purely involuntary gasp of admiration. The hotels of Baran were all beautiful and luxurious in their own right, but this one simply played on another level.

...This is insane.

The hotel building stood at the center of a vast artificial lake, looming with an unreality that made it seem like a mirage. Its cream-colored marble facade evoked an elegant palace, and beneath the soft golden glow of its lights, the opulence only grew more striking. Above all, the only way in was to cross the bridge over the lake by car.

A place that literally embodies ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the word 'luxury.' You can't even get in without a carriage.

Even before he reached the entrance, he could feel it: this was a space built for the rich, and the rich alone. When the taxi ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠glided across the bridge and pulled up to the hotel entrance, a guard trotted over and opened the door.

"May I see your pass?"

"Here."

He handed over the pass Kilian had given him. The guard slipped it into some manner of inscrutable machine, pulled it back out, and bowed his head. "Lord Kilian Lockwood, your identity is confirmed. Enjoy your stay."

Stepping inside, he found the interior was extravagance upon extravagance—from the kaleidoscope of glass lights embroidered across the ceiling to the golden statues standing here and there. Wondering idly how much they'd fetch if someone pried them all off and sold them, Oscar boarded the elevator.

Fast.

Bitterly enough, the diamond-studded elevator was three times faster than the one in the White Tower. I'll have to propose swapping ours out for one of these once we make more money.

Ding!

In an instant he arrived at the seventeenth floor and knocked on the door of Room 1702. A rustling came from within, followed by a wary voice.

"Who is it?"

"I've come from the White Tower. Kilian Lockwood."

"Oh."

After the voice brightened noticeably, the door swung open with a clatter of locks. The woman who appeared wore rimless glasses and had a severe, no-nonsense look about her.

"Welcome. This is my first time meeting you in person. I'm Evelyn, Marin's manager."

"A pleasure."

She looked him up and down, then frowned. "Though... you're a bit different from the image I'd heard about."

"That would be the suit, probably. They don't let you in without observing the dress code."

"Ah, right. Fair enough. Please, come in."

Following Evelyn into the sprawling suite, Oscar took stock of the interior.

My room in the White Tower is genuinely spacious, but this one's got to be five times bigger.

You could have a whole squad running around playing ball in here. And it wasn't just vast—it was stuffed to the brim with lavish ornaments and furniture of every description. Entering the living room, he spotted a woman sprawled across the sofa, reading a magazine.

"Is that room service?"

"...Get up, Marin. This is the mage who's agreed to take the commission."

"Oh! Hello there."

Marin Maria scrambled awkwardly upright from her sprawl and greeted him with a flustered look. Right. Voice of the Heavens or Singing Saintess or whatever, at the end of the day she's just a person too. Honestly, seeing a bit of humanity in her makes me like her more.

"I'm Kilian Lockwood, a 4th-level mage of the White Tower."

"I'm Marin Maria."

After the brief exchange of greetings, Evelyn asked, "What would you like to drink?"

"Nothing for me, thank you."

"Oh, then water for both of us, please."

The moment Evelyn stepped out of the room, Marin gave a small, formal bow of her head. "First of all, thank you. You accepted the commission even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠though I haven't given you a proper explanation."

"I'm not particularly picky about the jobs I take."

"Really? I heard your commission success rate is over eighty percent, so I assumed you'd be terribly selective."

A success rate of eighty percent, hm. That's about the level where they'd start calling you the White Tower's Rising Star. In this business, anyone who clears seventy percent gets labeled a veteran.

"Thank you for thinking well of me."

"Oh, no, no. Who am I to judge anyone... May I ask you just one thing?"

"Go ahead."

"Um, well... are you..."

Marin hesitated with a shy expression, then her small lips parted.

"Are you the type with a strong sense of responsibility, Mr. Kilian?"

"Hmm."

Hard to say. I don't know him all that well, but he's Radan's son and a forest warrior overflowing with loyalty—so probably, yes? After all, even for this very commission, he'd sent a stand-in in his own place just to keep an appointment.

"Yes, I'm that type."

"Th-thank goodness."

Marin pressed her hands together adorably and smiled. "I think people with a strong sense of responsibility are the most admirable of all."

"Ah... I see."

As the conversation lapsed into silence, Oscar glanced around the room—and froze. Beyond the huge window with its sweeping view of the artificial lake and the city, there sat an absolutely colossal bathtub. Big enough to hold ten people with room to spare.

"...Why is there a bathtub in the living room?"

"Oh, I have this habit of taking baths while looking out the window whenever I compose."

"Well, I suppose if you compose while gazing at scenery that magnificent, the ideas flow freely."

They say successful artists each have their own rituals. That's probably part of it.

Shortly after, Evelyn returned, set down two glasses of water, and took her place beside Marin. Marin took a sip, steadied her breathing, and spoke.

"To get straight to the point—I'm being blackmailed."

"...Blackmailed?"

Oscar's eyes narrowed. He'd assumed she'd simply hired a bodyguard because public safety in Baran was in bad shape, but apparently that wasn't it.

"What kind of blackmail are we talking about?"

"To explain that, I first need to tell you what this upcoming concert means."

"Please look over here."

Evelyn operated a remote control and turned on the television. What played on the screen was the same video of Marin's performance he'd watched with Kilian.

"You may or may not know this, but Marin's talent is in a league of her own. Her company was small and couldn't offer her much support, yet on sheer ability alone, in just three years she's earned her very first solo concert—at the Baran Dome."

"I take it holding a concert at the Baran Dome is a big deal?"

"'A big deal'? For a mage, it would be like... what was the name of that famous award again?"

"Th-the Oscar Award," Marin murmured quietly from the sofa, wearing a bashful expression.

"Right, that. It's as monumental for a singer as the Oscar Award is for mages. A solo concert at the Baran Dome requires passing an extremely rigorous vetting process—it's the stage every singer dreams of. In practice, only three or four performers get to stand on it in an entire year."

"I see. I didn't know that."

"Which means whether or not this concert happens will be the greatest crossroads of Marin's entire career. And the problem is... the blackmailer I mentioned earlier."

"What exactly is being demanded of you?"

"It's simple. They're pressuring her to cancel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the concert."

Evelyn let out a long sigh. "We even know who the blackmailer is."

"...I beg your pardon? Then why on earth—"

If you know who it is, couldn't you just go catch them? Or at the very least, report them?

Reading the bewilderment spreading across his face, Evelyn nodded. "I'm sure this situation doesn't quite make sense to you. I explained what the Baran Dome concert means, didn't I?"

"Yes. Don't tell me the blackmailer is..."

"Your guess is probably right. The blackmailer is Marin's rival singer."

Envy and jealousy sometimes become tremendous sources of momentum—for better or for worse.

"Who is it?"

"Ara Sweet. She debuted two years before Marin. She has real skill and a decent fanbase, but at some point Marin started overtaking her in album sales and booking priority."

Just as I thought. Oscar nodded and asked, "Were you also locked in fierce competition for the slot at this Baran Dome concert?"

"Oh my, heavens no. We competed, but it wasn't fierce at all? I won by a landslide."

"...?"

Oscar blinked twice at Marin, who was busy flashing an angelic smile. So this is the famous senior-junior rivalry I've heard so much about?

"So she's bitter about losing the competition, and if Marin gives up, the concert falls into her lap—hence the blackmail."

"Exactly. And because she kept stonewalling us, she went so far as to send a letter threatening Marin's life."

Oscar examined the threatening letter Evelyn had placed on the table and voiced his doubt. "I don't understand. Couldn't you simply report this to the press with the letter as evidence and be done with it?"

"...If it were that easy to solve, we would have done it long ago."

With a deep sigh, Evelyn suddenly brought up something out of left field. "Do you happen to know that the mayor of Baran died in his home a few months ago?"

"I believe I saw that in the papers."

"Ara Sweet is the only daughter of the candidate widely expected to win the race for Baran's next mayor."

"...Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning that whether the newspapers are taking bribes or simply fear future retribution, I couldn't say—but they've brushed off our reports entirely. No matter how we try to spread the information, it gets completely controlled and buried."

The family of a powerholder in a metropolis this size is definitely more than a single singer can handle. At the very least, it'd take someone from the imperial court speaking firmly before they'd fall in line.

At that moment, Marin Maria clasped her hands tightly together and pleaded, "Please. I'm begging you. I want to see this concert through, no matter what."

"Hmm. That's... a difficult situation."

A family with that kind of power would employ assassins of a high caliber too. At minimum, someone at 4th level or above will come.

"Is it that difficult? But that's precisely why we set the success fee at one million bels..."

"...One million bels?"

I should have caught on when that Kilian bastard started rattling on about penalty fees and bankruptcy.

Pressing hard against the ache throbbing at his temples, Oscar asked, "Let me ask you one thing. Don't tell me I'm the only person hired for this job?"

Please, please say no.

But Evelyn's eyes slid slyly away from his. "It seems they've reached into the press and slipped word to every mercenary office in the city, because not a single one will take our commission."

"..."

And they expect me to do this alone?

Calculating how much he stood to receive for developing the Cadena Flu cure, Oscar asked, "How much is the penalty fee?"

"...Penalty fee?"

"Yes. Let's consider the commission null and void."

Even for him, protecting her in front of a crowd of a hundred thousand would be impossible. For the sake of his client's safety—and his own sanity, frankly—canceling this job was the right call.

The very moment that thought crossed his mind—

"—Like hell. So now you're telling me to just fold? I've been running toward this for three whole years, you know?!"

A stream of blistering profanity suddenly rang through the luxurious suite. Startled, Oscar looked to Evelyn—but she was too busy heaving a deep, weary sigh, her face a picture of utter exhaustion.

Hold on. Then the person who just swore was...

He turned his gaze in wide-eyed shock, and Marin stared back at him with an expression transformed one hundred and eighty degrees from before, demanding an answer.

"This is one hilarious little bastard, seriously. Hey, weren't you supposed to be all responsible and shit?"

"...Miss Marin. You seem to have become rather... worked up."

"Go screw yourself, idiot. Do I look worked up to you?"

As the Voice of the Heavens spewed out coarse obscenities, Marin suddenly seized her pale-pink hair and yanked it off. The silk-smooth wig popped loose, revealing a short-cropped blonde bob.

Wait.

Oscar flinched as he stared at her dramatically altered appearance. The tips of her exposed ears were covered in glittering scales.

As far as he knew, there was exactly one race that bore such a trait.

"...A mermaid?"

It was the moment the true identity of the Voice of the Heavens, Marin Maria, was laid bare.