Chapter – 12
The actor playing Benvolio, Henry Schofield, staggered down from the stage, drenched in sweat.
“Huff… hah….”
He had been an ordinary commoner working as the lowest kitchen hand at Rudy’s Night Tavern.
At least, until the moment Rudy stormed into the kitchen with a rotten expression on his face.
“Our lady sure has complicated taste. Says she wants someone gentle, innocent, and cute—but also someone who looks like he’s never done a day of dirty work in his life. And she wants to find that in here?”
Rudy had been half-dead from running around trying to gather the types of men Lady Luisa wanted.
Something suddenly crashed in front of him.
Clatter!
“Ahhh! S-sorry! I’ll fix it right away, Chef!”
A young kitchen hand had dropped an empty oak barrel as he entered—Henry Schofield.
He said his father used to run a fairly successful business before the Duchy fell, but after the Mesena family’s annihilation, his family lost everything, and this was his first time doing kitchen work.
He really does have no talent for this…
The head chef had already been pressuring Rudy to fire him. But where was he supposed to find new workers these days? Ever since the Duchy collapsed, it was nearly impossible to hire anyone…
Rudy picked up the barrel with a sigh—then froze.
He stared at Henry, who was bowing frantically like a frightened animal… and dropped the barrel again.
“Hey.”
“Y-yes?”
“You’re… good-looking, aren’t you?”
And that was how Henry Schofield got cast.
At first, every man who was cast alongside Henry had the same thought:
“Just seduce the Lady and secure a fortune.”
Luisa Mesena.
To Henry, she was the infamous delinquent noblewoman of the Duchy—the most notorious lady in the land he had lived in his entire life.
And the rumors were true: she had a sharp eye for handsome men.
Why else would she recruit no actual actors and only gather attractive men for her play?
…Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.
The naïve Henry did his best not to meet the Lady’s gaze.
He only auditioned because he needed money for his sick mother’s treatment after his father’s death—but he didn’t think highly of the acting profession.
That came from his father, who always spoke with disdain:
“Filthy jesters. Even priests won’t oversee their funerals.”
It was true.
Priests refused to officiate funerals for actors. The entire Holy Empire despised them.
The Saintess herself once declared that theatre was immoral, provocative, and corrupting.
And now a noblewoman was producing a play herself?
Of course the rumors were true… she’s a madwoman.
Henry was still thinking this when one of the male extras approached Luisa with a friendly smile—shirtless for some reason.
“So, what do you want us to do now?”
Luisa didn’t care that he was half-naked. She simply told the actors to “warm up” and then sat in the audience, staring at her notebook.
Henry once glimpsed that notebook. One side had the script glued in, while the other side had mysterious notes:
– Emphasize subtext clearly.
– Lights ON here.
– Fade out.
Henry had thought it looked like a witch’s spellbook.
And he had his reasons.
After the Mesena Duchy collapsed, the entire nation became grim and restless.
Businesses tied to the Duchy went bankrupt one after another. Citizens struggled to survive.
At first, their rage was directed toward the Emperor.
Naturally so.
The Duchy’s downfall began when the Emperor refused to repay a massive debt owed by the royal family to the Mesenas.
There was an official justification:
The Duke had allegedly plotted treason.
The Duke, weakened by illness, plotting treason? No one believed it.
Because of that excuse, the Duchy, already declining, was pushed into ruin. The Duke died, and the Duchy fell.
My father died then, too.
Henry remembered how his father lost everything he had invested in businesses connected to the Duchy and died from the shock.
At that time, everyone hated the Emperor.
They said the Emperor schemed to destroy House Mesena.
Then came the strange rumors:
“It was all the fault of the extravagant Lady Mesena!”
Rumor had it the Lady purchased jewels worth an entire year’s national budget right before the collapse.
The rumor grew.
She kidnapped handsome boys into underground cells for depraved acts; she drank children’s blood to maintain her beauty.
Public rage shifted from the distant Emperor—whom no one had ever seen—to the Lady, who was near, visible, and came with salacious stories.
It was easier to hate her.
And on top of that, she auctioned off Mesena’s remaining assets and lived comfortably, using the money to purchase men.
Just like now.
Guess the rumors were true…
Henry was thinking that when Luisa, who had been leaning sideways with her chin in hand, finally lifted her head.
“You all warmed up?”
“Yes, of course!”
Why did that man look excited?
Henry wanted to go home.
“Then we’ll start with vocal exercises.”
“…Sorry?”
The shirtless actor sounded disappointed. Luisa replied lightly:
“Yes. Go on.”
“Ah.”
“Louder.”
“AH!”
Luisa pressed the notebook into the actor’s lower abdomen.
“—AAAGH!”
“Good. Just like that. Relax the throat and make the sound come from the diaphragm.”
She stood.
Her gaze swept across the male actors—sharp enough to raise goosebumps.
“I don’t expect you to act well. And you shouldn’t expect to, either.”
She looked pitifully at the shirtless man.
“Look at you. You can’t even seduce someone properly. How do you expect to act on stage?”
“……!”
“But at the very least, I can make sure this brilliant script reaches the audience’s ears. So listen carefully while we do vocal work.”
She stepped onto the stage in a single leap.
Loose pants, baggy shirt, hair lazily tied up—Henry wondered where she kept all those jewels she supposedly bought.
But he didn’t have time to think long.
Luisa’s glare forced them to start vocal drills.
Ah—.
Aah—.
Luisa trained them every day after that. Rehearsals started at 10 AM and ended at 10 PM. By evening, most actors’ eyes were lifeless.
At first, she taught them “blocking.”
But not the usual theatrical choreography.
“You can move freely here, but you must step forward around this line. And deliver this line while facing the audience.”
They had to memorize both script and blocking.
If they failed, Luisa would speak in a cold voice:
“You useless bastard…”
She didn’t throw anything or scream—yet the quiet mutter made grown men cry.
Every man who had dreamed of becoming her lover shed tears at least once.
But every morning at 10, they returned.
They had already been paid. And if they ran without returning the money, Rudy would hunt them to the ends of the earth.
Eventually, when all actors had memorized their roles perfectly, Luisa added something new.
“Again.”
That terrifying word began then.
“Do it again. It’s impossible to focus like this. Stop putting emphasis on the wrong words. Don’t swallow your consonants. Don’t dance. Don’t sing. Just feel it.”
Is this how theatre practice is supposed to be…?
In the plays Henry had once snuck out to see, actors shouted, exaggerated, and pretended to sob dramatically.
Performances weren’t meant to make the audience feel emotion—only to show it.
But Luisa was different.
She never taught how to act. She simply explained the script.
“Benvolio grew up a noble. He has a strong desire to protect what is his. The reason he avoids the feud between the families is largely to stay in the lord’s good graces. But you pretend to be righteous for no reason.”
As if Benvolio were a real person.
“Then… should I emphasize this word here?”
“Do whatever your emotions tell you. He is your Benvolio.”
Henry was confused.
What did my Benvolio mean?
Why was she taking theatre so seriously?
She wasn’t enjoying being surrounded by handsome men at all. She only ever muttered things like, “Atrocious acting…” with a sour face.
She used to seem like a witch. Now she felt more like a terrifying teacher.
“If you truly can’t grasp it, I’ll show you my Benvolio. You should build your own—but we’re short on time and your talent is abysmal, so just copy me if you must.”
Being called abysmal stung.
Luisa performed for Henry—no, she became Benvolio.
Every actor watching remembered that moment forever.
Even the actors running lines for her were drawn in without meaning to.
Even those who dreamed of seducing her no longer saw a scandalous noblewoman—they saw Benvolio.
She simply stood there, and she was no longer Luisa.
So this is what an actor is…?
Henry became curious. Curious about this thing called acting.
This thing that felt impossible—but that he now wanted to try.
He still fell far short of Luisa’s level, but the day of the performance arrived.
Henry panicked backstage.
Luisa approached him briefly.
“Nervous, Benvolio?”
“…I feel like the audience will laugh at me, My Lady.”
“They might.”
“……!”
The words hurt. He fell silent.
“But they might not. Sometimes, people improve once they step on stage.”
“R-really?”
“Some people are born for it.”
Another cryptic line.
“There are those who, once on stage and under the audience’s gaze, feel heat rising in their body. Their heart races. Their fingertips tingle. Emotions they’ve never reached in rehearsal suddenly appear.”
She glanced at the empty stage. For the first time, Henry saw affection in her eyes—affection she never showed the actors.
“Those are the ones who stay. The ones who keep the stage in the end.”
Born for the stage.
Henry didn’t understand then.
But he understood a few minutes after stepping onto it.
The trembling vanished.
His body relaxed.
His voice steadied. His throat loosened. His projection improved.
And most of all—
He could feel everything.
Henry returned backstage, gasping, and stared at the stage he had just left.
He wanted to go up again.
That burning desire consumed him.
