Episode 13
“I entered the audition, and I received a separate invitation to join.”
“Hmm… um, Miss Amber?”
Charlotte, who had been listening to me, cautiously called out to me.
“It seems you haven’t been formally registered yet, but… may I ask which family you’re staying with?”
“None.”
“Oh, I see. Then, may I ask which conservatory you graduated from?”
“I’ve never attended one.”
The whispering around us grew louder. This time, Charlotte wore an uneasy expression.
Meanwhile, I scanned the members of the Delgado Troupe before me. While they observed me, I likewise observed them.
Artistry might appear regardless of social status, but developing it required a great deal of money. Especially opera—the nobles’ art—was music centered around them.
*‘If you want to be on stage properly and not just in the chorus, you need sponsorship and a family name. Nobles aren’t going to pay to listen to a commoner sing.’*
Miya had said that offhandedly.
*‘Just being good at singing isn’t enough. Getting onto the stage takes a ridiculous amount of money—proper training, connections, clothes, jewelry—and sometimes people even buy their roles.’*
This was also one of the reasons Miya had been so delighted by my news. Commoner musicians who lacked sponsorship had no choice but to make music for commoners.
And once a commoner stepped into the world of nobles, they had to conform to their ways one way or another.
*‘The admission standards for the Delgado Troupe are simple but difficult. If your skill isn’t proven, you can’t even step inside. Even their chorus members are probably top-tier.’*
Small theaters might hire chorus singers cheaply and indiscriminately, but this was the Delgado Troupe—supported by the Klein family’s finances.
That meant they carried a great deal of pride. I doubted anyone had ever walked in without any experience, calling themselves a singer.
It was only natural that the members found my existence strange.
But I had no other way to explain myself. Because despite everything—I *was* a singer.
“Are you sure you’re not confusing chorus with a choir? No… have you ever even performed on stage?”
Even though I had introduced myself as a soprano just moments ago, Charlotte asked as if she found it impossible to believe.
Yet no one pointed out her rudeness. It seemed they were all thinking the same thing.
Nick, who had been standing a step back, couldn’t hold himself back any longer and approached.
“Miss Charlotte.”
“I mean, honestly. Look at her clothing, and she’s never attended a conservatory. Director—are you the one who hired her?”
Her voice rose as she failed to accept any of it.
“I hired her.”
In an instant, everyone’s eyes shifted toward the stage-side entrance from where the voice had come.
“I heard today was her first day, so I came to look. Why’s the atmosphere like this?”
Gilbert Klein walked in with a frown.
“Sir Gilbert.”
Charlotte quickly recovered herself and bowed. The other members, and Caroline, followed suit like a backdrop folding into place.
I bowed as well, and his voice sounded again.
“What’s going on?”
Nick answered for us.
“Miss Diz and Miss Amber were greeting everyone.”
“And?”
“Miss Amber wasn’t expected, so everyone seems a bit confused.”
At Nick’s words, Gilbert finally looked around at the members.
“I seemed to have brought in half the singers here myself, yet I never realized some of you held doubts about my decisions.”
His cold words deepened the silence in the room. Then Charlotte, standing at the front, broke it.
“But you’ve never brought in someone completely unfamiliar.”
Gilbert’s golden eyes turned toward her. She added in a tense voice:
“Lady Caroline is famous, so everyone knows her name. And aside from her, everyone here has some kind of background worthy of joining the troupe. But Amber… she herself said she has none.”
She clearly disliked attaching “Miss” to a person without even a surname.
Everyone waited nervously for Gilbert’s reply. I, too, glanced sideways at him.
He blinked once and spoke.
“Charlotte, how long have you been with the troupe?”
I was slightly surprised. While working as a maid, I had never once heard a gentleman speak to a lady that way.
But Charlotte showed no sign of shock.
“This is my third year.”
“Then you should know the troupe’s only standard for admission is ability. So why say something like that?”
Her head dipped. Her exposed earlobes between her pink hair were red.
Perhaps pitying her—or perhaps sharing her dissatisfaction—one of the men spoke up.
“But she said she’s never attended a conservatory.”
Gilbert let out a small, amused breath. And from my left, I heard a quiet sigh. When I looked over, Nick had his forehead in his hand.
“I thought you had some grand reason. Honestly.”
He muttered under his breath, yet loud enough for even the farthest member to hear.
“Where’s Lady Delia?”
When Gilbert asked, Nick raised his head.
“At the palace. She’s arriving tomorrow.”
“Tsk. Then we’ll have to delay the schedule.”
Ignoring the man, Gilbert began speaking with Nick again. The man, annoyed, raised his voice.
“Shouldn’t we at least hear her to judge whether she’s good enough?”
Silence fell again. Nick openly frowned now, and Charlotte lowered her head, furtively watching Gilbert.
Even Caroline Diz, whose expression had barely changed until now, narrowed her brow.
The man’s remark had been rude to me, but all I wanted was for this greeting session to end.
“So we aren’t practicing anymore today?”
“No.”
After finishing with Nick, Gilbert neatly adjusted his clothes and turned back to the man.
“And what would hearing her accomplish?”
“…Excuse me?”
“If you don’t approve even after hearing her, what then? You going to throw her out?”
Until now his tone had been firm, but not particularly upset.
He had seemed to understand the stir I caused. But the man’s comment shifted his mood entirely.
“I listened myself. I judged myself. I decided to bring her in. Are you saying that’s not enough? Michel, was it?”
“N-no. That’s not what I—”
He had challenged the authority of the one who funded and made decisions for the troupe. Realizing his mistake, the man stammered.
“You’ll all be hearing more than enough singing from now on, so stop wasting your energy already.”
He ended with a slight smile—but no one followed.
Unbothered, Gilbert turned to me, his expression loosening somewhat. Our eyes met for the first time today.
“But I understand what they’re concerned about.”
He said this while looking at me.
“Since Lady Delia isn’t here, I’ll handle her training for today.”
With that, he turned away.
As he left without hesitation—just as abruptly as he had appeared—I didn’t know what to do. I glanced between him and Nick.
Nick gave a half-resigned smile and extended a hand.
“I’ll see you out. This way.”
—
I left the hall behind with teary-eyed Charlotte being comforted by Michel, and the remaining members staring at me with lingering doubt.
“I apologize for how things turned out, Miss Amber.”
Nick looked genuinely apologetic as he led me toward where a carriage waited.
“I’m fine. They weren’t wrong.”
When I gave a small smile, he sighed deeply.
“Our troupe rarely has issues regarding class differences compared to others… I thought it would be fine. That was my oversight.”
I stayed silent and listened, and he sighed again.
“Miss Charlotte may have spoken harshly, but I’m sure she meant no ill will. And Michel as well—”
“I understand, Mr. Delgado. Really, I’m fine.”
When I reassured him again, he smiled faintly.
It wasn’t a polite, obligatory smile. It felt like he genuinely disliked how things had gone. Even though I hadn’t been hurt, his attitude was strangely comforting.
“I’ll speak to the members again.”
“Thank you.”
He opened a door leading out to the back yard. As he had said, a large carriage stood at the end of the path. And standing before it was Gilbert Klein.
“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Amber.”
Nick bowed lightly and disappeared back inside. Left alone, I cautiously approached Gilbert.
He stared directly at me and spoke abruptly.
“Is that the only outfit you have?”
“…Sorry?”
Confused, I blinked. He looked me up and down once more.
“You don’t have a dress suitable for a banquet… I suppose.”
He seemed to be asking, then finished answering himself with a small nod.
He wasn’t joking.
A banquet dress—for a commoner? I tilted my head slightly. He snorted faintly.
“At least there’s still time to have one made. Get in.”
He checked his pocket watch and naturally extended a hand.
I knew what it meant. Nick had escorted me this way several times, but this time it was Gilbert Klein.
I hesitated. Which was less rude—taking his hand and entering the carriage, or refusing and climbing up beside the driver?
But he didn’t wait even that short moment.
“What are you doing? We don’t have time.”
I placed my hand on his.
After settling in the spacious carriage, he sat across from me.
“Um, Mr. Klein.”
“Just call me by my name. You don’t have to be so formal.”
The other members had called him “Sir Gilbert,” but I couldn’t use a noble title.
“…Mr. Gilbert.”
“What is it?”
“Where are we going?”
“A tour.”
He adjusted his posture.
“You’ve never seen an opera, have you?”
“No.”
“A light opera?”
I shook my head again.
“The song you sang at the audition is technically from a different genre. If we’d been strict, you would’ve been disqualified.”
I already knew this from Miya.
“And since I brought you in despite that, I should at least show you a proper opera.”
Only then did I understand what kind of “tour” he meant.
“So we’re going to…”
“There’s a regular performance at Mendela House. I’d like to show you a real one for your first opera, but we don’t have that kind of time.”
My expression must have been blank. I snapped my half-open mouth shut.
I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling.
The sense of reality I had barely regained slipped again.
I had rushed to the capital, desperately searching for a place to sing, then auditioned simply because I wanted to stand on the Klein Theater’s stage.
Then I joined this troupe, met Nick Delgado, and now—I was riding in the same carriage as Gilbert Klein.
I looked down at my hands folded in my lap.
Even the dreams I’d had while singing at the temple hadn’t reached this far.
Nick’s words, Gilbert’s words, the whispers of the members—all of it buzzed in my ears.
Some said I belonged in the Klein Theater. Others could not accept me.
I had to determine what the right choice was for me between the two.
As I stared at my hands, the carriage gradually slowed to a stop.
When it fully halted, Gilbert rose first.
“Before anything else, change out of those clothes.”
Taking his hand, I stepped down from the carriage—and saw an enormous mansion before me. It didn’t look like a theater in any way.
“Mr. Gilbert, this is…”
I looked at him, half in disbelief. He answered calmly.
“My home.”
