TVDR 19

Chapter – 19

The performance of Romeo and Juliet had ended.

For the final show, so many spectators had come that some people were forced to cling to pillars just to stand and watch.

All those countless audience members cried with the actors and laughed with them.

Leo, who had come down backstage, quietly watched the people who remained seated even after the play was over.

“They got immersed.”

He knew it too.

His acting was changing.

The signs that he would become immersed in this play had existed long before.

“You read Romeo’s story, slave.”

Perhaps from the moment those arrogant eyes had said something like that.

And the more he acted, the more he found himself inside this script that wore the mask of a love story.

Romeo—who hated the Montagues.

Romeo—who nonetheless could not help but become a Montague.

At first, when he’d read the script, the Montague figure had clearly been the Emperor. His uncle, Cullinan.

But as he acted, the Montague he found was Luisa.

Luisa Mesena.

That strange woman.

His master, who shone brightest upon the stage.

She wrote a heartrending love story, then turned it into a play overflowing with resentment toward the world.

She said she didn’t care about being called a villainess by everyone, yet why had she cried secretly in the count’s manor?

Why did she always pull back whenever he tried to touch her, even though she was the one crying?

Why was such “difficult” physical contact so easy for her on stage?

What on earth was real about her?

Which side was the acting?

Or was all of it simply acting?

“Don’t be fooled.”

It was always supposed to be him doing the deceiving.

He had to deceive Luisa well, use Luisa to secure his safety, and take his revenge.

To do that, Luisa had to fall for him.

Yet Luisa still hadn’t even asked his real name…

“…Mio. Romeo!”

It was then.

A woman came to the dressing room and called him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her face looked familiar.

Ah. That girl.

The one who’d offered flowers to Luisa when she’d gotten off the carriage.

Back then, Leo had thought that if the girl had been offering not flowers but a knife—

“I would’ve snapped her neck.”

Leo glanced at Elise’s delicate neck and smiled faintly.

“Ah, right. You asked me to give this to Juliet, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Do you think she’ll like it?”

Elise, holding out an expensive-looking box of chocolates, looked excited. The area in front of Luisa’s dressing room was always crowded, so some spectators approached Leo instead.

Some came because they were interested in Leo, but he cut such people off immediately.

The only spectators he treated kindly were those who liked Luisa.

“Probably.”

Luisa liked people like that.

She also liked their gifts.

She refused gifts from him, but she seemed different with the audience’s presents.

That was Luisa.

She’d frown when anyone talked to her, but if someone said “I enjoyed the show,” she became interested.

She’d sit with the dullest expression in the world, then light up the moment the stage was mentioned.

She loved the stage that much.

Because he knew that, Leo had found himself immersed the moment Henry began crying.

If Henry outshone him, Luisa’s attention would shift to Henry.

Luisa was that kind of woman. A woman for whom nothing except the stage could capture interest.

“There’s this shop near the Burbage Marquisate. It’s so famous the line goes on forever!”

Elise said brightly, encouraged by the idea that Luisa might like her gift.

Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly as he picked up the chocolate box.

“Near the Burbage Marquisate? So you live around there?”

“Yes! I serve Lady Irena, the marquis’s esteemed daughter!”

The Burbage Marquis.

Someone he knew well—no, someone he knew far too well.

The man who had helped him escape the imperial castle long ago was none other than Gallog Burbage, the current Marquis Burbage.

“Flee, Your Highness.”

The man who had taught the young Leo swordsmanship—Gallog—had one day prepared a horse at the training grounds.

It was on the night his cousin, the current Second Prince, was born.

Gallog had known. That Cullinan would kill not only the late Emperor but also the First Prince.

“Find the person at the inn I wrote down for you.”

Gallog had told him to seek out someone prepared in advance, but Leo had found no one at that inn.

Instead, he had nearly been sold off by some men and had spent a night hiding in the forest, almost dying.

He never believed Gallog had tried to kill him through some convoluted scheme.

But nine years had passed since then.

Cullinan’s rule had stabilized, and every family close to the late Emperor had been destroyed.

Even the great Mesena family.

But the Burbage family still stood strong. Outwardly, at least.

…Would Gallog’s loyalty still remain?

Assuming it doesn’t is safer.

Believing that even the mentor who had once cherished him would abandon him—this belief increased his chances of survival.

With that thought, he smiled gently at Elise.

“I see. You work in a fine place.”

Elise, proud, nodded.

“Of course! My lady is very refined. She never mistreats her maids!”

“Really? But doesn’t this refined lady like theater?”

He had never heard that Gallog had a daughter.

But in nine years, perhaps he’d had one.

Perhaps, having finally gotten the child he desired, he now wanted to live the rest of his life in peace under Cullinan’s rule.

If so, then being recognized by Burbage at this performance would be dangerous.

This question was meant to probe Elise. The naïve girl answered immediately.

“She loves theater! She wanted to watch Romeo and Juliet too, but the marquis wouldn’t allow it. Private theaters are too crowded and dangerous, he said. But he allowed something else instead! You’re performing in Mesena’s main estate soon, right?”

“Oh, that party.”

She meant the party hosted by Luisa’s idiotic aunt.

Leo and Henry were to perform a two-man play there.

The Prince and the Pauper.

Luisa had once again crafted a clever script.

A prince who becomes a pauper, and a pauper who becomes a prince.

Fascinating. It fit his own circumstances perfectly.

He was a prince who had become a pauper.

Perhaps he’d become even more immersed in that role than in Romeo.

And now Burbage’s daughter was attending.

Leo looked at the grimy mirror and grinned weakly.

“Since she’ll be there… good. Very good.”

The party Catherine had invited them to was coming tomorrow.

Meaning the rehearsals for their performance of The Prince and the Pauper were also reaching their final phase.

The Prince and the Pauper.

This famous novel had been adapted into countless plays and musicals. If you counted the movies and dramas inspired by it, the number was beyond measure.

It had that strong of a plot.

Two children born on the same day, with identical faces.

But one was the king’s son, and the other a lowly pauper, living completely different lives.

One day, they meet, and in a twist of fate, they swap clothes and experience each other’s lives.

The prince becomes a pauper, and the pauper becomes a prince.

But recreating this fascinating story as a two-man play came with challenges.

Most importantly, the story had many characters besides the prince and the pauper.

There were several ways to solve this problem, but I decided to use this one:

Monologues.

Lines where an actor speaks their thoughts or situation aloud without an actual conversation partner.

The charm of a one- or two-person play lies in these monologues.

Such plays depend heavily on the actor’s immersion, and long monologues help them sink deeply into character.

Dialogue requires rhythmic exchanges—if the partner’s emotional tone wavers even slightly, it affects your own.

But monologues—once an actor focuses, the rising emotion pulls them along.

Thus, plays heavy with monologues make expressing emotion easy. Actors stand out. They love such scripts.

But from a director’s perspective…

They’re tricky.

Once an actor enters a monologue, it becomes their solo stage. It’s difficult for a director to intervene.

Some directors simply cast talented actors and sit back.

But in truth, monologue-heavy plays need the most directorial guidance.

The director must fine-tune subtle emotional shifts, keeping the play’s tempo from going too flat or too exaggerated.

Thanks to that, I’d been on edge throughout rehearsals.

As if I myself were acting—feeling the actors’ emotions and adjusting them.

After finishing such rehearsals, my whole body ached, and exhaustion sank into my bones.

And just then, as soon as I stepped into the manor, Alfredo informed me that the Count wanted to dine with me.

He claims he’s always busy with business—why today of all days…

I thought that, but I didn’t refuse.

A debtor shouldn’t act arrogant.

“Go rest,” I told Leo.

Leo frowned slightly.

“You going to cry again?”

“…?”

Ah. That time.

I sighed.

“Just mind your own business and take care of your body. Eat properly and rest. The performance is tomorrow.”

Leo smiled.

“True. Then I’ll eat with you.”

“You, my fiancé, and my slave all eating together? Really?”

He nodded. Alfredo sounded outraged as he whispered to me:

“That makes no sense! Next thing you know, it’ll be the Count, you, your slave, and your ex-lover eating together!”

For a moment, I imagined Rudy, the Count, and Leo sitting at one table.

Weird… but honestly, none of them would care much…

“Ugh, what’s the big deal about eating at the same table? You said buying and selling people is wrong, yet slaves are still filthy, huh?” Leo said to Alfredo, sounding hurt—but smiling with his eyes.

“The maids in this manor seem to be under Alfredo’s orders. They always serve me dry cheese and bread.”

Alfredo turned beet red.

“That’s impossible! We always serve guests well here!”

“Yes. Guests. So I can join, right?”

Leo grinned.

I frowned at him.

After a moment’s thought, I said:

“Fine. Stop whining. Come in.”

I opened the dining room door.

The maids, who had been waiting to open it for me, flinched and stepped back when I opened it first.

And the moment the door opened, I faced the Count—well dressed—and the expression of contempt twisting his features.

“…Staring won’t change my clothes,” I said, glancing down at my shabby rehearsal outfit.