~Chapter 14~
“There wasn’t.”
The count cut me off before I even finished speaking, answering as firmly as a pumpkin.
I haven’t even finished my line yet…
The stage went quiet, so I had no choice but to continue the scene.
“Father, I hope you slept well. Mother, how was your rest?”
“Uh… well, I think… I had a nice dream last night, but I can’t quite remember the whole thing. That doesn’t mean I don’t remember it at all, but it’s not exactly clear either…”
Phew, I nearly started dreaming myself just now.
“I’m glad to hear it was a good dream.”
Normally, I would’ve followed up with more questions about the dream, but Molly kept avoiding my gaze. We can’t have a conversation unless we make eye contact. In the end, I tried continuing the conversation with Philip, who finally met my eyes.
“Father, isn’t the weather just lovely today?”
“Yes, it is. The weather is lovely today.”
I imagined myself gazing out the window and turned my head left to look beyond the back of the count’s head toward the distance, but his eyes stayed fixed straight ahead. His tone stayed fixed, too.
This conversation is more broken than torn dough for hand-pulled noodles.
This time, I deliberately didn’t speak right away and just stared at Molly.
She glanced at me for a moment before quickly averting her eyes.
Do I… look like I’ll eat her alive…?
“Mother, the hairpin you’re wearing is so lovely. Did Father gift it to you?”
“Huh? Ah, ah… the hairpin. The one I’m wearing right now…”
Though she wasn’t actually wearing a hairpin, she pretended to touch one, scratching her head.
That action’s… not bad, actually?
When I didn’t say anything more and just stared at her intently, she surrendered and slowly began to speak.
“This hairpin… on our summer vacation, your father gave it to me when we went to Queizen… there was a young child selling things on the street… and I couldn’t help but notice… the hairpin was just so pretty… I couldn’t take my eyes off it…”
Earlier it was like torn dough, now it’s like taffy—this dialogue just keeps stretching and stretching.
“Cut!”
I thought about continuing a little longer, but I had identified the problem already, so I decided to end the scene.
The count couple looked visibly relieved at the sound of “cut,” but they soon began watching me for a verdict.
And now, your scores…
“This morning and just now, the two of you had similar yet different issues. You both struggled with the same element—‘awareness’—but in different ways.”
They listened attentively to my evaluation.
“First, Count.”
The sound of him swallowing nervously echoed loudly.
“Your issue was that you weren’t aware of your scene partner enough. You were so focused on your own lines that you didn’t respond to or acknowledge the other’s reactions. If I pretend to look out the window and gaze far away, you should turn your head and look too. Acting isn’t just about lines. It’s about action, too.”
Count Philip looked dejected and downcast.
Feeling a bit sorry for him, I ended my critique of him and shifted my focus. As I turned my gaze to her, Lady Molly began trembling like a lamb before a lion.
“Madam, you had the opposite problem. You were too conscious of the other person. Being overly conscious makes you second-guess your words and leads to nervousness. When you’re nervous, you hold your breath, which messes with your pacing and suppresses natural emotions. You don’t need to be overly self-aware. What’s important is the conversation, so focus on your partner.”
If word got out that a noble couple of the Empire—the Woodville Count and Countess, no less—was being scolded by a mere theater actress, Coventin would explode.
But I had no choice. Everything I said was for their own good. Their awkwardness couldn’t be allowed to derail the story. My heart ached, but I kept going.
“Count, you tend to rush through your lines. Madam, you tend to trail off without proper endings. In a real conversation, we don’t speak in choppy bursts, nor do we ramble endlessly. You don’t have to think of this as acting with me. Just think of it as talking to me.”
They both looked glum under the weight of my harsh words. Lady Molly had lacked confidence from the start, but now even the once-enthusiastic Count looked deflated.
They looked so discouraged. Maybe I was too harsh on these beginners?
When it comes to acting, I do get strict… I’d been all stick and no carrot.
“But! The fact that there are clear areas to improve is actually a good thing! This is already quite impressive for your first time. Let’s try again, keeping the feedback in mind, okay?”
If they think they have no talent from the start, they’ll lose interest, and that can’t happen.
Luckily, the encouragement seemed to lift their spirits a bit.
As they got the hang of things and started to enjoy the process, we kept practising, again and again, until the sun had completely set.
Because there is no other way.
Anyone who’s ever acted knows this: only practice can lead you forward.
“Oh my, are you still practicing? What about dinner?”
Luna had finished her work and returned to the hall to find us.
“They said if they eat too much, they’ll feel sluggish, so they refused dinner.”
“Today isn’t the only day you can practice. How about continuing tomorrow? There’s still time before the party.”
She’s right—today isn’t the only day. I was about to agree, considering how tired everyone must be.
“We don’t want to stop just yet.”
“Same here.”
But they thought differently. They didn’t have remarkable expression, clear speech, or outstanding immersion.
But what they did have was a clear talent: perseverance.
If they ever decided to become actors for real one day, I truly believed they could be good ones.
As their acting senior, I couldn’t be the first to give up.
“Alright then. Let’s practice until you’re satisfied.”
Unable to win against their stubbornness, Luna eventually returned to the main house on her own.
The two of them practiced until they were drenched in sweat. Maybe they weren’t quite ready to take the stage yet, but they could now converse naturally in front of others.
Count Philip and Lady Molly had become perfect supporting actors.
“Count, Madam. Can I expect natural conversation at breakfast tomorrow?”
“Don’t worry, Miss Joyce. But… we have a proposal.”
The Count began, and the Lady picked up from there.
“We read in an acting book that some actors stay in character even off stage to fully immerse themselves.”
“That’s true.”
“So… if it’s alright, could you continue calling us Father and Mother while we’re at the manor?”
“Even when there’s no one else around.”
“It helps us stay immersed.”
“And we want to be proper parents to you, even if just for now.”
If they knew that much about me, then they probably already knew that I didn’t really have proper parents.
I stepped forward and embraced them both without saying a word.
“Physical touch helps ease nerves and builds chemistry among scene partners. So, please feel free to hug me like your daughter. Mother, Father.”
The feeling of being able to lean on someone completely—of safety and warmth—washed over me.
It wasn’t just a feeling that belonged to Count Woodville’s fake daughter Joyce, but to the real me.
“Welcome to Woodville, Joyce.”
“Thank you for becoming our daughter.”
Those were words I had never heard before in my life, and they brought a lump to my throat.
I had to say goodbye to these people in a hundred days.
And it wasn’t just Peredil I’d be breaking up with, I realised with a heavy heart.
But maybe it’s too soon to worry about goodbyes.
For now, I’ll focus on the present.
Because the Emperor’s birthday celebration—when the Woodville family takes the stage together—is just around the corner.
