Chapter 39
It had been fairly quiet for a while, but things got busy again. First came the newsletter. I wasn’t going to write much content. The plan was to write a little, but make it substantial and distribute it widely. The newsletter was called Imperial Theater News. Unlike other newsletters that covered gossip and various topics, this one focused solely on theater.
To maintain at least a shred of fairness, the troupe leaders agreed to watch each other’s performances and write the best possible reviews. I polished the sentences myself—after all, I had written press releases back when I worked at a company in my previous life. Thinking back, there was really nothing I hadn’t done. I never imagined I’d end up putting that experience to use like this.
“Miss Melias.”
A knock came from outside the door. It was a servant sent by the Grand Duke. Since this was a matter that couldn’t be leaked, he had sent a trustworthy servant.
“Almost done! Just a little longer!”
I quickly finished what I was writing and handed it to the servant.
“How many copies shall we print?”
“Start with ten thousand.”
The plan was to place the newsletters wherever there were crowds in the capital. The goal was for as many people as possible to read it.
“Anna, any reaction to the newsletter at the dress shop?”
Anna made a slightly awkward expression. As I suspected, there hadn’t been much response.
“Well, um… here, take a look at this.”
She set down a stack of papers.
“Actually, the newsletters were taken down after three days.”
“Why?”
“There was a fight in the store. Customers who read the newsletter disagreed with each other.”
I widened my eyes in confusion, and Anna looked at me with an expression that seemed to say, Why are you looking at me like that?
“You weren’t trying to cause that?”
“I didn’t expect the reaction to be this strong. Then what’s this?”
“This is a reader submission. You asked me to collect them at the store, remember?”
I began reading the reader submissions Anna had collected. Everyone was fired up. The language was shockingly blunt in places.
“I didn’t expect it to be this effective. There’s a point to stirring up a little conflict.”
The newsletter content wasn’t just evaluations or impressions of plays. Articles about the performances that I and the troupe leaders had seen were split into “good” and “bad” categories. The same applied to Katia’s plays.
In the reader submissions section, I had asked, What do you think? I wondered if people would be interested, but it turned out to be far more than I expected.
“Ah, Miss! You’re early.”
John came in, carrying a large-looking bag. He must have collected a lot.
“I dropped some off at Pike Bookstore and the Frog Tavern. And it’s hilarious.”
He poured sheets of paper from his bag. The submissions from the bookstore were polite but had sharply critical sentences.
“Judging by the tone, these must be from the bookstore.”
“Now look at the ones from the Frog Tavern.”
Since the writers seemed slightly tipsy, their handwriting was crooked, and the papers were oddly wrinkled—it was amusing.
“Huh…”
For some reason, the submissions from the Frog Tavern mostly criticized one troupe.
“All about the Schacht Troupe, right?”
“Seems so.”
“They never watch plays in their lives, and then they hear everyone talking about the Schacht Troupe and, since it’s free, they go for the first time ever.”
Ah, that made sense. Half said it was fun, half said it wasn’t—but neither group sounded like they were accustomed to theater.
“Oh, this one’s funny: ‘I went because they said monsters would appear and it’d be exciting, but the prince just cried the whole time, which annoyed me.’”
This must have been someone who went when the Grand Duke-themed plays were popular, expecting monsters.
“But here’s one too: ‘I watched it very sadly. If they had just lived as usual, they wouldn’t have lost everything… but somehow I kept thinking about it and wanted to tell someone.’ That’s interesting.”
“Yes, let’s publish them side by side.”
So, the second newsletter was filled entirely with reader submissions. As long as conflict kept arising, there would be no shortage of content. In the meantime, I sneaked in a comment of my own:
[At the Schacht Troupe’s founding ceremony, it was said that the current plays were deceiving the public. Treating the entire audience as fools and seeing them as subjects to teach is not right.]
“But won’t they immediately know it’s you if you write this?”
John, who was watching, said worriedly. But it wasn’t a secret.
“Of course they’ll know. That’s the point.”
Although the newsletter was anonymous, I wasn’t hiding to avoid being recognized. In fact, I wanted Katia to know it was me, even anonymously.
She’ll get mad, the Schacht heiress.
After finishing the second newsletter, I went to the Schacht Theater to see the reactions and crowd size. Despite being free, it seemed more aristocratic-looking people were attending compared to the first time.
“Shall we watch the play while we’re here? It’s free.”
“I already saw it last time. Hmm… not much to see again.”
I overheard two commoner women in linen dresses passing by the theater.
“…I just like what I enjoy.”
The woman who saw the play added thoughtfully. My suspicion was correct—the audience wasn’t foolish. They immediately noticed any hint of condescension.
“The show’s about to start!”
A staff member inside announced. I thought Reuke’s acting must have improved, so I decided to watch again.
Indeed, practice had made a big difference. Reuke’s acting had developed to enhance the characters’ charm, and the other actors seemed more comfortable too. Audience reactions were good.
“Don’t you think they’re doing better than before? Today’s performance was great!”
“Practice makes perfect. They can’t disappoint under the Schacht name.”
“Exactly.”
Although many newsletter opinions were negative, those attending multiple performances obviously enjoyed the play. I went to a nearby tea house, expecting to hear more feedback.
“The prince actor seemed a bit older, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but the most talked-about role is the demon, right?”
“Ah, true. That person is actually a noble.”
“They must really love it, but their family must have been struggling for them to decide to become an actor.”
I was happy Reuke got attention but saddened by the “poor noble” label. I hoped she would become a major actress soon.
“I like fake-monster hero stories too, but I think it’s great that a play focusing on the story has emerged.”
“Yeah… similar plays existed before…”
“They didn’t get attention, so Schacht’s attempt was meaningful.”
The other woman nodded as if realizing something, but it made me uneasy. Schacht hadn’t invented story-focused plays.
“Hmm… but it’s not the first time a story-focused play exists. Other troupes have done it. And… for the attention it got, it’s not that exceptional…”
She seemed cautious but was saying everything she wanted. The woman who liked Schacht’s play quickly looked displeased.
“Oh, of course I don’t think your judgment is bad! I just felt a bit disappointed.”
“Well… that’s fair… but it’s well-made and influential too.”
“I mean… it’s difficult to say there was nothing like it before Schacht.”
The atmosphere grew tense. I felt déjà vu—I’d definitely seen such scenes often in my previous life.
“When did I say that?”
“You said it that way, didn’t you?”
The conversation flowed like a heated internet forum argument. I stared at my teacup to avoid eye contact.
“There’s no need to bash other plays just because you like this one!”
“I didn’t bash them! And if some plays are good, some are not!”
“They weren’t bad!”
“Admit it! As Katia said, many plays hid poorly written stories behind spectacle!”
Had Katia really said it that bluntly? The essence was similar, but she’d been more subtle.
“Aren’t we belittling them too much even though the audience is enjoying themselves?”
Now, everyone in the tea house was staring.
It’s noisy, so I guess I have to leave quietly…
As I tried to leave carefully with my bag, a woman at the other table suddenly stood.
“But I think the general audience has no self-regulation!”
Then a well-dressed woman at the next table slammed the table and stood up.
“What did you say! Not all commoners lack refinement!”
“You’re just a rich commoner! No education!”
“And being a noble gives you the right?”
I had intended to create a newsletter that functioned like an online forum without the internet… but people just argued vocally here. Angry customers kept ordering drinks, keeping the tea house staff busy.
Better than I imagined. Our side will definitely grow.
“Melias! Look at this!”
“What is it?”
Reuke returned from the evening performance, holding a sheet of paper. It was the evening newsletter, mostly gossip.
“Can you believe it? There was a fight about the play at the tea house right in front of our theater! Isn’t that hilarious?”
Less than a day had passed, and it was already in the evening newsletter. I listened quietly as Reuke laughed reading it aloud.
“This part is especially funny. Listen: A noble from House G said previous plays focused only on sensationalism, and a lady from House H rebutted loudly. Isn’t it hilarious?”
“It seems like they’re criticizing your play, though. Is that okay?”
“But Forest had story-focused plays first, right? Schacht doesn’t have to be the first.”
It was a rational reaction. If everyone were like Reuke, my plan wouldn’t have worked. People argued because they believed what they liked was the best and had to be first.
“Honestly, I think it’s fun. You’re my rival, and we’re latecomers, so we have to work hard.”
There were actually more complicated reasons, but Reuke’s breezy “rival” comment comforted me. I could see it that way too.
“Hmmm… Katia would probably dismiss this kind of thing.”
Reuke widened her eyes in disbelief.
“No, she’s conscious of it a lot!”
Then she covered her mouth like she’d made a mistake.
“Oh dear.”
