Episode 7
Gilbert Klein was not in a very good mood.
As the second son of the Klein ducal family, the most prestigious house in the kingdom, he was not someone who would ever set foot in a noisy, filthy tavern like this.
The only reason he had chosen this place out of all the many restaurants in the capital was purely because of his companion’s one-sided insistence.
“Wipe that expression off your face. This place even came recommended by the inn.”
The man sitting across from him said with a playful grin.
“I don’t understand why we had to refuse the hotel and insist on eating in a place like this.”
“How would a noble young lord like you ever know the circumstances of commoners?”
At his words, Gilbert raised one eyebrow. Even at the cold reaction, the man only chuckled and draped his arm over the back of his chair.
“How’s the food?”
“Terrible.”
As if waiting for the question, Gilbert silently set down the fork he’d been holding. Then he picked up the wine glass beside him, but after only wetting his lips, he set it down again.
“The liquor is cheap.”
“In a place like this, you’re better off with beer.”
Gilbert let out a small sigh and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Relaxing the posture he had kept so rigid, he changed the subject.
“I heard this touring performance ended well.”
“It was Lady Delia’s last show—hard *not* to be a success.”
“The timing’s good. With the lead soprano spot open, we should take this opportunity to choose a new one.”
“Sure, sure. If the investor wishes it.”
The man waved a hand jokingly. At that reaction, Gilbert called his name, his expression serious.
“Nick. I’m asking for the opinion of the troupe’s director.”
Nick, as he was called, looked no different from the other men sitting around the tavern.
His shaggy brown hair reached his nape and was tied only loosely at the ends, and his comfortable shirt and leather trousers were far too informal compared to Gilbert’s fine suit.
The reason a man dressed like that could speak so casually with Lord Klein was because he was Nick Delgado, the director of the soon-to-open Klein Theater’s resident troupe.
And since the Delgado Troupe had been funded by Gilbert Klein from the very beginning, the two of them were, in a sense, business partners.
At the word *director*, Nick’s bright blue eyes sparkled. Gilbert added,
“You must have seen and heard a lot while traveling on tour.”
“Yeah. Enough that I’m sick of watching performances for a while.”
“Any theater comparable to Diena among them?”
“Not a chance.”
Nick gave Gilbert the answer he clearly wanted, resting his chin on the table as he gazed at him lazily.
“The whole music world’s watching you. They say it’s an unprecedentedly large building.”
“Pressure? Hardly.”
Gilbert let out a short laugh. Silence fell briefly between them, and then Gilbert spoke again.
“Everyone tries to imitate Diena.”
“Well, Diena *is* the standard of music.”
“In other words, they try to imitate Diena even though they can’t even secure an audience like Diena. How could they ever surpass it?”
In the city of arts, Diena, all answers were found. The entire artistic history of the kingdom revolved around Diena.
Countless artists came from Diena, and all artists aspired to go there.
People who knew nothing about music still bought tickets readily as long as the name *Diena* was attached, so the provincial theaters made money in that way.
And the proud critics of Diena refused to acknowledge music from anywhere else.
Thus, to earn their praise, most theatres imitated Diena’s methods.
Gilbert’s softened expression hardened again.
“High-level music isn’t the same as good music. In the first place, the idea of ‘high-level music’ is practically an illusion.”
“You’ve always had a bad relationship with critics.”
Nick knew well the nature of his old friend, Gilbert.
So when Gilbert suddenly abandoned his long-standing role as a patron and said he would start a business himself, Nick didn’t say anything.
Even when that business involved building a massive theater right in the center of Belfern’s capital, Nick simply listened quietly.
Partly because Gilbert was a friend, but also because Nick himself had always been the greatest beneficiary of Gilbert’s bold and unconventional thinking.
If Nick followed Gilbert’s lead, it always ended up benefiting him somehow. In the art world, buzz was everything—and Gilbert always brought it with him.
Based on such experience, Nick trusted his business partner quite a bit.
“Diena’s critics are useless. What matters are Belfern’s audience members. Nick, we need a soprano unique enough to catch their attention.”
“I know. I told you last time too. That means it’s impossible with our current sopranos, including Lady Delia.”
“It means we need a new face.”
It was then that the loud murmuring inside the tavern suddenly quieted. Everyone turned toward the small stage at the front.
Gilbert and Nick also shifted their gaze to the singer standing onstage.
The long black silk dress contrasted with her pale skin, which glowed under the ceiling lights.
Her softly waving red hair cascaded naturally over her face and shoulders and swayed gently below her waist.
Her face looked somewhat stiff, but the eye-accentuating makeup suited her so well that she could catch anyone’s gaze even in a fleeting glance.
Everyone waited for her lips to open. As attention lingered on her striking face, a soft piano melody played in the background.
“How about a face like that?”
“What?”
Gilbert snapped out of his thoughts and turned his head slightly, asking back. But his eyes remained fixed on the red-haired singer.
“I mean, if you want something flashy and intuitive to catch the noble Belfern audience’s eyes.”
Instead of Diena’s difficult and obscure style.
Nick’s voice carried a half-playful tone, but Gilbert did not smile at the joke.
“If I could get by with just looks, I wouldn’t be going through all this trouble.”
Her singing was decent—but that was all.
The way she hit the high note in the chorus was solid enough to seem trained, but even that meant little.
The genre was completely different to begin with.
“Having nobles sit in the theater listening to songs that commoners hum along to might be amusing, but let’s save that for our last resort.”
“What a pity.”
Nick clicked his tongue and straightened his posture. Gilbert finally turned back to him.
“Did the innkeeper recommend the singer too?”
“Try listening to the same songs every night for a month. Sometimes you need something different to clear your head.”
Gilbert raised his glass out of habit but recalled the terrible taste from earlier and pushed it away again.
“I won’t argue about the music, but next time, choose a place with proper food.”
“I thought it was pretty decent, actually.”
“Your tongue must be numb.”
“I meant the *singer*, not the food.”
Nick still seemed regretful. Gilbert pushed his glass farther away and replied,
“You’ll have plenty of talent to choose from at the audition.”
As he finished speaking, the song ended, and loud applause erupted.
Gilbert gave one last look at the singer’s back as she left the stage with a dull, lifeless bow—so different from her entrance—then stood up.
“If you’re done, let’s go.”
Sensing that Gilbert’s patience had worn thin, Nick rose without complaint.
—
“You’re taking time off?”
“Yes. About a month.”
The dress shop, having survived the busiest debutante season of the year, was quiet. Mrs. Sierra, who had been adjusting a dress on a mannequin, lifted her head.
Feeling oddly guilty, I hurried to add,
“I told them it wouldn’t interfere with work… I’m sorry.”
About a week after Gilbert Klein’s visit to the tavern, a newspaper advertisement announced that an audition would be held at the Klein Theater.
It said the audition was to select a single soprano, and the winner would join the Delgado Troupe, the theater’s resident company, and play the lead in the grand opening performance.
“I’ll still pay my rent properly even while I’m not working.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re really going to audition?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Sierra, who hadn’t said anything even when she made me a stage costume, now looked at me with open suspicion.
“Are you confident?”
“No.”
I answered with an easy smile. She looked ready to scold me but, seeing my face, waved a hand in frustration.
“I hired you because you seemed like a hard worker. If you’re going to act selfishly, you might as well quit. Didn’t you say you’re doing well at the tavern?”
Her words were cold, but I could tell she was worried about me.
We hadn’t lived together long, only a few months, but I’d gotten to know what kind of person she was. Her words were brusque, but she had a warm heart.
A childless Mrs. Sierra and I—disappointed too many times by what a mother should be—had settled into a strange, comfortable distance as we lived together.
Sometimes, I found myself thinking that it would have been nice if my own mother could have said things like this.
If she had worried about me yet pushed me forward when I needed it.
“I’ll do my best.”
Of course, we both knew my chances of passing the audition were not slim—they were nonexistent.
The reason I was going to the Klein Theater was simply because of an old dream. I chose not to think beyond that.
Because the theater was right in front of me. Because I finally had a chance to stand on a stage.
And if I could stand on that stage—if I could sing in front of Gilbert Klein again—then this time, I wanted to sing properly.
In his style. In a way he would want. Then maybe, just once, he might actually listen.
After getting Mrs. Sierra’s approval, I left the house immediately.
That day, when I asked Miya how I could become a soprano, she had paused in thought and then asked me,
*“Why?”*
*“It just feels right. I don’t know exactly… but this doesn’t feel like my stage. Not… not this place.”*
I rambled, unable to articulate my thoughts.
Miya stared at me silently, then grabbed a piece of paper that was lying around the dressing room, scribbled something on it, and handed it to me. An address was written there.
*“Come here when you have time.”*
*“Where is this?”*
*“My place.”*
If it had been anyone else, she would’ve said “not a chance,” but Miya only grumbled as she left the waiting room.
The address on the note was far from the busy district where Mrs. Sierra’s dress shop was located.
After leaving the bustling main street and walking through a quiet residential area to the very end, I stood before a house and took a small breath.
As soon as I cautiously knocked, Miya appeared from inside.
“Come in. You’re later than I expected.”
