A few seats ahead, Percival’s back was the only thing visible.
But Tristan had spent ten-tenths of his life watching that damn older brother simply because he had been born the younger sibling. He knew all of his little habits by heart.
For instance, when he smacked his left thigh—thud, thud—it meant he was sulking about something but couldn’t say it out loud. Just like right now.
Ah. He’s struggling to control his expression. The fact that he’s deliberately rubbing his chin with his right hand proves it.
He kept lowering his head and raising it again, over and over. That was his way of trying to drown out sounds with the rustling of his own hair against his ears. Just like when he tried to ignore their eldest brother’s scoldings, he was now desperately trying to tune out the song.
In other words, their dear big brother had no idea this performance was going to be satirical—
And he is absolutely livid about it. Ha!
Tristan directed a silent, but deeply heartfelt sneer at the back of his brother’s head. A sentiment perfectly fitting for a younger sibling.
But he couldn’t waste all his time reveling in Percival’s misery. He quickly turned his gaze back to the stage.
The ladies all wore identical masks, and the stage decorations made it difficult to distinguish people by dress alone.
Even so, Tristan instantly found Doris. Not only that—he felt like he could tell exactly what kind of expression she was making under that mask.
He had memorized the outline of her face when she was concentrating. The way the blush spread across her cheeks. He had watched her so intently that the image was burned into his retinas.
It’s a good thing Doris is wearing a mask.
If she had stepped out bare-faced, at least half the men in the audience would have fallen for her.
Of course, even if they did, it wouldn’t be a problem.
It’s already too late.
Doris Redfield will become Tristan Winter Albion’s wife.
No matter what kind of pitiful struggle another man puts up.
No—not “already.” She absolutely will.
The song reached its climax. Doris’s clear voice rang through the theater.
"May the two of you have a long, beautiful love!"
The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.
The words were spoken in a tone so blatantly insincere it could have belonged to Natalie. A few people in the nearby seats let out awkward laughs, whispering, “Who said that?” Anyone who had assumed Doris was just a reserved young lady would never guess she was the one delivering those lines.
Except, of course, for those who had been watching her every move.
Tristan turned his attention to the person who had been bothering him the most.
Rick Ray.
He had gone to ridiculous lengths to deny his relationship with Doris, yet he had watched her with the most complicated expression of all.
Did he instantly recognize her on stage? And even if he did, could he possibly feel the same joy I do?
Tristan knew his current satisfaction was petty. He sneered at himself even as he indulged in it. Unable to suppress his desire, he turned his head toward where Rick had been sitting earlier.
Maria, as expected, was simply enjoying the play.
But Rick, seated beside her—
...Huh?
For some reason.
Even though he had clearly recognized Doris on stage.
Even though she was performing elegantly.
Rick’s face was filled with shock.
***
“Great work, everyone!”
“You too! You were all amazing!”
The ladies laughed as they clapped each other’s hands. I raised mine to join in, but instead of a high-five, I was immediately pulled into a tight hug.
“You did so well, Miss Doris!”
“You all worked much harder. I’m sorry for only joining at the end.”
“Don’t apologize! You were the one who guided our rehearsals, helped us understand the lyrics, and rewrote the script. Seeing you collapse earlier, I felt so guilty.”
The others nodded in agreement.
That wasn’t the only reason I collapsed, but... still, it was nice to be recognized for my hard work. As the oldest among them, I had done my best, and knowing that effort was appreciated made my chest feel warm.
“Whew. By the way, Her Highness’s reaction seemed good, didn’t it?”
“Yes! I even saw her clapping and laughing.”
“That’s a relief.”
The chance of getting a formal reprimand had dropped significantly!
As we walked back down the corridor toward the dressing room, we were greeted by the real star of this play.
Pearl Snow, her face red with frustration.
“You! You changed the lyrics and direction, didn’t you?!”
“Not everything. Just enough to make it better. The original version was too predictable.”
“The third song’s meaning was completely different!”
I left a few hints starting from the first song, but I guess she wasn’t paying attention.
Originally, the first song was about the glamorous lives of the nobility. But I had tweaked it—adding a comparison to how these ladies changed dresses three times a day, making it feel more like they were constantly repackaging themselves.
For some of these ladies, the social season wasn’t a time for carefree indulgence—it was a period where they were treated as merchandise, rushing to secure a husband before their “value” diminished.
Sure, many women enjoy the party lifestyle. But if you think about it, the ultimate purpose behind all that dressing up isn’t something they dictate themselves.
I had added small critical elements here and there to build up to the third song’s impact. Thankfully, the ladies had carried it well in my absence. Judging by the audience’s faces, they had enjoyed it.
Now, the real issue was the fourth song—the one Pearl Snow had to perform alone. A song that originally amounted to, “You jealous bitches who can only envy our pure love are pathetic.”
Pearl gritted her teeth.
“What am I supposed to do now?!”
“The third song ended by praising the power of love. What’s the problem?”
“It makes me look like a complete idiot! Do you think I’m too dumb to realize how sarcastic that song was? I—I...”
“......”
“I never even wanted to be in this play...”
“What were you promised?”
Pearl flinched. I took a wild guess.
“Getting ‘noticed’ by important people during a charity performance? That’s meaningless. Money? A chance to sing on a grand stage? Stocks?”
“...The second one.”
“Be realistic. Do you really think that’s going to happen? From what I know, Prince Percival doesn’t have any significant ties to the performing arts.”
“I know. But he’s still a prince. If he used his influence to get this play staged at the theater he purchased—”
“I looked up the reviews. That theater is failing, and the play itself got terrible critiques. Do you really think performing there would be a good opportunity?”
“...”
“If anything, if this play is ever performed again, it’ll be compared to the clever satire we put on today—”
“I know! But I didn’t have a choice! I—I know I acted terribly. I’m sorry, but... I didn’t have a choice...”
Tacking on a “but” to an apology isn’t a great habit, Pearl Snow.
But honestly, I didn’t feel like watching her mess up her makeup with tears right before the finale.
So I gave her a choice.
“There is a way for you to avoid being humiliated in the fourth song.”
“...What is it?”
I leaned in and whispered my proposal.
Pearl hesitated—but she must have realized it was her only option.
“If you pull it off well, you might really end up as the highlight of the show. Someone might even take notice of you.”
“...But doing this will definitely burn your bridges with the theater and Prince Percival.”
“That’s better than burning your entire singing career, isn’t it?”
“...Ha. Hahaha...”
The conversation had gone on long enough that a servant was now waving at us to hurry up.
Pearl turned her head sharply and muttered,
“I never want to meet you as an enemy again.”
“If you put on a great performance, I’ll come as an audience member. That’s a promise.”
Because, honestly?
This whole theater thing was turning out to be pretty fun.
She said something in reply, but her voice was soon drowned out by the movements of people preparing for the fourth and final song.
As the rest of us returned to the dressing room, the other ladies began removing their masks.
One of them turned to me and asked,
“What did you say to Pearl Snow earlier? Was there really a way to fix the fourth song?”
“It wasn’t much. The original song was about blaming us, but I told her to shift the blame to the male lead. Instead of him representing true love, he should now represent a performer’s life itself.”
“Huh? But wouldn’t that completely change the song’s meaning?”
“The male lead was already portrayed as a selfish man, not a pure-hearted lover. So instead of making the final song about ‘love,’ making it about her struggle against false love feels more natural.”
“Oh...”
“Well, let’s hope our beautiful singer, Pearl Snow, can pull it off.”
By the time her song began, we were leisurely tidying up the dressing room.
Even through the hallway, her voice rang loud and clear.
I couldn’t hear the lyrics, but her tone was far more sorrowful than it had been during rehearsals.
Of course, it was an intentional sorrow—one that belonged in the performance.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see it for ourselves.
“Shall we go watch the stage?”