I Start with a Bad Hand!

“Are you going to go?”

“…I said I’m not going. You heard me decline.”

“Even if you say that now, you’ll go if he asks again with that pitiful look.”

“What? I never did that.”

“You did the same thing when you went to the play with Horatius. You said no at first and then ended up going.”

“That was different… How far have you gotten with the translation? Are you done? Is that why you keep asking me?”

Stumped for an answer, Icarus resorted to plucking petals off the bouquet, casting sidelong glances at me. Eventually, when a pile of petals had accumulated on the floor, I shielded the bouquet with my hand, stopping him. Only then did he stop and return his gaze to his book. For a while, it seemed he would stay quiet, but then he suddenly spoke up.

“Those flowers don’t bloom in the spring.”

I looked up at him, and he stubbornly kept his eyes on the paper he was reading, pretending not to notice my gaze.

“Saying he thought of you and picked them up on the way here is a lie. No florist in the capital sells out-of-season flowers like these.”

Unless they were specially grown in a greenhouse. As I touched his book to get his attention, Icarus stood up and moved closer, sitting beside me. When I continued to avoid his gaze, he covered the documents I was reading with his large hand.

“What are you doing?”

“He…”

“What about him?”

For a moment, he paused, then let out a deep sigh. He began pacing around my dorm room like an animal in a cage.

‘What’s his problem?’

But even without hearing it, I knew what Icarus was trying to say. Even if I wanted to pretend otherwise, the ambiguous behavior that could have been written off as Klaus being exceptionally kind and friendly now seemed much clearer with the addition of the bouquet and the invitation to be his partner. These actions, in a relationship with no obvious context, suggested an emotional element that couldn’t be logically explained away.

‘But I don’t have time to worry about this right now.’

I felt bad for Klaus, but I couldn’t afford to be distracted by this matter. Especially since Klaus hadn’t explicitly discussed his feelings, there was no need for me to stir the pot first. Therefore, I had no reason to question Klaus’s actions.

‘Let’s deal with this only if Klaus makes a definite move…’

I couldn’t let myself be distracted by this with so much already on my plate. I had pressing issues of existence, survival, duty, and rights to contend with.

Even so, non-crucial issues were enough to unsettle me.

“…Why do you want to add a sword dance here all of a sudden?”

One of the actors had abruptly suggested adding a sword dance in the middle of the play, pulling me aside during rehearsals.

‘Ah, this guy barely showed up for practice last semester, skipping everything because of meetings or health issues. Why the sudden change?’

It seemed like his ailing body miraculously healed the moment he stepped outside the academy. Alexander, who had frequently cited fevers and body aches as reasons to avoid contact, was reportedly thriving outside the academy.

Trying to ignore his annoyingly polished forehead, I asked him, and he responded nonchalantly, “I’m really good at sword dancing.”

So what? What am I supposed to do with that? I expected a more substantial reason, but he only offered his confidence. At a loss for words, I muttered,

“I’m good at archery.”

From behind Alexander, Agnes, who had been looking at the script, interjected in a monotone voice, “Well, I’m good at horse riding.”

“Then put everything in. Let’s have sword dancing, archery, and horse riding. Wow, cramming everything will make the play a total mess.”

“Agnes, don’t be so sarcastic. Explain why sword dancing is necessary for this scene.”

“It’s the moment when the protagonist’s sorrow peaks, so having such a scene could work.”

“Do you dance when you’re sad? What… And you’re not the protagonist. Agnes is the only protagonist in my play.”

“…What? So I’m not even the protagonist in this lousy play?”

What has he been reading in the script all this time? Ignoring the bewildered actor, I loosened my tie.

‘I mean, it’s good to have new people, but this…’

Adding new people to the play, which had mostly been a small, close-knit production, was causing chaos. These newcomers shared a common trait of having a glazed-over look. So much so that the most tolerable actor was the one who was genuinely frail and rarely attended practice. At least he memorized his lines despite everything.

‘But this guy keeps demanding more lines and wants to include unrelated stuff in the play.’

Thinking about his contradictory desire for more lines in this “lousy” play, I glanced at Nancy, a new member, who was diligently scribbling something while lying on her stomach. Sensing my gaze, she beamed and greeted me.

“Senior!”

Returning her bright greeting with a half-hearted wave, I couldn’t help but feel troubled. Even if I combined the enthusiasm of everyone who had ever participated in my plays, it wouldn’t match hers.

That was the problem. Her passion was too much for this play.

“Senior, can we install a gondola on our stage?”

“A gondola?”

“Yes! Not a real one, of course, but as a stage prop. It’s been my dream for a long time. Look, I even thought of a design. And here, in the final scene, we can set off fireworks!”

I stared intently at the face of the student who was energetically spouting nonsensical ideas. However, despite the absurdity, I couldn’t bring myself to say, ‘That’s impossible.’ This was because, along with the news of new students joining the drama club, Agnes had shared an unexpected story.

“Someone cried as soon as they joined the drama club.”

“Why? Because they didn’t get the role they wanted?”

Agnes, with an indifferent expression, pointed to the script I was working on. I looked between her pointing finger and the script, then asked,

“…Really?”

Agnes nodded silently.

“…Seriously? Not joking?”

“As unbelievable as it is, it’s true.”

Is this script really bad enough to make someone cry? Feeling a bit dispirited, I turned around, and my curly-haired friend shook her head.

“They cried because they were happy.”

“What?”

“They said it was their first time directing a script, and they were so happy they were sobbing.”

What the… In a different kind of bewilderment, I tried to think. Should I be grateful for this? I kept writing, but then a question popped into my head, and I looked up at Agnes again.

“Wait, hold on. But they’re a new student, right? How can they be directing already when they just joined the academy?”

Agnes looked at me with a meaningful expression that said a lot. That look reminded me of her expression from last semester when she had to stand in the corner of the stage, playing a tree. I nodded in understanding without further explanation.

‘They just dumped the task on the newcomer….’

It was clear that no one among the existing members wanted to take on the role of director, so it was pushed onto a clueless new student.

“Right after joining the drama club, I became the chief director! It’s so exciting!”

When I first met Nancy, her eyes were swollen, yet she was beaming. Since then, she had been meticulously crafting everything from the set design to the blocking, presenting it all by hand, which constantly put me in a dilemma.

Is it right to tell this passionate dreamer that such things aren’t feasible on a school stage?

“That’s… quite an interesting suggestion.”

This was the most I could manage to fill the conversational gap. Nancy, nodding enthusiastically with her eyes sparkling, pointed at my heavily bookmarked script and couldn’t hide her excitement.

“Really? Wow, that’s a relief. And in the middle, here, during the duel scene, it would be great if the stage could have fire effects. But of course, not real fire. We could use magic stones or something.”

“Sounds… good.”

“And wouldn’t it be cool if the ceiling could open up? Oh, wait. How about we perform in the outdoor theater? That way, it’s not dangerous, and we can have the gondola come in from the lake behind…”

I held onto my dwindling sanity as I contemplated the serious future of this play. Can it really work out?

It seemed I wasn’t the only one with such concerns, as Agnes, munching on her salad, asked,

“Are you really going to do everything she asks?”

I paused with my spoon halfway to my mouth and replied,

“The budget is…”

“You know budget excuses won’t work. She said she’d pay out of her own pocket to make it happen. And you…”

Agnes jingled an imaginary coin purse and gave me a smug look.

“That’s not even a real worry, is it?”

Feeling conflicted, I put down my spoon, my appetite gone. But there was no way around it. Since Nancy was credited as the director, she had to be part of creating this stage. Moreover,

“We have to let her try everything she wants while she has the chance. When else will she get to make a play with a gondola?”

“Why do you sound like a professor? Then again, once you leave the academy, you’ll have to work your way up from the bottom with other people’s money.”

If she doesn’t do it now, she’ll have to wait a long time to do what she wants. Agnes suddenly widened her eyes and said,

“That conversation made you sound like a senior.”

“What?”

“Very mature. Like senior Irene or something.”

Agnes, with a blank expression, half-opened her eyes and pretended to sip tea in a dignified pose.

“Like this?”

You don’t look mature at all right now… But I nodded anyway.

“…Me?”

At that moment, Irene, looking as tired as ever, appeared behind Agnes. Agnes, still mimicking a mature demeanor, turned her head to greet our senior cheerfully.

“Senior!”

“You’re here?”

Irene gave us a light wave and sat in the chair we hastily moved for her. Even the simple act of stretching her neck made a cracking sound that made Agnes and I exchange glances.

“Dietrich.”

Irene handed me a sealed document. Her words were brief but carried weight.

“The results are in.”

The long wait was finally over.