Chapter 6
Chapter – 06
“Try it once more.”
He hesitated. “Way too soon for that—”
“Try it once more.”
“Still—”
“Try it once more.”
Silence hung between them.
“Try it once more.”
“But I stayed completely quiet just now.”
Leo fixed Luisa with a look of pure disbelief.
She gestured toward his feet without a hint of surprise.
Right from your entrance, embody Romeo fully. His debut on that stage marks the lonely bloom amid Verona’s chaos, scarred by the endless clash between rival families. The lover who dares the forbidden, Romeo Montague.
The one drawn to his foe’s own daughter.
Leo’s features contorted sharply.
Leo Fier defined him.
Not some Montague, but heir apparent to the vast Fier Empire.
Plays from beyond the palace had taught him plenty.
Nobody performed that way.
Portraying a role never meant total transformation. Stunning looks, odd proportions, dwarfed stature, towering frames—performers leaned into those quirks.
Distinct inflections. Habitual poses. Fluid routines.
Luisa demanded he transform into Romeo Montague entirely.
Step onto the boards as Romeo Montague, slave.
Ten days since dropping fifty million derk on him, and his name remained unspoken.
She addressed him as slave, or a curt hey, slave. Proximity sparked her recoil.
Her sole excuse rang cryptic: aversion to any touch.
Now this outlandish push to turn him into a performer.
A performer.
Fresh depravity brewing?
Nine years shuffled through auctions had yielded insight for Leo Fier.
Handsome features had twisted into a curse.
From fourteen onward, aristocrats stole looks. Labor-only households shifted, luring him inside.
Each instance prompted flight.
Debauchery held no terror.
Survival demanded flexible terms.
True peril lurked in bonds formed.
Nobles spotting his features risked whispers racing to the Emperor’s ear.
He bolted to dodge that fate. Forest evasion turned disastrous, landing him in chains anew.
Fifty million derk.
He met the gaze of his extravagant buyer.
Crimson eyes gleamed. Her grin radiated.
Utterly deranged.
Leo pegged Luisa that way.
Harsh years concealing his secret honed one lesson.
The unhinged proved simplest to bend.
He resolved to play her performer.
Streets meant famine. Traders meant recapture.
Luisa Mecena.
Her identity rang familiar.
Childhood glimpses at palace galas confirmed it.
Duke Mecena’s sole granddaughter, sworn to the throne. Meek once, she fractured young, earning empire-wide notoriety.
Mecena’s wayward heiress.
Her motives screamed clear.
Undress echoed from day one, steeling his nerves.
Years shunning all flesh, yet inevitability loomed.
Eyes open, she had vanished.
Scrubbed clean? Deeply? Local standards fail. Think of your castmate.
Day two brought only that.
Luisa summoned no midnight trysts, imposed no violations.
Instead, she stressed advance notice against stage dread.
No bitterness from coercion. And never utter Master.
He wielded it relentlessly since.
Her mask cracked each time, revulsion etching deep, satisfying him.
Dust-bitten grimace. Cheeks aflame. Sharp rebukes at his cheek—he savored it.
Sustained barbs would ignite her core fury, unleashing blows or demands.
He’d revel there too.
Such was the delinquent’s essence.
Unmask her, then charm, exploit, thrive shielded.
Patience alone required.
Time for imperial memory to fade, vigilance to slack.
Time for Leo’s steel to find the throne’s flank exposed.
First, draw out her cravings.
Leo seized her script.
“Opening drags. Skip to the key moment. This one.”
Finger stabbed the balcony encounter, inaugural kiss.
Luisa’s lips curved slyly.
Golden stare met hers fleetingly before she advanced, scaling the platform.
What peerage prowls so boldly, secures tresses with a worn feather?
Luisa’s raw edges left Leo adrift.
This the scourge he recalled?
“Agreed. Begin.”
Crimson gaze sharpened. Leo paused, extended a hand toward soft skin or curve.
She vaulted aside.
Vanished behind drapes, ascended to upper chambers.
Balcony mockup framed her emergence, peering earthward.
Leo’s expression soured.
“Why that—”
“Romeo.”
Her focus lifted skyward.
Stray locks escaped the crude hold, ebony waves plunging.
Leo tracked without thought.
Odd magnetism gripped him.
Tavern farces never stirred this.
No bellowing louts in stupor, her murmur spanned the void flawlessly.
“Purpose behind your Romeo guise?”
A prickly, raw youth emerged.
Leo beheld Luisa, yet Juliet overlaid.
What grudge scarred such a soul?
“Cast off thy sire, discard thy label.”
What devotion burned fierce?
Curiosity gripped Leo abruptly.
Juliet’s—Luisa’s—downturned stare halted him rigid.
“Claim me instead.”
Lips caught between teeth. Fingers scorched.
Script deviated wildly.
No innocent youth soliloquizing blindly.
This Juliet anticipated her suitor.
Boards demanded Romeo Montague incarnate, slave.
Meaning dawned.
Luisa embodied Juliet, reforged in her mold.
No passive dreamer feigning wait.
Claimant seizing passion.
With her, spurning betrothal rang defiant uprising, not naive caprice.
Leo’s head dipped unbidden.
Romeo’s draw clarified.
Beyond hearts, revolt.
Defiance hurled at senile rivals perpetuating strife.
“I accept.”
His voice broke the hush.
Luisa beamed.
“Finally, something solid.”
Light pierced shadow, yanking Leo free.
Reality crashed, alarm surging.
Such immersion defined performance?
Unheard-of craft.
Method acting dawned on him.
South Korea’s skits popularized the phrase, roots in Stanislavski’s doctrine.
Actors lived truth onstage, forging audience conviction.
Prior eras?
Declamation. Melody. Choreography.
Shakespeare demanded set flourishes. Macbeth poses rigid. Juliet motions etched.
Crowds hailed precision, balletic grace.
Stylized vigor suited certain works.
Mine craved immersion.
Blur Juliet into Luisa. Fuse Romeo with Leo Fier.
Stir pity for youthful insurgents against power—then minds wander to flesh-and-blood counterparts.
Perhaps Mecena’s girl merely ensnared by ducal schemes?
Absurdity, naturally.
Luisa forged her chaos unaided.
Theater’s alchemy.
Illusion bred boundless mercy.
Wed at nine to politics, orphaned young, grandfather’s iron rule—a mere twenty-two-year-old. Worth a tear?
One kernel planted, exiting crowds—as Arno schemed—spared condemnation, birthed compassion.
Secondary gain.
You.
Leo Fier, channeling Romeo before my eyes.
Etched indelibly: tomorrow’s throne-shaper.
“Too soon still?”
Leo blinked, stunned by the lack of reset command.
I grinned.
“Delivery crisp, timbre right, phrasing sharp. No need.”
Silence.
“Proof: dive in, soar fast. My specialty.”
My vision ruled.
Korea’s Daehakro bowed to none under my reign.
Legs folded smugly.
“Now—once more.”
