Chapter 9
Chapter – 09
Strictly, the performers’ skills failed to captivate first.
Their appearances did.
Youthful vigor filled the platform, packed with lively males.
A few bared their torsos.
Rippling torsos flexed like post-training exertion, sheen coating their forms.
Yet the true magnet proved their universal allure—each face striking perfection.
“Ugh…!”
Elise sealed her lips firmly.
No sound could slip free.
She, the dutiful girl, had lost sight of the theatrical boundary.
Nearly all viewers shared her lapse.
Novel illumination, striking features, and vibrant energy diverted them from judging Luisa Messena’s creation.
Just briefly.
An instant only.
Then a prior critic, dripping false elegance, voiced doubt.
“No doubt Luisa chose these types herself.”
Elise ignored it.
Her gaze locked onstage.
She craved every syllable spoken.
“Montague, right?”
“Capulet side.”
“Fools.”
“Idiots.”
Unease stirred.
This deviated from familiar theater.
She’d witnessed few productions—mostly inn-yard spectacles for the masses.
Even those boasted famed players.
They engaged crowds directly, voices booming with dramatic flair.
Like the recent minstrel.
Here, youths conversed intimately among themselves.
Rare peeks toward seats.
Delivery stayed casual, everyday—unlike polite stranger talk.
Still, clarity rang out.
Heightening the oddity.
It mirrored spying on attractive lads bantering beyond her window—an illicit pull.
The story enveloped her unaware.
“Perfect match for the Lady’s preferences!”
A rear voice shattered focus.
Irritation flared in Elise.
As she inwardly fumed, a kindred spirit snapped aloud.
“Quiet down! You’re breaking our concentration!”
“Why demand hush for such a show?”
Suddenly—
Blue-clad Montagues clashed verbally with red-garbed Capulets, brawling imminent, blades emerging.
Gentle Benvolio Montague sought to intervene—
“Capulets incoming—Tybalt too!”
A call echoed from the platform.
Red-attired, he strode in, guiding his faction.
Slitted gaze, narrow mouth—menace blended with allure.
Arrogance pulsed from Tybalt Capulet.
“……!”
Crimson beam bathed him.
Capulet hue.
Silence gripped the hall.
No quips about Luisa now.
Justified.
Handsome, but not supremely so.
Background figures outshone perhaps.
Yet he commanded stares.
Red garb, haughty mien screamed lead role.
Spotlight sealed it.
Blade unsheathed, he taunted Montagues.
“Weak Benvolio. Face me with steel.”
Benvolio clashed with Tybalt.
Authentic combat.
No tavern prance—thrusts targeted vitals, ribs, necks.
Was this pretense?
Elise nearly rose to halt it.
That Benvolio held her stare peculiarly!
Even the grumbler muttered.
“Maybe intervene?”
Play pressed on amid whispers.
Prince arrived, dispersing the fray unscathed.
Viewers neared total suspension of disbelief.
“Any Veronan wielding steel again faces instant death.”
Solemn words delivered, he departed.
Calm restored, breaths eased collectively.
“Whew…”
Ease proved fleeting.
A figure claimed the boards.
He lounged at set’s fringe, propped on a vendor post, aloof to prior uproar.
Presence alone seized focus.
Untamed locks, defiant visage—statuesque poise.
Beyond peers entirely.
Prior beauty claims rang hollow now.
Elise grasped it.
Beauty incarnate stood there.
A noise escaped her.
“Urk…”
Father or no, restraint crumbled.
Her father tsked in annoyance nearby, unseen by her.
Romeo, Montague scion, owned her vision.
Brawl-averse.
Sculpted form laced with defiance.
“Such an early hour already…”
He mused, head rising dreamily.
Breath caught across the house.
Stronger response than anticipated.
From wings, I observed, momentarily dazed.
Fight drew stage-rushers; Romeo sparked feminine gasps.
I’d overlooked it.
This realm knew no such performance.
No such beams.
Pioneer of focused lights here.
Crafted personally—no vendors stocked them.
Today’s glows stemmed from luminous ore.
Rare cavern gems, self-illuminating.
Neglected for cost and dimness; flames ruled homes.
Yield too low.
One venue handled it reliably.
“Purchase luminous ore? Mine? Not curiosities?”
Rudy’s shadowed tavern depths.
Basement auctions, airless—ore lit them safely.
He shrugged at my request.
Trivial amid his wares.
“Visit your favored smith for odd gadgets. Commission dark tubes. Front with circular glass. Plus two tinted: crimson, azure.”
A forge hand.
Unfathomable still.
In Korea, market stalls offered instantly.
Opaque casings, inner glow, forward lens narrowing rays.
Spotlights, minis.
Essential upgrade for this era.
Abundant there.
“Funds no barrier—too much effort.”
Rudy balked.
Persuasion waited.
“I recall your forbidden tryst. Alert her spouse?”
His flaws abounded.
Future leverage assured.
“Stop! Heading there now. More requests?”
“Bodies honed. Ambitious youths craving roles or renown.”
Auditions followed.
Veterans, singers—pulled from ensemble; stylization suited.
Minstrel chosen for sonnet-worthy charm.
Youths demanded differently.
“Debuts to dazzle sightlines.”
Spark envy of Luisa Messena’s eye, murmurs, then surrender.
Extras: fit, alluring builds.
Tybalt, Benvolio, Mercutio required precise casts.
Leo Pierre caliber—charisma eclipsing novice flaws.
Script mastery and vision enabled it.
Shakespeare’s verse daunts; mimics flop routinely.
Recycled looks pursued.
My clarity differed.
Tybalt: Capulet supremely despising foes.
Benvolio: mediator masking fear, neutrality.
Mercutio: jester veiling frailty.
Secured, drilled relentlessly.
“Delivery hit eighty percent mark.”
Expectations minimal anyway.
Tybalt mangled cues twice.
Rehearsals predicted backlash.
Reality?
“Tybalt’s terrible… yet irresistible!”
Cheers erupted for him.
Precisely.
No method scrutiny here.
Flaws vanished in trance.
Total captivation.
Eyes aglow, rapt—I gripped tight.
Success.
Directed vision realized.
Euphoria surged.
Stage wielded—laughter, tears, shock mine to command.
True self.
Shin Geurim.
Theater devotee unparalleled, insightful.
“…Anxious?”
Leo murmured close.
He’d slipped backstage.
I curtain-gapped the crowd; he grinned mockingly.
Post his own shakes.
I denied.
“Not anxiety.”
“……?”
“Exhilaration. Deeper passion here than imagined—”
Eyes met his.
“I adore this.”
Leo’s gaze shifted.
Shadows played across features.
No dwell time.
Cue approached.
Luisa Messena’s Juliet ascended.
