kscans

Chapter 19 - The Story of a Certain Runaway Son (Part 1)

Hey, you. You saw the play today?

I'm the guy who wrote it. Since we met here, it must be fate. I'll buy you a drink, so let me hear what you thought.

Yeah, that's right. Name's Hazel. Nice to meet ya, Goldo-san.

Nah, I'm just Hazel.

It's not like I'm hiding anything. I'm just a runaway brat who happened to grow up. I was born into one of those noble families, but I threw that name away a long, long time ago.

Regrets? Not a single one. Now, if you're askin' if I'm happy and satisfied with my life now, well, not exactly. I'm often struggling to eat, and days like today when I can afford a drink are pretty rare. But hey, it's a hell of a lot more fun than the life I would've had if I'd stayed in that house.

For a family that wasn't even that important, they sure were full of pride. A long line of knights, they called it. Naturally, as the eldest son, I was being worked to the bone by my old man and his instructors since before I can remember. To my utter misfortune, I actually had a knack for the sword, so my childhood was painted over in gray with a thing they called 'expectations.' Well, if nothing had happened, I would've gone through a gray youth, become a knight, and lived a gray life. Back then, I'd never even considered a future outside of being a knight.

The reason I decided to become just 'Hazel' was because of a fateful encounter.

Nah, not a woman. Unfortunately.

I was thirteen. My mother, you see, was a cold woman who couldn't have cared less about my sword-swinging father, or me and my brother for that matter. Haha, not exactly a rare story among nobles, is it?

Anyway, for whatever reason, my mother had a whim and took me to see a play. Not some little playhouse, either—a grand theater in the central square of the capital. I still remember the play I saw that day as clear as anything.

You know Clara Doll?

Yeah, that's the one. The story about a man who loses his daughter and makes an exquisite doll to try and house her soul. It's a comedy where a rich man's son falls in love with the doll.

I was blown away. I couldn't believe something so damn interesting existed in the world. In just a few hours, I laughed more times than I had in the previous thirteen years combined. From then on, my head was filled with nothing but plays. I was smitten, so head-over-heels that I couldn't see anything else.

Naturally, my heart wasn't in my sword practice anymore. Compared to the allure of the theater, hah, swinging a sword around was just too damn stupid to bother with. I skipped practice to hang around playhouses, got into a huge fight with my old man, and ran away from home. Ended up shacking up with the Ruckelberg Theater Troupe. That's the gist of it.

Well, seems I have zero talent as an actor, so I spend my days writing scripts and building sets.

Don't look down on me, alright? Aside from the troupe leader, hardly anyone can read or write properly, so I'm actually pretty appreciated around here. Besides, seeing something you wrote become a play… no matter how many times I experience it, it's as exciting as a brat knowing a woman for the first time. Once you get a taste of that thrill, you're hooked. This new one, especially, is a pretty good piece of work, and Sympha… she's the actress playing Regina, she's got this perfectly exquisite villainess thing going on.

Right?! That's what I'm talkin' about! When the supporting cast is good, it makes the main character stand out. So then…

"Brother."

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned around and saw the face of a man who looked vaguely familiar. Hazel, who had been cheerfully sharing drinks with a stranger until a moment ago, sobered up in an instant.

There's only one person who calls me brother.

"Rantz?"

"Yes."

I looked away from my brother, who confirmed it with a dead-serious face.

Damn it, he's gotten taller than me. And he looks just like the old man, too. What kind of sick joke is this?

I took a sip of my cheap booze.

I'm thirty-five, so… he must be thirty-one this year. If things went according to plan, he should have been a knight long ago.

"What do you want? And just so you know, I won't be coming back, not even for the old man or old lady's funerals."

"You will come with me. That is an order."

At those words, blood rushed to my head.

"Heh. An order? You've gotten a real damn irritating personality since I last saw you. And to think you used to be a little crybaby tagging along after me."

He even took after the old man's high-handedness. He used to be so cute.

"We don't have time for reminiscing. If you continue to dawdle, I will take you into custody."

Custody, he says. What a cold thing to say to your own brother. Just like that woman's son. Well, I am too, I guess.

"…Damn it."

Looks like I have no choice. Having abandoned my family, I'm no different from a commoner. Nothing good comes from defying the authorities.

I downed the rest of my cheap drink and reluctantly stood up.

"You're gonna at least pay my tab here, right?"

"Understood."

A bill like this is probably nothing to a knight. How irritating.

"Hey, everyone, listen up! My generous little brother here says he's buyin' a round for all of you! Drink up and eat your fill!"

"Wh-!?"

The grimy old men of the cheap tavern erupted in cheers. Seeing the look on my brother's face, a little bit of my frustration subsided.

I clapped Goldo-san lightly on the shoulder and slipped out of the tavern by myself. The look of desperation on my brother's face as he rushed out after paying the bill, and the relief when he saw me, was a sight to behold.

What do you know, he hasn't changed that much from when he was a kid after all.

I remembered my childhood, hiding in the shadows and smirking as my little brother, on the verge of tears after losing sight of me, searched frantically. When I showed myself, he'd come running up to me like a puppy.

That was fun.

I've had a rotten personality since I was a kid.

Not that I have any intention of fixing it. You can't write a good play if you're a goody-two-shoes.

"Brother, you will cooperate with us as a playwright. If you refuse, the Ruckelberg Theater Troupe will be crushed."

Rantz spoke, his voice lost in the noise of the crowd. I scowled and clicked my tongue.

"A threat? Since when did knights become common thugs?"

"It is not a threat. If you do not cooperate, there is a high probability of war, or perhaps civil war. The first thing people who have nothing left will cut is entertainment. Am I wrong?"

The leap in logic made my thoughts halt for a moment. What is he talking about?

"…So you're not a thug, just a big-mouthed liar."

"I am not lying."

I stole a glance at my brother's face as he walked beside me. Rantz was always a dead-serious, honest kid. My gut feeling as his brother told me he was being serious. Who the hell filled his head with this nonsense? Dragging me into their mess.

"Why me…"

"We do not have time to be selective. It was by chance that you, a playwright, were in Regis. We are so short on time that we must jump at this good fortune."

Rantz replied dutifully to my mutterings.

Heh, so my skills as a playwright are a secondary concern at best, huh. I won't deny I'm no big deal, but it's still irritating.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to write a play."

Well, yeah, obviously. They need me for my playwriting skills, after all.

"Who's the producer?"

"The person you are about to meet. Please be sure not to be disrespectful."

"Heh, like I care. I'm a commoner now, don't know the first thing about etiquette."

"Brother!"

I sneered at my brother's admonishment.

Judging by my brother's groveling, the other party must be a high-ranking noble. A noble who uses knights to run errands based on some wild delusion… I have to hand it to them. And my brother, following along without question, makes my stomach turn. Showing an ounce of politeness to people like that would be a betrayal of my own manhood.

"You've become quite foul-mouthed."

He said it with an exasperated tone, but if I started speaking politely now, it would just be creepy. My hair and beard are overgrown, and I'm wearing a worn-out shirt and trousers covered in patches. From any angle, I look like a respectable member of the lower class.

"If you act all prim and proper, the thugs will walk all over you."

The Ruckelberg Theater Troupe doesn't have anything as grand as a theater. Our rehearsal space is the barn at the troupe leader's house. When we have a performance, we set up a temporary playhouse in a public square. That's when we have to negotiate the venue fee with the local thugs, and they always try to gouge us. In the end, fists do the talking. When I first joined the troupe, my job was to be the muscle. It was the first time all that training had actually been useful, and I felt a little bit of gratitude toward my old man. Thanks to my decent relationship with the boss, we have a lot less trouble with that kind of thing these days.

Anyway, the rough language of the thugs suited me well. It was like water finding its level; I was dyed in their colors in no time.

If this brother of mine were in the same situation, he'd probably have a much harder time getting stained.

In a room at a clean little inn, I was introduced to a brat who looked to be about the same age I was when I ran away. He was dressed like the son of a lower-ranking noble, but his posture held an unnatural sense of intimidation. He was a head shorter than me, but he had a look in his eyes that could only be described as imperious. A detestable brat.

"This is my brother, Hazel."

"So you're Rantz's brother. I've heard the gist of it. You abandoned your family for your love of theater."

"Well, that's about right. So who might you be?"

"Brother!"

"It's fine, Rantz. I am Ebalt Seneca Dindrion."

That actually surprised me. No wonder he's got an intimidating aura.

"The Prince…"

At my reaction, His Highness smirked.

Damn him. Prince or not, a brat is a brat. Getting intimidated by an impudent brat would be a betrayal of my own manhood.

I vowed not to back down from my insolent attitude.

"Hazel, do you still, to this day, not regret abandoning your home?"

"Hah, not one bit. What of it?"

For some reason, His Highness seemed satisfied with my answer. And then he said:

"I'll let you put on a play. The actors will be all the people of this country, and the audience will be all the people of this country. No, the people of the neighboring country, too."

So this is the guy who filled Rantz's head with those ravings.

But this is interesting. As expected of the son of that sharp-witted king. The look in his eyes isn't that of a fool. This can't be mere delusion.

"You'll have to keep silent about what happens behind the scenes for the rest of your life, but if this succeeds, your name could go down in history."

So he's offering me some top-grade bait to get my cooperation. I like that the bait isn't money. I don't care about my name going down in history, but a play on such a ridiculous scale gets my blood pumping. The stage straddles the border into the neighboring country, the actors are all the citizens of both nations, and the audience is the same.

Bring it on.

"Sounds interesting, doesn't it?"

"Once you hear, there's no backing out."

"I'd expect as much. A play that big couldn't possibly be 'proper,' now could it?"

I smirked, the corner of my mouth curling up.

"I have to say, Your Highness, that's an incredibly appealing offer."