kscans

Chapter 21 - The Tale of a Certain Runaway Son (Part 2)

So far, the play is going well. No, it’s going better than well—it’s a smash hit. The popularity of Princess Koto in the capital is partly due to the merchants’ commercial spirit, but I also did a lot of behind-the-scenes work to stimulate that spirit. I arranged for "promoters" to ensure that rumors of Princess Koto reached the ears of merchants who trade with the neighboring country, as well as those visiting from it. A dozen or so knights who were in on the plan subtly spread rumors among the nobility, while the prince laid the groundwork with his father the king and the high-ranking nobles to set the stage.

Looking back, it’s almost absurd that we got this far after that one short meeting.

Now, His Highness the Prince is staring at the final script with a troubled expression.

I, looking gaunt and exhausted, watch him.

"Explain this," he demanded. More than irritation, his voice was laced with suspicion as he tossed the script aside.

I gave the prince a weary smile. I haven’t slept in two days, so I must look a fright.

"Well, Your Highness, it’s like this. I tried writing it. I really did. But no matter how many times I rewrote it, I couldn’t come up with anything I was satisfied with."

The official announcement of the princess’s death will be made soon, along with the date of the funeral and the fact that the prince will be the chief mourner. The stage has been set for all this, and yet the script for the prince—one of the main actors that day—contains only stage directions. The dialogue section is completely blank.

"So what? Even if you’re not satisfied, you should still be able to write something decent."

"No. I can’t do that, Your Highness." I slowly shook my head at the prince’s sullen expression. It was a thought I’d already entertained many times.

"Your Highness, I created the story of Princess Koto for the play-within-a-play, and I also fabricated the ‘true’ events that formed its basis. But this final part… my creations alone aren’t enough." I’d realized a fundamental error. That’s why the script ended up this way.

"The final, crucial scene is connected to reality. There’s no way I, someone who never knew the princess, could write lines that speak the truth of a real-life princess." I paused, looking the prince straight in the eye.

"As I was stewing in my frustration over being unable to write, something kept nagging at me. Hey, Your Highness. If all you wanted was to avoid a conflict with the neighboring country, you didn’t need to go through all this trouble, did you? You could have just propped up your own fake princess to counter theirs. Sure, there’s the added bonus of boosting the royal family’s popularity, but let’s be honest, that part was emphasized later. For you, that’s third on your priority list, or even lower. Even if your top priority was avoiding conflict, there were other ways to do it. The reason you chose this method must be your second priority."

I saw a flicker of agitation in the prince’s red eyes and grinned.

"Your Highness, you didn’t want the princess’s death to be defiled."

When the prince first read the play-within-a-play, he complained to me resentfully. But right after, his expression hardened into something determined. I don’t know what change of heart he had, but the face of a boy had become the face of a man.

And it was undoubtedly the princess who made him a man. Whether there were romantic feelings involved, I can’t say for sure. But judging by how particular he was about the mourning clothes and the manner of her death, he certainly held a deep respect for her.

"Do you think I’m being sentimental?" the prince asked after a long sigh, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Nah. It’s never some grand cause that moves people. I ran away from home because I fell in love with theater." As a human being, that’s far more interesting. And I prefer it that way.

"That’s why I’m leaving this dialogue to you, Your Highness. Go ahead and protect the honor of the princess you didn’t want to see defiled. Protect it with everything you’ve got."

At my words, the prince muttered, "That’s a heavy responsibility," and gave a wry smile. I pretended not to notice that his smile was on the verge of tears.

With nothing more to say, I stood up. As I was leaving the room, I remembered something and turned back.

"Ah, just one thing. Your first-person pronoun should be ‘I’ (watashi). ‘Me’ (ore) doesn’t fit the gentle and sincere persona of the prince in Princess Koto."

"I am aware of that much. I use ‘I’ (watashi) in conferences and the like."

"Excellent."

I gave the prince’s dead-serious face a dead-serious, respectful bow, and just like that, we parted ways. Our paths would likely never cross again.

The day of the funeral was blessed with a wonderfully clear sky. Rain would have caused all sorts of problems, but that was something we could only pray about. It seems the prince is a lucky man. As a citizen, I’m thrilled that our future king has good fortune on his side.

My role is all but finished. Today, I am both an actor and a member of the audience. I blend into the crowd gathered in the square and wait for the moment to arrive.

The prince, seen from a distance, looked every bit a prince—a far cry from his incognito attire I was used to. Amidst the black sea of people in mourning clothes, his presence stood out as if a spotlight were shining only on him, even though he wore the same somber attire.

He has the makings of a great actor, I thought. Or perhaps I should say, the qualities of a royal.

When the prince’s speech began, it resonated with me more deeply than I could have imagined.

I know better than anyone that the play Princess Koto is a complete fabrication, and that the tragic love story between the prince and princess is also a lie. I had a pretty good idea of what the prince was going to say. And yet, his words struck a chord in my heart because they carried a genuine, unvarnished desire to convey his feelings, and his appeal was sincere.

It is precisely within fiction that a single, heartfelt message can shine with such intense brilliance. That was the very essence of the theater I had fallen in love with.

I remembered the thrill of the first play I ever saw. It was hilarious, and I laughed and laughed. But there was something more to it than just humor. Amidst the comedy, there were the raw emotions of people trying desperately to live, a message they wanted to convey. Lately, I’d been focused only on writing plays that would sell. The kid I used to be, who ran away from home driven by an impulse I couldn’t put into words, suddenly seemed so radiant.

Before I knew it, I was crying, and then I was shouting "Hooray!"

"I’m completely beaten. Not bad, Your Highness."

There was no sense of frustration. Well, I do deeply regret getting so swept up in the atmosphere he created that I was moved to tears.

But the aftertaste wasn’t bad. My mind felt clearer than usual. And I had a fierce urge to write a play.

I hurried back toward my inn. The theater is closed today anyway, so the timing is perfect.

"Brother."

At that voice, I reluctantly stopped and turned around with a scowl.

"What is it? Oh, if you’re here to tell me to keep quiet, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna talk."

"No, I’m not worried about that."

"You sure? Trusting me that easily?"

"Because you never once relied on our family," my younger brother said with a wry smile. Apparently, it’s a common story among knights who sometimes search for runaway nobles: a sheltered rich kid runs away, gets stripped of all his belongings, and comes crying back home within half a year, dreams shattered.

"Once you’ve made up your mind about something, you’re stubborn."

"It’s not stubbornness. I just hate things that don’t make sense. So, what do you want?"

Rantz hesitated for a moment before he began to speak.

"That day, when I saw you at the tavern, I wasn’t sure it was you at first. You had… changed so much in appearance."

"Yeah."

"So, I sat nearby for a while and eavesdropped on your conversation with the person you were with."

"Is that so."

"There’s a reason for every whim, you know."

"What are you talking about?" The sudden change in topic threw me.

"I’m talking about Mother."

"Ah…" Come to think of it, I might have mentioned something like that. I was happily drunk at the tavern, so I probably blabbed about the old days.

"You were always holed up in the theater so you probably didn’t know, but Father and Mother argued almost every day."

Of course they did. Father probably chewed her out for taking me to the theater, and Mother, to justify herself, probably shrieked right back at him. She used to say that attending plays was a noble’s pastime, after all.

I scowled, frowning at Rantz, not understanding what he was trying to say.

At that, Rantz sighed with a look that said, "good grief." I scowled even harder, growing more irritated. But Rantz’s next words left me completely dumbfounded.

"Mother was always on your side, you know. She was worried about you becoming more and more expressionless, so she forcibly dragged you to the theater hoping it would be a change of pace. She said she had no regrets about you becoming obsessed with plays as a result."

"Is… that so…"

"And she used to go see the plays you wrote, in disguise and in secret. It’s just that she hurt her back the year before last and couldn’t go anymore."

I never knew. No, there’s no way a heartwarming story like that could happen to me.

"I’m not asking you to go see her or to reconcile. I know that’s an impossible request for my obstinate and stubborn brother. I just want you… to remember that Mother was much more of a mother than you think."

My brother’s face was completely serious as he said this, and I swallowed the words, "Like I care!" that had risen to my throat.

"You… you’ve grown up." The words that came out instead were so dopey that even I was surprised.

My brother looked taken aback for a moment, then broke into a wide smile and said, "I’m going to be a father soon."

After that, just as my brother predicted, I never went to see my mother, nor did I, of course, go to see my father, who was now doting on his newborn grandchild. But I did start seeing my brother from time to time.

As for the theater, I’m back in Regis, plugging away as usual. Before returning, we spent a year touring with Princess Koto, which made the Ruckelberg Theater Troupe quite famous. But as for me, nothing much has changed. Some of my plays are hits, some are flops, and my wallet is as tight as ever. Still, I feel like more and more customers are coming back to see my plays a second or third time.

Regis, and this whole country, is at peace.

It’s a good country.