Chapter 160: You noticed that?
Derek's criticism made Eva nod vigorously as she added,
"Exactly. That's what I wanted to talk about. It just doesn't make sense."
"Well... perhaps the king had only recently ascended to the throne, or..."
"A king powerful enough to order a prince to take his own life had only just been crowned? Even if we overlook that, are you telling me neither the nobles nor the merchants noticed someone this intelligent and ambitious? Were they all blind?"
Hyo Jun could no longer argue. He closed his mouth.
Derek spoke again.
"And if that's your interpretation, then the prince's final words don't make sense. 'My life as a puppet is finally over' would fit. But 'I will no longer live as a puppet' expresses the prince's own resolve. It doesn't sound like something a man forced into suicide would say."
"..."
"You were too greedy. Instead of trying to make the play better, you wanted your own role to stand out. If the king had outwardly pretended to be foolish while secretly waiting for his chance, portraying the weakness of someone biding his time, it would have been much more convincing. But an intelligent, ambitious king is more attractive to watch and much easier to perform, so you took the easy compromise. Isn't that right?"
Hyo Jun bit his lip.
"And if you've built the entire play around the king, you should at least have tried to raise the level of the other actors. The king carries the whole production, so it's entertaining enough, but everyone else's acting is far too weak."
"I'm not the director...! I may be the team leader, but in the end we're competitors, aren't we?"
"That's true. Being team leader doesn't mean you're responsible for everything. But as an actor—and the strongest actor among the four—if you proposed the direction of the play, then you should also have made the effort to improve its overall quality."
As Derek finished speaking, most of the contestants lowered their heads.
Pace, Jeffrey, and Kai quietly glanced toward Yu Myeong.
We really were lucky to end up with a team leader like him.
When Team 33's performance ended, they trudged backstage to wait once more.
After Team 34—Yu Myeong's team—finished performing, both teams would return to the stage together for the judges' evaluation.
"Team 34, you're up!"
Now it was their turn.
"Whew! Up next is Team 34. Susan, who interviewed the teams, let something slip earlier. She said some pretty interesting things happened during Team 34's rehearsals."
"Really? Can't we see them now?"
"The behind the scenes footage will be released when the Action School class assignments are announced."
"What on earth happened?"
"I don't know the details myself, but one thing is certain—they practiced harder than any other team."
"Ooh, Jerry. Are you trying to raise everyone's expectations? The actors are going to freeze under all that pressure."
"They don't look nervous at all."
He was right.
The four members of Team 34 calmly checked their positions.
Unlike Team 33, they stood side by side across the stage.
King.
Noble.
Merchant.
Slave.
In that order.
Then they assumed their poses.
The King stood proudly with his chin slightly raised toward stage left, one hand resting on his hip.
The Noble clenched one fist against his chest, embodying pride.
The Merchant lowered his head slightly, propped one hand beneath his chin, and looked upward through half-lidded eyes, radiating hidden schemes.
The Slave hunched his back as far as it would bend, both hands raised above his head in absolute submission.
Yu Myeong... is playing the slave...?
Natalie Kassen—and even Hyo Jun watching from backstage—found the casting unexpected.
They were equally puzzled by the deliberately artificial poses the actors held as the opening tableau.
"We'll begin."
The Slave's mouth announced the start.
The stage lights came alive.
Even after the performance began, none of them moved for several seconds.
What's going on? Did they freeze?
Just as the audience began wondering, the King's eyes rolled sideways.
Slowly, he removed the hand from his waist.
His neck jerked twice with stiff, clicking motions.
Then he turned his head fully forward and abruptly folded his arms across his chest.
"My lords, speak your minds regarding the murder of the Crown Prince that took place in this hall. Who, in your judgment, is the culprit?"
Something...
...was strange.
That was the audience's first impression.
Their movements were unnaturally rigid.
More peculiar still, every action seemed separated from the next.
The King spoke with an expressionless face, then stopped after the first sentence. Only then did he suddenly snap into a frown, holding it rigidly before continuing his lines.
It felt like watching a marionette whose joints could move only one at a time.
What exactly are they doing?
While the audience watched in confusion, one person in particular was utterly stunned.
Eva Dobransky.
A look of disbelief spread across her face.
They noticed it? No way...
"Your Majesty. Narva has already confessed everything. The poison used in the murder—even the purchase records—were discovered deep within his bedchamber."
This time it was the Noble who thawed, as though released by an invisible signal.
The Merchant and the Slave remained frozen.
The moment movement returned to him, he cried out desperately.
His voice carried the urgency of someone determined to preserve the dominance of the nobility.
Prince Roche was their hope.
Their alternative.
That desperation poured from every word.
Yet the stiff, creaking movements remained oddly comical.
"Pfft... what's with that? Why are their movements so awkward?"
"I don't think they're awkward. It looks intentional. Why are they standing in one place the whole time? And why are the King, Noble, Merchant, and Slave lined up like that?"
"...Maybe they're not supposed to be people. Statues? Or... paintings?"
As the contestants whispered among themselves, the judges' table remained utterly silent.
Eva in particular looked as though she'd been struck over the head.
...That's it. They really noticed it... and built the entire performance around it. But how...? I didn't leave nearly enough clues for them to figure it out from that alone.
Next came the Merchant.
After the King remarked, "It seems the Merchant Guild holds a different opinion," the Merchant stretched leisurely, as though formally granted permission to speak.
Unlike the Noble's desperate urgency, he deliberately took his time before revealing his sinister intentions.
"Your Majesty. With the wisdom granted to the ruler of this kingdom, I beg you to consider carefully. A prince of the realm has been murdered. Whatever grievances Duke Narva may have harbored against His Highness Kishin, it is inconceivable that he would act alone."
Wearing an openly calculating smile, the Merchant cast suspicion elsewhere.
His polished elegance stood in sharp contrast to the Noble's carefully maintained dignity.
And the Slave? He doesn't have any lines until the end. How is he planning to start moving?
Eva's mouth had gone dry with anticipation.
The Noble and the Merchant turned toward one another and began arguing.
Then the King cast his gaze into the distance and gave the faintest nod.
As though receiving permission, the Slave finally began to move.
Without even straightening his back once, he first bowed deeply in gratitude.
Even preserved forever inside a painting, a slave in the Kingdom of Arizade could never escape the role of a slave.
They've read it... completely. Whose idea was this?
As Eva sank into thought, the play continued.
"Because surely the one who stands to gain the most from Prince Kishin's death is..."
"And who would that be?"
"Isn't it obvious? If His Highness Kishin disappears, His Highness Roche automatically becomes first in line to the throne."
"How dare you! Your Majesty, this insolent wretch deserves to lose his head! If Your Majesty commands it, I shall strike him down this very instant!"
And before anyone realized it...
...they had become completely absorbed.
Little by little...
Like frozen limbs thawing...
Like rusted gears slowly being oiled...
The jerky movements grew smoother.
At first, every spoken line was followed by a separate facial expression before the next line began.
Now everything gradually synchronized.
The figures inside the painting were slowly coming to life as they conversed.
This isn't something actors could put together on their own. There's direction behind this. But how...?
The performance steadily climbed toward its climax.
It's accelerating!
The Noble and the Merchant circled endlessly around the same argument, never reaching a conclusion.
As their exchange grew faster and more heated, the audience unconsciously held their breath.
Cutting casually through their frantic debate, the King responded with effortless nonchalance.
He seemed like a dignified fool.
And somehow, that made him irresistibly charming.
Then...
The Slave, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke his first syllable.
"M... may this lowly servant be permitted to speak?"
His voice trembled as though he had only just managed to remove the gag forced into his mouth.
A single sentence crawled forward like someone dragging himself across the bottom of an abyss.
In an instant, the black comedy gave way to crushing gravity.
"How dare you...!"
"You insolent cur!"
"Silence. Lowest among my subjects. I, sovereign of Arizade, grant you permission. Speak everything you wish to say."
His body sagged beneath the weight of a lifetime of suffering.
A faint glimmer of hope flickered within his hollow eyes.
Believing the King might finally understand the late Prince's intentions, the Slave gathered every last fragment of courage.
But when the Noble and the Merchant barked at him, he instinctively flinched and threw his arms over his head.
Ah...
Natalie Kassen let out a quiet sigh without realizing it.
Yu Myeong's acting defied comparison.
When he had played Truman, he radiated the dignity of a man forging his own path.
When he portrayed the boy surrounded by dolls, he had been a chilling psychopath stripped of humanity.
And now...
He was someone whose right to live as a human being had been stolen away.
How could he embody every role so perfectly?
The Noble and the Merchant formed a tightly constructed framework.
The King's performance continually opened tiny spaces for the audience to breathe.
Then the Slave entered that already completed structure—
—and shattered it like a bomb.
"I... believe... His Highness the Prince... took his own life."
Courage slowly seeped into that wretched voice.
Even as he stumbled over his words, his gaze never left the King—the only hope he had left.
The Merchant lunged instinctively to silence him.
The King stopped him.
"Why?"
"I... always remained at His Highness's feet... watching over him. That night... I saw His Highness remove a small cloth pouch from within his robes... place its contents into his mouth... and then leave his chamber."
As he spoke, he finally changed the posture he had maintained without moving.
He mimed swinging a pickaxe.
It symbolized another slave depicted elsewhere in the Prince's chamber.
The figure's eyes rolled toward something beyond the painting.
As though secretly spying on the Prince's strange behavior.
They even understood that the Slave had actually witnessed the Prince taking the poison...!
Eva bit down on her lip to stop herself from gasping.
"Before leaving... His Highness said something strange."
"'I will no longer live as a puppet.'"
The Noble and the Merchant visibly stiffened.
The King on the left appeared completely oblivious.
But the two portraits in the middle exchanged rapid glances.
Then—
Thrust.
The Merchant drew his dagger...
...and stabbed sideways.
Only now did it become clear why it had to be the Merchant.
Because in the painting, the Merchant's portrait hung directly beside the Slave's.
On the actual canvas, his blade would have pierced the frame...
...and crossed into the Slave's portrait.
The Slave died instantly.
Thud.
One knee struck the floor first.
His right hand clutched his wounded side.
After remaining hunched over in submission for the entire play, he finally raised his chin.
Fear and agony were written plainly across his face.
The image branded itself into the audience's minds.
At last both knees collapsed beneath him.
The Slave crumpled to the ground.
He did not look toward the Merchant who had stabbed him.
Instead, he gazed only at the King—the sole person who might still save him.
But the King merely stared back in stunned confusion, unable to understand what had happened.
"Ugh..."
The dying Slave reached weakly toward the distant King.
His body writhed in agony.
The death scene was so horrifying that many in the audience unconsciously frowned.
Watching him die, the Noble and the Merchant quietly exhaled in relief.
It's done.
Then—
At the very last moment—
The King's eyes changed.
The Slave's breath ceased.
The Noble and the Merchant had orchestrated—and enabled—his death.
For the first time, the King looked as though someone had struck him across the face.
He had finally realized...
...that he was nothing more than a king in name.
A puppet controlled by the Noble and the Merchant.
Pause.
The tragic tableau froze once more.
The actors became another still life.
The audience scarcely dared to breathe.
Then, with slow creaking motions...
They shifted back into their original poses.
Inside the painting, hope had briefly appeared.
But in reality, the Kingdom of Arizade remained under the Noble's and Merchant's control.
Perhaps the portraits, no matter what transpired during the night, always returning to their original state at dawn, symbolized a society forever incapable of changing.
The King returned to his arrogant yet ignorant expression.
The Noble and the Merchant proudly concealed their crimes, standing tall with heads held high.
The Slave resumed the posture he had held before being stabbed, bending his back in eternal submission once more.
The performance ended.
The instant it did, Eva Dobransky snatched up her microphone in a panic.
"Who... who was it that interpreted the script like this?!"
Her voice cracked.