🎭手違いから始まる恋の序曲 - Ch4 - Invitation of redemption

💜💗💜💗💜 Story 💗💜💗💜💗 By the time they arrived at the Silver Bough, Luka had only just reached the final tolling of the bells in her account of the second act. An attendant was already waiting at the entrance. After Gakupo gave his name, the man did not even consult the reservation ledger. He simply bowed and led them respectfully to the second floor. The banister was fashioned from dark walnut, and instead of the usual landscape paintings, the walls were lined with hand-drawn stage designs from theatrical productions of past generations. Luka stopped before one of them. It depicted The Queen of the Sea, which had premiered twenty years earlier. The stage had been designed as a ship listing sharply to one side, forcing the performers to complete an entire dance sequence upon an uneven deck. Because the machinery had been extraordinarily complex, the opera had been performed only six times and had never since been fully recreated. “Is this the original drawing?” Luka asked. The attendant replied, “It is the second draft left behind by the production’s stage designer.” “It is not the second draft.” Luka stepped closer and examined the nearly faded handwriting in the lower-right corner. “In the second draft, the mast stood at the centre of the stage. Here, it has been moved to the left, allowing the heroine’s entrance route to avoid the lifting mechanism. This must be the final revision made before the actual performances.” For a moment, the attendant did not know how to respond. Standing behind her, Gakupo smiled. “It appears the restaurant will need a new description plaque tomorrow.” Only then did Luka realise that she had placed the attendant in an awkward position. “It is merely my speculation.” “No, Miss Megurine is quite correct.” An older gentleman approached from the far end of the corridor. He wore the black formal attire of the restaurant’s proprietor, with a silver branch-and-leaf insignia pinned to his chest. “This is indeed the final revised design. Few of our guests have ever been able to distinguish it from the earlier version.” He greeted Luka, then turned towards Gakupo. “Mr Kamui, it seems your guest is even more familiar with our collection than you are.” “That is precisely why I invited her,” Gakupo said. The words came so naturally that Luka felt an inexplicable warmth rise to the tips of her ears. Their table had been prepared in a private room overlooking the river. The room was small, yet exquisitely elegant. There were no elaborate decorations upon the table, only a low silver candlestick positioned so that it would not obstruct the diners’ view of one another. Through the window, they could see part of the opera house dome, where several work lights still glowed after the performance. The attendant drew out their chairs. The first course was not a rich meat dish, but a small plate of pear slices marinated in white wine, accompanied by mild cheese and delicate crispbread. Luka took a bite. “The chef knows that the guests have just returned from the opera.” “What makes you say that?” “The flavours are light,” she replied. “After a performance, one’s hearing remains sensitive. Strong aromas would only cause fatigue more quickly. This dish is intended to restore the diner’s attention.” Gakupo looked at her and could not help laughing softly. “Must you analyse even a meal as though it were a stage production?” “This is not theatrical analysis. It is a question of whether the restaurant understands its guests.” “And do you believe it does?” Luka took another bite before offering her judgement. “For the moment, it passes.” The next course was fish cooked in a clear broth, its sauce carrying the faintest trace of citrus. Rather than laying out every piece of cutlery at once, the attendants replaced each utensil as the courses arrived, their movements almost entirely silent. Outside the window, the river flowed slowly past. Their conversation moved from that evening’s performance to other theatre companies. Luka believed that the Royal Theatre Company had become too preoccupied with spectacle in recent years, often allowing the scenery to overwhelm the performers. Gakupo pointed out that the newly built theatres had unusually deep stages, and that without large-scale structures, directors struggled to create a sense of depth for those seated at the rear. “That is still no reason to sacrifice the performers,” Luka said. “Of course not.” Gakupo set down his cutlery. “The finest stage design should make the audience remember the characters, not the designer.” Luka glanced at him. “That was well said.” “Receiving your approval seems more difficult than receiving praise from a theatre critic.” “A critic is responsible only to the performance.” “And you?” “I am responsible to the details.” Gakupo was silent for a moment, then smiled. “That is also why I enjoy discussing opera with you.” The private room suddenly fell quiet. Luka had been about to reach for her wineglass, but her fingers stopped beside its stem. Gakupo appeared to realise that the remark had been more direct than he had intended. Yet he did not take it back, nor did he conceal it beneath a joke. Candlelight fell across his violet hair, lending its ends a gentle sheen. “When most people speak of opera, they are concerned with who occupies the most conspicuous box, which performer enjoys the favour of which noble, or how many gold coins were spent on the costumes for opening night.” He looked at Luka. “Only you would notice that one member of the chorus lowered his head half a beat too soon.” Luka lowered her gaze. “You noticed that the laurel tree had been moved half a foot forward.” “So perhaps neither of us is an easy member of the audience.” “Not for the theatre, at least.” “But perhaps we are well suited to sitting in the same box.” She did not answer. At that moment, the attendant arrived with the final dessert: a translucent rose sculpted from sugar, accompanied by thin pieces of bittersweet chocolate. Luka looked at the rose. “Was this created to match tonight’s opera?” “When I made the reservation, I mentioned that we would be attending The Rose and the Guillotine,” Gakupo replied. “You arranged the dessert in advance as well?” “I merely made a suggestion.” “Mr Kamui, your compensation is becoming rather excessive.” “Because I am sincerely sorry.” “Only for being late?” Gakupo did not answer immediately. Outside the window, the work lights went out one by one, and the opera house gradually sank into the darkness of night. “Also for making you believe I would not come.” His voice was very soft. Luka raised her eyes. Gakupo said nothing more. He merely pushed the plate of chocolate towards her. “This is not overly sweet. I believe you will like it.” “How do you know that I dislike things that are too sweet?” “During the interval the last time we met, you did not touch the candied fruit brought by the attendant.” Luka looked at him. It had been an insignificant detail from their first meeting, scarcely worth remembering. Yet he remembered it. Just as she remembered how he had analysed the tempo of the overture, how he had noticed that the light upon the scenery resembled a pair of broken wings, and how he had appeared behind her that evening with rain still clinging to his shoulders. She picked up a piece of chocolate and took a small bite. It was bitter, with only the faintest trace of floral fragrance. “Well?” Gakupo asked. Luka deliberately considered it for a moment. “It is barely acceptable.” “Only the dessert?” She looked at him, the suggestion of a smile upon her lips. “The compensation as well.” By the time their supper ended, the Silver Bough was no longer admitting new guests. As they descended the staircase, they passed the stage design for The Queen of the Sea once more. Luka paused to study it again, while Gakupo asked the proprietor whether she might be permitted to examine the restaurant’s other drawings on a future visit. Before they left, he helped place her coat around her shoulders. “The next opera,” Gakupo asked, “have you already decided which one you intend to see?” Luka did not answer at once. She stepped outside the restaurant, where a night breeze swept in from the river and gently lifted her long pink hair. The carriage waiting at the entrance was already prepared. Before climbing inside, Luka turned to look at him. “This time, please do not make me wait until the second act.” Gakupo paused in surprise. Then he bowed to her with solemn sincerity. “I will arrive before the overture.” Luka entered the carriage. Before the door closed, she added one more thing. “As for the restaurant, you need not wait until you are late before inviting me again.” The carriage slowly pulled away from the riverbank. Gakupo remained outside the Silver Bough until it disappeared at the far end of the street, the smile upon his lips never fading. This time, they would no longer have to depend upon the theatre reserving the same box for two different guests in order to hope for another meeting.