Chapter 185 - Rookie Actor (3)

3

"All the special seats sold out!"

"H-has this ever happened since we joined the troupe?"

The actors were thrilled.

"Never. We were lucky if we filled half the seats..."

"At this rate, won't people start calling us superstar actors too?"

"Our honored rookie is a real gem! Ugor!"

Even a third-rate back-alley theater—no, especially a theater like that—could hardly help celebrating the news that its VIP seats had sold out. But their expressions soon changed when they heard the plan for the upcoming performance.

"We're performing without a single line of dialogue?"

My seniors were astonished. They simply couldn't imagine it.

"How on earth..."

"Try thinking about it the other way around."

I explained patiently.

"You may not know this, but Cavefire plays originally had no dialogue. No scripts, either. They were nothing but flames moved and controlled with aura. That's how Cavefire plays began."

"W-were they?"

"Hmm."

My seniors pressed their upper lips against their philtrums, looking uncertain.

'Well. Fair enough.'

It was only natural. I knew because I'd seen it myself, but these children hadn't.

'It was a full nine hundred years ago.'

Nine hundred years was practically a thousand, rounded up. There was no way the Earth Spiritfolk of today could know what Cavefire plays had originally looked like. In this era, I alone could speak with certainty.

"My seniors, within you—within the Earth Spiritfolk—lies a dormant ability to feel sorrow just from looking at flames. Do you know that? It's a wonderful sensitivity. I believe you can awaken that sense."

"..."

"Dialogue only gets in the way. Your acting isn't terrible because you're terrible. It's because you think of Cavefire plays as [someone else's story]!"

I looked at each Hobgoblin in turn.

One eye.

One arm.

One ear.

There stood actors who had each lost a part of themselves.

"Each of you carries a shining gem in your heart. It's just buried. As long as they remain buried on a sandy beach, a gem and a pebble are no different. I'll take you to that beach. And I'll help you truly love acting."

"Y-you say such embarrassing things without batting an eye."

I nodded.

"Because I mean them."

"..."

"For the next week. Seven days."

I infused my hand with aura, then carved a large [7] into the theater wall.

"I'll teach you how to use aura, even if it means going without sleep."

The private lessons began that night.

4

"Sit comfortably. As comfortably as you can. Feel free to stretch your legs right out."

The actors settled comfortably on the stage.

"Good. Anyone have stiff shoulders? Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable. I'll massage it loose for you. No one? Okay. Let's begin."

With my seniors watching, I began to speak.

"Now, people often lump aura in with vague mental concepts and leave it at that. [Manifest your will], [awaken your mind]—nothing but incomprehensible phrases. Everyone, try manifesting your will and bringing out your aura."

"Uh..."

Looking rather bewildered, the actors summoned their aura. A faintly wavering mirage. It had neither a defined form nor a discernible direction. Compared with Uburka, one of the greatest warriors of all time, they were at a level I could confidently call [untalented].

"Not working very well, is it?"

The actors looked sheepish.

"W-well. Sometimes it works..."

"Yes. You do get those so-called [days when you're on a roll]. You feel good, and for some reason your emotions are lively, so the aura pours right out. But that's not enough."

"Not enough...?"

"From now on, you need to be able to draw out aura freely whenever you want."

"Ugor."

My seniors smiled awkwardly. Their faces said how wonderful it would be if they could do that at will. Those smiles had fed on life's resignation and taken root at the corners of their mouths.

I smiled too.

"Let me make a suggestion. Let's stop using the word [will] here. It's true that [aura] moves according to your will. But [activating aura] is absolutely not something your will does."

"Hm?"

"Aura is activated by [memory], not [will]."

That was the conclusion I'd reached. A truth I'd learned in Chronicles of the Heavenly Demon, in Master's world.

"You need to learn [how to recall memories well]. Not some nebulous nonsense like [how to strengthen your will]."

"Recall memories well..."

"Yes. As vividly as possible."

I met the Hobgoblins' eyes earnestly.

"Everyone. Picture [the sea]."

The actors closed their eyes.

"Hmm."

"Have you pictured it?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Let me guess. You pictured a horizon stretching far out to either side, right? Just like a picture on drawing paper. A pretty shade of blue. Am I right?"

My seniors all nodded. I smiled.

"That's the lowest grade of memory. It's precisely the way of recalling memories you must avoid when using aura."

"Ugo?"

"You haven't pictured the sea. You've only pictured the word [sea]. Aura can never fully bloom with a memory that shallow. Now!"

I clapped my hands.

"Stand up!"

The actors got awkwardly to their feet.

"This time, imagine you've planted your feet on a sandy beach. Your ankles. Imagine the feeling of your toes submerged in water. Whooosh. Seawater flows between your toes. It washes up over your ankles, then sweeps back out again."

"..."

"What color is the seawater? Is it blue?"

"No, it's clear."

"How does the seawater between your toes feel? Is it hot?"

"It's cool."

"Refreshing, isn't it? What about the water? Is it perfectly clean?"

"No... The grains of dirt make it cloudy."

"The waves swept up some dirt too. Good. Imagine sand caught between your toes. Tiny grains of dirt cling to your ankles as well."

"Hmm."

"I don't really like that feeling myself. It's gritty, isn't it? And the salt water on the grains makes them a little sticky."

"That's right."

"You've waded into the sea and gotten soaked up to your calves. The salt feels unpleasant. What now? What will you do?"

Each actor gave an answer.

"I'll find a well and wash my feet first."

"I've come all the way to the sea and gotten wet anyway, so I might as well swim..."

"Are there any clams?"

Okay.

"That is a much [stronger memory]," I said. "From now on, when you try to recall something, never start with a word—with a term like [sea]. Recall a very specific sensation, like [the feeling of the soles of your feet submerged in seawater]. Then your memories will help you on their own."

I looked at the one-eyed Hobgoblin.

"What was it like when you first pictured [the sea]? It was simply blue, wasn't it? Like a simple drawing on paper."

"Ugor."

"But what happens when you dip your feet in? It's clear, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"Not only is it clear, you remember that unpleasant sensation too. You even thought about what you would do afterward, how you would act. That's exactly it."

Recalling a memory properly. Recalling the most specific sensations, like grains of sand caught between your toes. Master that alone, and your aura naturally grows more intense.

"Now, if you have [a memory of nearly burning to death]..."

WHOOSH

Flames sprang up effortlessly in my hand.

"You could even depict a fiery hell with your aura. A brush with death forces memories into a person, after all."

"..."

"There are probably people born with a natural talent for acting. People who simply pour out sorrow on their own, who act so vividly that they seem to be in the middle of a real battlefield. You must envy actors like that. Feel jealous of them. Everyone, shall I tell you the secret of how they acquired that talent?"

I spread the flames blooming in my hand farther out.

"They have memories."

Trauma.

"How do they act as though they've really fallen into the middle of a fiery hell? It's simple. To them, the world is a fiery hell to begin with. Their ordinary lives, their everyday existence—it's all like that. They're trapped in the shadow of memories they can't escape, no matter what they do."

"..."

Take Uburka, for example. The child who had been the strongest warrior in Earth Spiritfolk history was no different. He suffered from severe albinism. Sunlight, a blessing to others, was a hostile blade to Uburka. Merely walking beneath the sun meant fighting and overcoming an enemy army. With the sun as his enemy, the child naturally cloaked his entire body in aura.

"[Wild Dance of Flaming Swords], which we're performing next week, is a play about Kekereukker's disappointment and anger toward the Flame Emperor. You aren't Kekereukker. You aren't the Flame Emperor, either. But haven't you ever been disappointed in someone?"

I looked at the actors one by one.

One eye. One arm. One ear.

I looked at children with a part of themselves broken.

"Haven't you ever disappointed someone?"

"..."

"Of course you have."

I withdrew the flames.

"We've all dealt with a son of a bitch, and we've all been a son of a bitch to someone. Any of you could be Kekereukker. The Flame Emperor... ah... that bastard is a little harder. He's a bastard whose very existence comes with a difficulty level. So I'll play the Flame Emperor in our next performance."

No amount of special tutoring could overcome the time limit. I was the only one here who could portray Yoo Suha. The other three actors looked up at me with six pairs of eyes.

"Then..."

"The role of Kekereukker."

"Who will play it?"

"One of you," I answered. "I'll give the lead role to whoever makes the most progress over the next week."

In other words.

"The person who has felt the deepest disappointment in someone, who is still disappointed, will play the lead."

My seniors fell silent.

5

"My father gambles."

The one-eyed actor's name was Arika.

"He's been at it since he was a kid, apparently. When he was young, he went to work in a smithy, hammering iron, but he picked up gambling while tagging along with a coworker. And he had a talent for it."

Apparently, he had a knack. There were a few worlds in which the talented ended up more miserable than the untalented. Gambling was one of them.

"Sometimes he wins a mountain of gold coins in a day. When that happens, he buys a vacation house and has me live there too. Hires expensive private tutors for me, and a housekeeper. I get to eat whatever I want and do whatever I want."

"How many days does that last?"

"Two years at most. Three days at least. Usually two months..."

One-eyed Arika murmured.

"When he wins money gambling, he uses it to start a business. Runs lodgings for gamblers, lends money to cardsharps. Sometimes he does pretty well. But when business gets a little slow..."

Business always had its ups and downs. If riding the momentum in good times was a skill, patiently enduring the bad times was an ability.

"He always tries to make up the losses by gambling."

Arika's father simply lacked the ability to be patient.

"Here's how it goes. He sets his daily takings at three gold coins. If the money comes in, great. If it doesn't, he gambles to win it. According to him, that's business too, and an unavoidable way of making a living."

One-eyed Arika sighed.

"I don't have a home. They were all vacation houses or inns. I've never stayed anywhere long enough to call it home. We'd live in the city with the biggest gambling scene, and when he failed, we'd move to a lesser city, then a lesser one still, then..."

Slowly, one-eyed Arika cradled his head in his hands.

"One day, a woman came to the inn. My routine was a mess, so I was still asleep in my room long after noon. Then someone knocked on the door. I opened it with a deep scowl."

["Are you Arika, sir?"]

"One look told me there was something up. I figured Dad had gotten into trouble again. People who'd lent him money sometimes came by. Or I thought she might be someone working at the inn."

["Is your father here?"]

["No."]

"I'd only just woken up, so I looked a complete mess. My face was all screwed up. I kept hold of the doorknob, subtly making it clear that I might shut the door at any moment."

["Who are you?"]

["..."]

The woman couldn't answer. She mumbled something vague and left the inn. Puzzled, one-eyed Arika closed the door. That evening, he told his father about the woman who had visited that day.

"That woman was my mother."

"..."

"She left home when I was three. I didn't recognize her."

Arika's brows bent on his forehead, hidden behind his hands.

"It's all fine. But I keep remembering the expression I had then. I was irritated. I looked at that woman like she was a huge nuisance. I was holding the doorknob. I hate that. I don't know."

Arika stared down at the floor with his one eye.

"But why did my mother call me [Arika, sir]? Why [sir], of all things? I don't understand that. I heard my father and mother thought hard about my name and chose it together. So why [Arika, sir]? I don't know."

A mutter escaped him.

"Fuck."

Next.

The one-eyed actor left, and the one-armed actor came in. The white tattoos etched across his torso continued up to his right shoulder, where they stopped.

"I'm a drug dealer."

The one-armed actor's name was Yumar.