I Start with a Bad Hand!

“The academy cried. …When?”

At Agnes’s question, I turned to look at Nancy, who received my gaze with a shy smile and a wave.

“She cried.”

“Is she the academy? Does she represent the entire academy? And does crying just mean shedding a few tears?”

“Then add a small note underneath: ‘Some students of the academy’ cried.”

That makes it sound even more pathetic. Despite her dissatisfaction, Agnes diligently added the small text to the stack of promotional posters. She painstakingly corrected each poster from the pile and then frowned as she pulled out a new batch.

“Produced by the legendary playwright ‘Sergio Garcia Lopez Division’. What’s this about?”

“Our drama club professor.”

“You’re part of that division?”

“Since I take his classes, technically, yes.”

Isn’t this just fraud…? Agnes didn’t even bother to lower her voice as she picked up another batch and, with a breath drawn from her diaphragm, shouted.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“‘The one and only masterpiece recognized by the imperial family.’ What’s this supposed to mean?”

I turned to look at Icarus. Everyone’s eyes followed mine, landing on him as he examined the stage setup. Feeling their stares, he simply nodded once.

“Recognized.”

I nodded slightly in thanks to him and turned back to Agnes.

“See?”

“This is seriously going to get us arrested for impersonation.”

If only it were just impersonation. This could be considered defamation. Ignoring Agnes’s muttering, I asked Icarus again.

“Will we get arrested?”

Unlike his straightforward confirmation earlier, Icarus seemed to ponder his answer for a while this time.

“If we get there in time… I think I might be able to intervene before my brother carries out the sentence.”

“Good enough. Let’s proceed.”

Nancy murmured something about feeling truly reassured by his answer. Agnes, after punching the poster once, muttered in a restrained tone, “If you get arrested, can I visit you? I’ll come see you.” Next to her, Francesco was energetically performing a sword dance.

“Ah, why is he dancing here so restlessly?”

“He said his arms hurt from writing the poster text.”

“Then how is he managing to perform a sword dance?”

Despite the small space making our voices echo loudly, Francesco continued his energetic sword dance, sweeping across the stage. Even Nancy, who always watched the stage with bright eyes, eventually spoke up in an irritated voice, asking him to stand still for a moment. Still…

“He dances well, though.”

“Yeah.”

It was as if Agnes had stolen the thought right out of my head. I nodded slightly and we both watched his one-man show. I hadn’t expected much, but Francesco’s sword dance was quite impressive, ‘better than expected’.

“Not really.”

Behind us, someone cut in with a grumpy voice. Even without turning my head, I knew who it was, and I replied without much enthusiasm.

“It looks good to me.”

“I agree.”

We don’t particularly like him, but it’s quite entertaining. Regardless of how messy our play is, acknowledging what’s good is more constructive… Icarus, who had been listening to our continuous remarks, responded with a smirk.

“That’s not a proper sword dance. There’s too much unnecessary movement. And the structure…”

As he critiqued Francesco’s movements, I watched him and absentmindedly muttered,

“Then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“What?”

Icarus, surprised by my sudden suggestion, narrowed his eyes and seemed to consider it.

“Well, if you want me to.”

“No, I don’t really—wait.”

Would it make any difference to add one more person to the sword dance? Feeling somewhat resigned, I nodded to Icarus, who then looked satisfied. He picked up a stick lying below the stage and approached Francesco. The protagonist of our play, watching the scene, grabbed a handful of his hair in exasperation and asked,

“Are you serious? We’re already cramming a gondola, a fire show, a sword dance, an orchestra, and a choir into this stage, and now you’re adding the prince?”

“Yeah, but like you said… it’s already a patched-up mess with the gondola, fire show, sword dance, orchestra, and choir… adding one more thing won’t really affect the overall quality of the play.”

As the sword dance scene abruptly turned into an action sequence, I felt a bit resigned.

‘Just accept it…’

While others were refining their scripts and practicing their acting, our drama team was only concerned with gimmicky posters and catchy phrases. The future of this play seemed clear to me.

“So, where should we put these?”

Agnes, holding a stack of posters filled with crude promotional text, asked me. There were already enough posters to re-wallpaper the entire academy.

“First, the cafeteria and the bulletin boards near the boys’ dorms, right? Then the training grounds and the path to the archery range, wait.”

Agnes, who was mapping out the poster locations, turned to me with a puzzled look.

“Wait, what?”

“The fencing club. They have the most members in the academy, right?”

“Probably. Why do you ask?”

“The current head of the fencing club is…”

Surprisingly, it was Aiden. I knew this not because I was particularly interested in him, but because he would often mutter about his position whenever Irene walked by. If Aiden was the head of the academy’s largest club…

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s kind of a secret for the play, but…”

After practice, I called Aiden over. Still sweaty, he looked impatient and asked what I wanted. After stalling for a while, I finally spoke.

“Come watch our play during the arts festival. Bring the entire fencing club.”

“What? Why should I?”

His irritated response made me feel a bit exasperated, so I answered,

“Because Irene will be performing.”

“…What? Really?”

She wouldn’t be.

Aiden’s eyes, which had momentarily wavered at my words, narrowed as he asked,

“Her name isn’t on the promotional materials. And it’s suspicious that you’re giving me this information.”

Sharp.

“Fine, then don’t come. I thought we were getting closer, so I wanted to share the info.”

We’re not close.

“Wait, wait! Then why bring the fencing club?”

“The play with the most audience gets a chance to be performed again. I want our play to get another run, and you’ll get another chance to see Irene. It’s a win-win, right?”

Aiden stared into my eyes for a moment, then clasped my hand. For the first time since we started school, we were in agreement.

So, excluding Aiden’s fencing club, my four friends, Agnes’s seven friends, and the friends and acquaintances of other members, we had a total of seventeen people who promised to come see our play.

***

“Wow… who are all these people?”

“Yeah… really.”

But we had underestimated our efforts. Half-heartedly preparing for the play, we were jolted awake by Nancy’s ecstatic scream, “The audience seats are full!”

“Was it because of the posters?”

“Seems like it. I don’t think anyone else promoted as aggressively as we did.”

In the academy’s history, artists had always prided themselves on the quality of their work. They had now succumbed to our crude and outdated promotional tactics. Perhaps they were caught by the sensationalist marketing, as urgent cries arose about the lack of standing room.

‘I feel a bit guilty… no, I do feel guilty. Sorry, everyone….’

Despite the unprecedented number of spectators, there was little visible anxiety among our cast. This was a testament to the overall lack of conscience in our scriptwriter, director, and actors.

“What are we going to do? We’re doomed.”

“Just enjoy it.”

Focused more on achieving their own goals rather than the audience’s enjoyment, it was no wonder we felt this way.

“This is… unbelievable.”

The shocking experience wasn’t the play itself but the academy’s reaction. Our play was fine. The audience was the problem.