I Start with a Bad Hand!

I looked at the two students in front of me, who seemed overly confident. As I remained silent, the seniors from the drama class added encouragingly,

“Wouldn’t it be better to join us rather than practicing hopelessly? We can help with the playwriting class even after the midterm evaluation.”

“Right. There’s no need to get held back because of one class.”

It was an unexpected offer from people I had no prior connection with. Why would they say this? I pondered quietly. It must be because they hadn’t seen my script. If they had, they wouldn’t be suggesting we work together… As I recalled my love-hate relationship with the script, I shed a few internal tears.

Then, a thought struck me.

‘No, wait. It’s not because they haven’t seen my script…’

It was because they didn’t need to. These people weren’t offering this out of goodwill for me. Their target was not me, but Agnes. Not to help me, but to put Agnes in a difficult position.

Agnes had told me she was playing the role of a tree in the upcoming drama class production. A tree, a role that could be replaced by a prop. I heard she had only one or two lines. Though she was enrolled in the class and we were partners, I imagined it must have been somewhat embarrassing for her to perform, especially since even I found her acting exasperating at times.

They had effectively sidelined Agnes by giving her the role of the tree. Not that Agnes was someone to be discouraged by playing a tree; even when she was with me, she enthusiastically shared her line. Despite its brevity, it was awkward enough to disrupt the mood.

It seemed their dissatisfaction with her acting had spilled over into personal feelings. That’s probably why they made such an offer to me, simply because I was Agnes’s partner.

Honestly, I also thought that roles in plays and performances should be assigned based on skill. But making an offer that would put Agnes in an awkward position because of backstage politics was a different issue.

If they were dissatisfied with the acting, they should resolve it within the drama class. It wasn’t right to isolate someone due to personal grievances, not just professional criticism.

However, putting all those reasons aside, I wanted to reject their offer for a different reason.

‘If there’s trouble, I’ll be the one caught in the middle, which is annoying.’

Getting involved in other people’s relationships only complicates my own situation. If their problem with Agnes spills over to involve me, that becomes troublesome. Moreover, after having adjusted our coordination for so long, changing partners now made no sense. When would I have time to adjust again? After these considerations, I finally spoke up.

“I appreciate the offer, but… I don’t think that would work.”

“…Why?”

The drama class seniors seemed a bit taken aback by my unexpected response.

“It’s not out of modesty, but contrary to what you’ve mentioned, we are not in a situation where one is holding back the other.”

The truth was, while Agnes’s acting wasn’t great, my script wasn’t anything spectacular either. Actually, calling it a mess would be putting it mildly. It was Agnes who had helped me improve that script.

“So, I’ll consider that offer as not made.” Saying this, I turned around. I wanted to end the conversation quickly without further uncomfortable refusals. Of course, our paths coincided, leading to some awkward moments together for a while…

After a bit of walking ahead and behind each other, perhaps feeling the embarrassment too, they passed by me saying, “Think it over, and if you change your mind, let us know.”

The next night, after a visit to the library, Agnes came to my dorm as usual, albeit at a quite late hour. Unlike usual, I couldn’t just send Agnes away after she made the effort to come, so I opened the door.

‘Irene and these people, why do they always come at such late hours?’

I couldn’t help but complain internally.

It was during a time when we were practicing a monologue. Unlike her usual self, Agnes didn’t harshly criticize my script but suddenly blurted out something unexpected.

“Why do you try so hard?”

“Huh?”

“You seem to really put a lot of effort into your studies and the playwriting class.”

Agnes had seen me struggling when my ink bottles ran out a few times. Each time, she would offer her nearly full bottle, insisting I use hers. Watching me go through several ink bottles, Agnes must have thought I was quite diligent.

Anyway, Agnes always asked tough questions. At least this time, the question was easier to answer than before.

“Because of the scholarship. I need to maintain my rank to keep receiving my admission scholarship.”

I hoped my response sounded as matter-of-fact to Agnes as possible. While there was no need to complain about the financial situation of Baron Degoph’s family, feeling the fleeting looks of pity or superiority when discussing my near-poverty financial status was not pleasant. Agnes paused for a moment at my answer, then opened her mouth to speak again.

“Then this exam must be really important for you.”

Yes, exactly. Saying this, I internally recited the monologue part I had written. It seemed fine when I read it… I couldn’t figure out what was supposedly so bad about it. It was all so heartfelt.

“…Then shouldn’t you have done it with someone else? If you don’t pass here, you won’t be able to maintain your grades.”

I looked away from the script to Agnes. She seemed a bit more sensitive today, probably having heard about yesterday’s conversation from the drama class seniors. I thought she was the type not to care about such talks, but it seemed she did have an attentive side. Thinking the academy people would say her concerns were lighter than down feathers, I responded,

“Why? Are you saying you’d rather do this with someone else’s script?”

“What? Hey, who else would I do it with now!”

Agnes responded somewhat indignantly, and I turned my gaze back to the script.

“Let’s just get on with practice.”

I’m a mess, but I’m still pushing through. We don’t owe each other anything in terms of skill. I said this as I picked up a pen and underlined parts of the script.

Loyalty, justice, trust. We weren’t together for such grand reasons. We really owed each other nothing. And no matter how you looked at it, the reasonable and rational confessions of love I wrote were enhanced with a touch of romance by Agnes’s suggestions.

“…Really?”

“Yeah.”

That night, Agnes stayed up practicing the script with me until dawn. I felt like I was going to die of exhaustion, but we were making progress.

***

It was a long night in the dormitory. Suddenly, a thought struck me.

‘Is it always like this?’

Is it always this hard? Agnes’s breathing was softly audible behind me as she slept. I sipped on peppermint tea I’d brought over in a kettle. It was the tea Irene started bringing at some point to share. Can tea wake you up? Initially, as a modern person accustomed to caffeine, I thought not, but now I couldn’t endure the night without the fiery sensation in my mouth. Mint now dominated my body and mind.

I don’t think I was ever this diligent even during my student days preparing for exams. The pressure of maintaining Baron Degoph’s finances and Dietrich’s future turned me into a passion machine. These days, I attended classes all morning and spent my free time at the archery range, shooting arrows.

I studied for the exam until dinner time, and after the sun set, Agnes came to my dorm. We worked on revising the script and reviewed our acting in preparation for the midterm evaluation. When Agnes left, I would stay up until dawn working on assignments or studying subjects I was weak in.

‘People don’t change easily, they say, yet here I am, still studying all day.’

Adventures, travel, exciting academy life—none of that for me. Although my heart did race with anger at times…

‘I really am hopeless.’

I turned the page of my book, self-deprecatingly. Agnes’s breathing reached my ears once again. I turned around to look at her. She was sleeping comfortably as if in her own bed. Yet, these days, the times spent with Agnes or Irene felt like moments to catch my breath.

Agnes often spent the night at my dorm, using playwriting practice as a pretext, or she would sleep over if it got too late. After telling her a few times to just stay over if it’s late, she began to treat my room almost like her own. Still, when I couldn’t wake up in the morning after an all-nighter, she was decent enough to get up first, hand me water, and even help me get dressed by handing me my uniform. Not that she could really be considered a roommate…

It was evident from Agnes’s dorm that her parents were quite successful merchants in the capital. Though not as luxurious as Irene’s, her room had a separate powder room and study, and it seemed like she even hired someone to clean it occasionally. Seeing that her room was better than mine, it appeared that the academy might not care about status logic, but definitely cared about the logic of capital.

Despite being assigned such a nice dorm, Agnes, who had lived her whole life bustling among family, seemed to have a hard time adjusting to that large, empty room. She found various excuses to come to my room frequently and seemed reluctant to leave when it was time to go back.

Of course, I could have gone to Agnes’s dorm. But since it was on a higher floor with a nice view, climbing up was a challenge with my bad legs. So, it seemed Agnes preferred to just come to my room. Though their personalities were different, this aspect of her somewhat reminded me of Irene.

‘Come to think of it, those two might get along better than expected.’