"She's a phenomenon."
"Right? I didn't expect to see such a talented young actress in this era of University students."
Mixed reactions flowed from the audience.
But these weren't ordinary spectators. They were alumni who had left behind the path of a mage and gone on to pursue careers in entertainment, many as celebrities.
"I've seen her before. Charlotte Astrea. She starred in a few plays as a child. Then, she vanished from the media scene one day. And now…. to think I'd see that child again, performing as a fine young woman."
This comment came from a man who had once been the president of the Drama Club during his time at Silver Tower University.
After graduation, he had become a manager at a distinguished entertainment agency. Initially, he hadn't expected much from the festival's play. However, now his opinion had changed entirely.
Everything about the production impressed him—the setup, the props, the well-designed costumes, and most of all, the stellar performances from the cast.
Especially Charlotte Astrea. She had the natural talent to captivate the audience in the addictive way she pronounced each word.
He leaned toward a colleague and whispered, "This girl could easily become a top star if she wanted to."
His colleague nodded in agreement. "I wouldn't be surprised if scouts are already lining up after tonight."
"Indeed," another added. "But the script…. it could be better. While the audience can relate to it, the story itself isn't anything remarkable."
"I managed to get my hands on the script through some connections," the former Drama Club president said. "I understand the slow pacing."
"Really? What's the genre? Isn't it a love triangle?"
"It is," he replied. "But there's another genre layered beneath it."
The manager paused for a moment before responding.
——Yes, as I reported earlier, His Imperial Highness, Franz—
"Don't call him that," Irene interrupted coldly.
——Keum…. of course. My apologies, Lady Irene. As I reported earlier, based on clues gathered so far, I speculate that Franz attended the festival solely to meet Vanitas Astrea.
An indescribable emotion stirred within Irene as she listened to Zia, who had infiltrated the university disguised as an alum.
"Vanitas Astrea..." Irene murmured.
She hadn't foreseen this. The professor that Astrid seemed to idolize was actually connected to Franz.
Looking back, it all made sense now. Astrid wasn't the type to look up to people, least of all professors. In fact, there was a time when she had thoroughly corrected her tutor and reduced him to tears.
But if this professor had been specifically designed to cater to Astrid's needs, it wasn't surprising she would idolize him.
"His lectures are probably tailored based on what Astrid struggled with," Irene muttered. "And all of it guided by Franz's influence."
Her eyes narrowed. To think Franz had planned this far ahead.
She clicked her tongue in frustration.
It no longer mattered who Vanitas Astrea was. His reputation in the Scholars Institute or his deeds in the Mori Forest—all of it was likely just another piece of Franz's grand scheme.
In the end, Vanitas was simply one of Franz's pawns.
——Understood, Lady Irene.
Irene ended the communication and leaned back, swirling the wine in her goblet. Her thoughts drifted to the chicken party two months ago.
"That man with no value…."
Because of him, Irene had hesitated to approach Franz directly or involve herself with that strange chicken society or whatever they called themselves.
Yet, since then, there had been no news of him. No incidents. No conflicts. Nothing. Despite the overwhelming power he seemed to possess.
"Does that person have no ambitions?"
Was he another pawn under Franz's control? Or was he simply a powerful figure wandering aimlessly, playing god for his own amusement?
Had he orchestrated past events solely for entertainment?
And if that was true….
"Could I get him on my side?"
Irene set the wine glass down and stood by the large window of her apartment. From the 40th floor, she had a clear view of the Theocracy below.
Autumn, arguably the busiest time of the year, was approaching. Winter would follow soon after. Soon, the Saintess would be unveiled to the world. Even the royal families from the other Empires would be required to show their respect.
"Everything hinges on that moment."
The Saintess held the power to influence the balance between nations.
Gaining her favor meant control over the tides of politics, alliances, and wars.
Irene couldn't afford to be careless.
To put things into perspective, Silas didn't actually know what had happened to Arwen during her time in university.
The scenes he created had a simple source.
Or, more accurately, a way to fill in the blanks.
His older sister, Arwen Ainsley, had kept a diary to vent her frustrations and cope with her struggles.
Silas later discovered that Arwen had been diagnosed with depression in her third year of high school. Her psychiatrist had recommended keeping a diary to help keep her mental health in check.
[I took him for a professor with severe personality problems. He was gloomy and unfriendly, except toward those he considered worth his time.]
These monologues, recorded and recited by Charlotte, were taken word for word from Arwen's diary.
While the scenes filled in the gaps of her story, the monologues were authentic.
They were Arwen's voice.
Now, the younger sister of the man who had ruined her was bringing that voice to life.
'I feel sick. Playing the role of this guy is absolutely disgusting.'
Silas had lost count of how many times he had retched during rehearsals. Every time he practiced his lines alone, the nausea returned. But he had took the role for himself to mock Vanitas Astrea.
——Professor, how should I go about this?
There she was, Charlotte, portraying the role of Arwen.
She didn't exactly resemble Arwen, especially in terms of build and hair color. Charlotte was more on the curvy side, but she had still managed to capture Arwen's cheerful personality.
A personality that Silas only realized later had been a facade.
He swallowed his discomfort and forced himself to stay focused.
To begin with, this was a love triangle where Siegmund had no chance of winning.
[That year, I was really struggling. I received news that the head of the orphanage where I grew up had passed away. The news shocked me, and I found it hard to concentrate on my studies. Sister Roxy was like a mother to me.]
——Professor, seriously. Are you just going to let your student fail when she's asking for help? Especially your assistant?
[Because of that, I desperately needed help to catch up with my studies.]
[Thankfully, I had the help of such a competent professor.]
Professor Valen stood behind Elise and leaned forward, his hand resting lightly over hers as he guided her pen across the paper, illustrating a detailed magic formula.
This scene wasn't supposed to have any particular focus, just a moment where Silas, playing the professor, calmly helped Elise without looking at her.
But for Elise, it meant something more.
Her feelings were subtly revealed as she glanced at the professor from the corner of her eye.
Her ears flushed red, and she seemed to sink slightly into her chair, overwhelmed by the unexpected close contact.
Yes, it was a love triangle Siegmund had no chance of winning.
——Professor…. I t-think I g-get it now…. S–So you can s–stop.
Because Elise had begun to see the professor as a kind of anchor. To have imprinted him in her mind as a safe space amidst all the pressure she faced.
[I don't know when it happened, but overtime, I've grown attached to the professor.]
Her face continued to turn a deeper shade of red, while Professor Valen remained completely indifferent.
Charlotte was a natural actress. Anyone watching might mistake her on-stage feelings for Silas as something real.
[In my final year of university, I finally understood why the professor piqued my interest.]
It happened on that day. Elise saw it with her own eyes.
——Cough! Cough...! Fuck!
Professor Valen was on the ground, writhing in pain. Elise had just entered his office after attending her lectures and froze at the sight.
——Professor! What's wrong?!
——What? No! Not when you're !
The professor continued coughing and groaning before the pain finally eased. Slowly, with Elise's help, he got back to his feet.
——Professor, what happened to you?
——I…. I just ate something bad.
But Elise didn't believe him. She recognized that expression. It was the same face he made when he was hiding something.
She grabbed his arm and looked him straight in the eyes.
——Professor, tell me the truth. I'm not going to leave, and I won't tell anyone.
——It's none of your business, Elise. Now get going.
But Elise's grip tightened on his shoulder, holding him in place.
——I'm on your side, Professor.
[There had always been strange rumors about him. Rumors that naturally floated around during my school years. But honestly, that was common. He wasn't the only professor students targeted with gossip as a form of revenge, especially the assistants he'd dismissed prematurely.]
The professor sighed and finally spoke.
——Tell me, Elise…. why are you still here?
——Why? Because I haven't graduated yet—
——That's not what I meant. You've heard the rumors. I'm cold, impossible to deal with, and have driven away countless assistants. So why haven't you left?
[The rumors were nonsense. Ghostwriting? Please. This guy spends his free time writing several unfinished thesis papers due to his obsession with perfection.]
Elise paused, taking a deep breath before answering.
——Because, just like me, who needs someone to lean on…. I believe you need that kind of person in your life too, Professor.
[On that day, I told the professor everything. My struggles at home, my circumstances with my family. Everything.]
Elise's face contorted into varieties of colorful emotions as Professor Valen listened intently.
[I'd overheard my parents talking. If I couldn't secure the top spot this semester in my final year, they'd force me to drop out. It was an impossible task. I wasn't doing particularly well. I was ranked 9th in my class and 37th in the entire batch. Practically invisible.]
[Embraced him, even.]
[As if he were my only lifeline left.]
Astrid couldn't take it anymore.
For some inexplicable reason, probably only God knew the answer to, she couldn't help but feel second-hand embarrassment as she watched the scenes unfold on stage.
It all seemed too familiar. The cheesy development between Professor Valen and Elise was something she felt like she had seen before.
Glancing at Professor Vanitas, a sudden thought crossed her mind.
'Doesn't Professor Valen…. kind of resemble him?'
No, it wasn't just a resemblance. The portrayal was eerily accurate.
Despised by colleagues and students alike.
Unconcerned with public opinion.
Focused on intentions over process.
The character, like Vanitas, was someone who many saw in the wrong light. Despite being blunt and difficult, for Astrid, he was kinder than most.
In an era where people often faked kindness and masked their true selves, full of backstabbing and deceit, Professor Vanitas was different.
He didn't pretend to be kind. If he disliked something, he made it clear. It was better than the shallow, plastic behavior others often showed.
But recently, people's perception of Professor Vanitas was slowly changing.
People were finally starting to recognize his true value.
Astrid felt a sense of pride. Perhaps the ability to see the worth of people at first glance—something her sister had always been skilled at—was hereditary.
Astrid's eyes widened as Vanitas suddenly groaned in pain, clutching his head.
Vanitas leaned back in his seat, a slight migraine creeping in.
He hadn't expected this. What he had assumed was a one-sided relationship between the original Vanitas and Arwen had actually been mutual.
An indescribable emotion stirred in his chest as he watched the play. It was painful.
….These emotions weren't his.
Perhaps, as always, something had triggered a switch in his mind, reacting to the familiar scene unfolding before him.
'Did you actually fall in love with Arwen, Vanitas?'
"What's wrong, Vanitas?"
The two siblings, Franz and Astrid, turned toward him. Vanitas clutched his head, his face tense with pain. He glanced at Astrid, who looked conflicted. She seemed worried, yet also reluctant to meet his gaze.
Fragmented memories flashed through his mind.
….Memories that weren't his.
——What do you think, Professor?
A vision of Arwen Ainsley, demonstrating her beginner progress in unconventional magic, appeared in his mind.
She looked just like Charlotte on stage, except her hair was a platinum color instead of light-blonde.
The original Vanitas's voice echoed in his mind. He sounded concerned, perhaps even afraid.
——This makes it easier, Professor. I can fully envision the Cumulonimbus spell you're writing. I think I can finish it before the second term.
'The Cumulonimbus spell you're writing.'
Those words ignited some sort of revelation, causing his eyes to widen and his heart to race.
Cumulonimbus wasn't a pre-existing spell renamed by Arwen.
It was a spell written by Vanitas himself.