"Wake up, Marlene! The troupe's wagon is already waiting for us!"
Raoul burst into the bedroom like a whirlwind—curtains yanked open, windows flung wide, blankets dramatically ripped off. A full combo.
"Can I sleep for five more minutes?" Marlene rubbed her sleepy eyes.
"No way. You were the one who wanted to audition for Shadowplay, remember? If we're late, they won't even look at you."
"…Okay, Daddy." Marlene got up with a pitiful little whimper. Leaving the warm, cozy bed was an act of heroism in itself.
A few minutes later, Raoul dashed out the door with Marlene bundled in his arms.
"Sorry for the wait, everyone!"
"No problem," rumbled the orcish driver from the front of the wagon, his voice like gravel in a barrel. "The Hybrid Behemoth Troupe never leaves a comrade behind."
Despite the rather mercenary-sounding name, they were, in fact, a bona fide theater troupe. Not that the rest of the performing arts world would admit it.
Their cast was… diverse, to say the least: orcs, half-elves, deep gnomes, even a shapeshifter who played all the "weird monster" roles. None of them had formal acting training either—they'd learned their craft through trial and error, performing in backwater villages.
Critics and high-society theaters considered them a disgrace to the "noble art" of drama. The theaters in Twin Spire City flat-out refused to let them perform.
But today, their long-awaited chance had arrived.
Zorgo's Toy Shop was casting actors for the magical shadowplay Pilgrimage to the Sacred Mountain.
Raoul figured—hey, if it's a toy store looking for actors, the big-name troupes probably won't care, right?
He'd heard of Zorgo's. Every kid in Yo-Yo Town had one of their spinning tops, and their toys were even spreading out to the suburbs. Rumor had it they had people selling their toys on trains to tourists from all over.
Just the other day, he saw someone so focused on twisting a toy cube while walking that they smacked right into a tree. That cube—also from Zorgo's.
With business that booming, they had to be making gold by the pouchful.
And his instincts told him—this was no ordinary gig. It might just be their breakthrough.
"Daddy, what's a Shadowplay?" Marlene asked, cheeks glowing with excitement at the thought of heading into the city.
"Uh… probably something like a play? Their audition flyer did say 'stage experience preferred.'"
"Oh. Then it's probably boring." To Marlene, plays were long, confusing, and full of tired plots—not nearly as exciting as the stories she made up for Rado.
Wait, who's Rado?
Rado was her best friend. A big yellow dog. Also her number-one fan during storytelling time. It would've been perfect if he didn't try to lick her after eating his own poop.
The wagon trundled along a dirt road, bound for Twin Spire City. Two hours later, they arrived on Cornflower Street.
Elegant buildings towered over them, making their patchwork clothes look even shabbier.
Raoul had never been here before—everything cost too much. Buying a single item here could feed him and Marlene for months.
And there it was: Zorgo's Toy Shop, with a line out the door. Not what he expected.
Raoul swallowed. He'd convinced the troupe to audition on the idea that "no one else would bother trying out for a toy shop play."
"Hey, isn't that the Violet Lily Troupe?" someone whispered.
Raoul followed the gesture—sure enough, a group outside the shop wore brooches with the violet lily emblem. One of the most prestigious troupes in the city.
Crap. There went his hopes of landing a decent part.
Under the shop's awning, a half-elf was taking down audition registrations, muttering every few minutes, "Another copper. I just earned another copper," while fiddling with a small clock.
They couldn't back out now—not after coming all this way. Raoul stepped up and filled out the registration form.
When the half-elf saw the name "Hybrid Behemoth Troupe," his attitude warmed up immediately and he helpfully explained everything.
But the more Raoul wrote, the heavier his heart sank. The applicants ahead of them were all from big-name troupes: Violet Lily, Swan Castle, The Wranglers—you name it.
Forget leading roles, even background extras would be a stretch now. They'd probably just wasted a trip.
Why… why was this happening?
He glanced at the role list and payment details on the table.
One look, and he got it.
Even the one-line roles paid three gold coins. And shadowplay didn't require repeat performances. Just one good take, and it was done.
Just how loaded was this toy shop?!
The auditions were being held on the first floor. All the toy shelves had been cleared away, leaving an open space with mannequins scattered throughout. At the far end were several desks with a panel of judges.
Raoul tiptoed to peek inside. Two women and… wait, was that a half-dragon?
Beside him, the orc from their troupe was sweating buckets, knees visibly shaking.
"What's wrong with you? So what if we don't get picked? It's all experience."
"It's not that," the orc whispered. "That dragon… and the human. They're dangerous. Really dangerous. We need to run. Now."
"Huh?" Raoul blinked. "Even Marlene isn't scared. What are you afraid of?"
"It's different. This is… something else. My instincts never lie."
Just as Raoul tried to calm him down, the young female judge called the next name.
"Swan Castle Troupe. Julian."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Raoul knew that name—Julian, the troupe's lead actor. All his recent performances had been smash hits. Rumor said nobles showered him with gold just to see him act. Definitely here for the male lead.
Julian skimmed the script, warmed up with a few boxing moves, and launched into his performance.
"Stop," the young judge cut in before thirty seconds had passed.
"Have you ever actually been in a real fight?" she asked bluntly.
"Of course I have. My boxing coach is the best in the city. I've never missed a sparring session."
"I didn't ask about sparring. I said a real fight. You're supposed to be facing a mindless undead beast made by a necromancer. You think this is a game? Again."
Julian bristled. He'd been acting since he was twelve. Critics had always praised him. Now some little girl was calling it make-believe?
If it weren't for the money—and the presence of Lady Frin—he would've snapped back already.
Wait… Lady Frin wasn't even looking at him?
She must be tired. Surely, if she really watched, she'd see the brilliance in his performance.
Julian took a deep breath, got back into position, and started again.
"Stop."
Even faster this time.
"Are you deaf, or just incapable of understanding what life-or-death means? Who are you even performing for with this melodramatic nonsense?"
"This is called theater! Have you ever seen real theater? What gives you the right to judge me?" Julian finally snapped.
"I never said this was theater. Maybe your drama-queen antics fly on stage, but I don't need them. Next."
"You don't know anything! Just because you latched onto some rich patron and he's funding your little drama dream doesn't make you special. Pah! Let Lady Frin decide. She knows good acting when she sees it!"
He was getting worked up now. Surely Lady Frin would defend him. She'd seen his shows—she had to appreciate his charm. That girl, she couldn't be noble. Probably just slept her way to the top.
They were all the same. Why should they get to look down on him?
Julian opened his mouth for one final insult—
"You—worthless bit—"
But the last word stuck. His throat tightened, cutting off his voice. His lungs burned.
An illusion spell. A sensory override!
Lady Frin looked at him like he was dirt, raised a finger to her lips, and shushed him.
"S-sor…ry…"
Julian croaked out the apology with great effort. Lady Frin didn't even blink. Instead, she pointed at the girl.
Julian felt his vision spinning. He collapsed to his knees, trying to beg, but no sound came. Just before darkness swallowed his sight, he thought he saw the girl nod.
Suddenly—oxygen rushed back into his lungs.
Raoul was stunned.
Julian, once the city's golden boy, was now sprawled on the floor like a beaten mutt, gasping for air like his lungs were on fire.
"Next. Hybrid Behemoth Troupe—Raoul."
Raoul turned to look at the orc beside him, who was shaking like a leaf.
Maybe his instincts weren't so off after all.
Back then, a bad performance meant boos and a bruised ego.
Today… it might cost your life.