I’d more or less settled the distribution and attribution of the behind-the-scenes work, so I moved on to slowly approaching everyone about it one-on-one. We’d eventually have a class meeting to finalize everything, but my instincts as a former corporate drone compelled me to lay the groundwork before any big meeting.
I wasn’t pushing them to agree, of course. I just didn’t want to put anybody on the spot in front of the whole class. I didn’t want anyone to feel cornered or have a bad time at the festival. Besides, making decisions all on my own was very villainess-esque, and that terrified me.
As the famous all-female theater troupe said, I had to be pure, upright, and beautiful.
Rise above villainy, Ekaterina!
Still, there were a few people I was hell-bent on recruiting to do specific things, which was why I found myself chatting with one of the boys in my class.
“You want me to be the...lighting technician?” Yuri Rey, second son of a baron, nervously repeated. He looked dazed.
While we were in the same class, we’d almost never spoken to one another. Our only real interaction had been when another boy had grabbed his notebook and run around with it. I’d gotten it back and returned it to him. Somehow, the two of them had hit it off and become friends after that.
“I apologize for using a confusing term. Lighting technician is an expression I coined to refer to the person in charge of enlivening a play through the use of lights.”
I felt bad for pretending I’d coined the term, but oh well!
Lighting roles didn’t exist in this world’s theaters yet. I’d learned that during my visit to the national theater, the capital’s most prestigious theater—my reward from Alexei for ranking number one in my first exam session. Spotlights and the like, which were commonplace in my previous world, simply didn’t exist here.
It was only logical, really. Spotlights required electricity, and electricity hadn’t been invented. Light was still synonymous with fire. There were a few alternatives, such as rainbow stones or the white orb bugs used by the people of the forest, but none were bright enough to light a stage.
So while we could light candles to light a room, there was little we could do in the way of actual stage lighting. Hence Yuri blinking at me like I was an alien.
“Enlivening a play through the use of lights...?” he repeated, saying each word carefully.
“Yes. It’ll be wonderful! As a rare light-mana user, you’re the only one I can ask, Lord Rey.”
His attribute was light. Not as rare as Flora’s, which appeared once a generation at best, but still uncommon. There were usually only one or two light-mana users in any given grade. However, just because an attribute was rare didn’t mean it was valued.
In the fantasy worlds people imagined in my past life, light magic had a supercool image. It was heroic, the symbol of good against evil. In this world, however, light-mana users could just manipulate light. That was it.
Sure, lighting up a dark place was convenient. It was handy. But it was otherwise lackluster in the eyes of most people. Unlike common attributes like earth, wind, or fire, it couldn’t be used to attack. A sudden flash in the dark could hurt an enemy’s eyes, yeah, but that wasn’t the sort of situation that occurred every day. The empire had been at peace for ages, but offensive magic was still everyone’s favorite.
I mean, I get it.
In my old world, swordplay and archery had been considered cool despite their lack of usefulness in the peaceful country I’d lived in.
Yuri’s attribute probably contributed to his slightly gloomy personality. Being the second son of a relatively unimportant baron didn’t help his self-confidence either. Despite all that, his mana was pretty powerful, and his control over it was strong.
“Your mana control during lessons has impressed me, Lord Rey. You can direct your light anywhere you wish and even adjust the intensity at will. Your skills are excellent.”
“No, that’s too much...”
Yuri didn’t struggle with remote control either. Even from a distance, he could cast light as bright as he wanted. His precision was truly something. Unfortunately, our practical classes were held outside in broad daylight, so no one could see much of what he was doing. That was why his abilities went largely unnoticed.
I thought it was a shame.
Since I was used to modern shows and plays, I knew how indispensable lighting was. I believed Yuri could produce results that would astonish the people here—maybe even revolutionize the theater world.
Or maybe he couldn’t. There were too many unknowns to be sure.
Still, with my brother attending the play, I refused to half-ass anything. I wanted it to be the absolute best. Olga’s and Renato’s musical talents would elevate the performance a lot, but I wanted to make it a play worth watching, not just listening to.
Behold my love at work!
It wasn’t a bad deal for Yuri either. If things worked as I hoped they would, he’d prove that light mana had more value than anyone realized. Even something as simple as a spotlight on the main character would be groundbreaking in this world, and only a light-mana user could achieve that.
Yuri would probably have a lot more fun at school if everyone applauded him.
“Would you agree to at least try with me? I’d really like to work with you on this,” I begged, pressing my hands together in a prayer.
“If... If I can be of use to you, Lady Yulnova.” Yuri nodded, his cheeks bright red.
Talking to everyone had taken Ekaterina some time, but thanks to her efforts, the actual meeting went as smooth as butter. People practically clapped at all her suggestions, and it was over so fast that she wasn’t able to stop herself from asking several times—using proper, ladylike words, of course—“Wait, are you all really okay with this? None of you are forcing yourselves?”
Seeing her panic, her classmates simply smiled. Some looked at her fondly, while others couldn’t conceal slight puzzlement. Despite being the lady of a ducal family, she’d checked with all of them personally before the meeting. On top of that, she’d assigned everyone parts or jobs that fit their abilities and personalities. The students who’d ended up with roles they hadn’t expected had been given such good explanations that they were now fully on board. Some, like Yuri, had even been moved to learn that Ekaterina valued their abilities.
So, obviously, no one would raise a hand and complain now.
Everyone remembered how the musical evening Ekaterina had organized had been the talk of the school for days. If anything, her classmates were looking forward to the amazing play she’d put together this time.
Their only gripe was that Ekaterina herself would not appear on the stage!
She didn’t seem to notice it, but she was the center of everyone’s attention—not just at the academy but among the social circles of the capital as well.
While outsiders were usually forbidden from entering the academy, an exception was made for the festival. Every year, the academy bustled with the families of students eager to visit them. Even those who lived far away usually took the chance to visit the capital and see their children. Most of Ekaterina’s classmates had one goal while their families were in town: to prove they existed in the same space as Ekaterina.
This is Lady Ekaterina Yulnova, they wanted to say, pointing at her from afar. She’s a direct descendant of Pyotr the Great’s younger brother, Duke Sergei. At first, I had a hard time approaching her, but we’re now on friendly terms.
The moment they left the academy, these students would lose the ability to converse so casually with a lady of Ekaterina’s rank. That was why the idea of introducing her to their families never even occurred to them. All they wanted was to brag that they shared a classroom with her and that they got to speak to her.