"B-05-2-0123, The Suicider's Final Chant?"
"Yes. A divination on the item itself yielded so unexpected discoveries. That harmonica wasn't brought out of a Mysterious Realm, but is a naturally occurring Extraordinary item, which is highly unusual. Its last owner, back when it was just an ordinary object, was the Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe, which is performing this week at the Nolan Royal Opera House. The Church wants to conduct a preliminary investigation; specialists will handle the specifics later."
"What do I need to do?"
Jenkins examined the ticket in his hand. It seed to be one thing after another.
"You don't have to do anything. Just go and listen like a regular audience mber. You're not the only one who received a ticket. All that's required is to feel things out, so just treat it as a normal outing."
"Isn't Papa Oliver going? And why a private box?"
"Originally, they were just ordinary seats downstairs, but Miss Bevanna added a few gold pounds and upgraded them to the best box. She said it's a gift from a fan of your books, and also a thank you for last night's autograph. She really enjoys your stories."
"But my parents already saw the performance a few days ago. Who am I supposed to take?"
Papa Oliver shot him a look of profound disappointnt.
"Hey, don't you have any friends your own age? What about all those fans of yours? Just invite one of them. You really think anyone would say no?"
"Sir, you're making things difficult for , you know."
On Saturday evening, Jenkins, dressed in his finest suit and leaning on his cane, arrived at the Royal Opera House on the outskirts of the city. He had originally planned to leave Chocolate in Papa Oliver's care, but for so reason, the cat was restless today, darting all over the place, so Jenkins had no choice but to bring it with him.
He stepped out of the carriage, holding onto his black top hat.
"No need for change."
He handed the driver the exact amount in banknotes and coins, and the cat imdiately leaped onto his shoulder.
Even without electricity, the opera house glowed under the night sky, its brilliant yellow lights shining brightly. It was said that a single two-hour opera required three thousand candles to light, yet the theater still managed to turn a handso profit from ticket sales.
Properly dressed gentlen and ladies stepped down from their carriages in pairs, arm in arm, and ascended the long flight of stairs, treading the red carpet that led to the grand entrance at the top.
People greeted each other, laughing and chatting as they praised the masters set to perform that evening. The n engaged in grand discussions about current affairs, while the won deliberately showed off their jewels and accessories under the lights, critiquing each other's attire.
In stark contrast, Jenkins, who had arrived alone with a cat, was a complete oddity.
Ushers stood before the marble pillars, checking each person's ticket and guiding the distinguished guests to their seats. They wore red coats, golden aiguillettes shaped like sheaves of wheat slung over their shoulders and draping across their chests past gleaming buttons. ŕ𝓪Ɲ𝘖ＢĚş
The owner of the opera house was rumored to be a follower of the Earth Mother Goddess, which explained why much of the decor was so similar to that of the Mother Church.
"Good evening, Mr. Williams!"
Jenkins had just taken out his own rather ornate ticket when the nearest young usher imdiately removed his hat and bowed deeply.
"You know ?"
"Yes, sir. We keep a record of every distinguished guest who has reserved a box. Please, follow . Your box is this way."
Following the usher, he crossed the glittering grand hall and ascended a long, spiral staircase. They passed through a corridor adorned with exquisite statues, suits of armor, and oil paintings before arriving at a room marked with a golden plaque bearing the number 012.
Inside the room was an enormous sofa. In front of it, a wooden coffee table held a fruit platter, red wine, and stemd glasses. And beyond that, the wall was open, offering a clear, unobstructed view of the stage below.
Below, the theater was a sea of heads as n in suits and won in evening gowns took their seats. Looking to the sides, he could see several other balcony-like boxes similar to his own, but their occupants had not yet arrived.
Chocolate leaped lightly onto the coffee table and began batting an apple back and forth with its paw.
"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."
Jenkins saw the usher's concern at a glance. He handed the man his hat and coat, which were hung on a rack by the door. He placed his cane diagonally against the sofa, then picked up a pair of small, exquisite golden opera glasses. They were essential for seeing every detail on stage.
"If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call for . We'll be on standby in the corridor."
Jenkins nodded in understanding, then let out a long breath and sat down.
"So I ended up coming alone after all."
He stroked Chocolate's fur, picked up the wine bottle, examined it for a mont, and set it back down.
"An opera it is, then. I suppose I can treat it as a break. But this is a waste of ti. I'll fall behind on my story. I was planning to finish Papa Oliver's book, and I still have rituals to practice."
He muttered his plans to himself while Chocolate diligently nudged the apple forward with its nose.
Bang!
Click.
The door behind him was suddenly thrown open, then slamd shut and locked from the inside.
Jenkins instinctively grabbed his cane and spun around. There stood Miss Hersha, her red hair and jeweled headband glittering under the lights. She wore a long blue dress cinched with a yellow sash, and she was staring at him with a very serious expression.
"Those are lovely heels."
After a long pause, that was all Jenkins could manage to say.
"Why are you here?"
She looked furious.
"An acquaintance of Papa Oliver's gave him a ticket. He doesn't like opera, so he gave it to ."
He explained, then asked in return, "And why are you here?"
"Such a coincidence? Twenty-one-year-old Mr. Jenkins Williams just happens to get a ticket, just happens to be in the mood to co here without a female companion, and just happens to have the box right next to ours?"
She didn't answer his question. Instead, she put her hands on her hips, leaned forward, and scolded him.
"Ours? Is Miss Mikhail here as well?"
"So you are interested in her after all."
The girl, looking exceptionally beautiful tonight, pointed a finger at Jenkins. He sidestepped, avoiding her accusing finger.
"Miss Hersha, please don't point at . It's impolite. As a noble lady, your behavior tonight is... sowhat inconsistent with the image I had of you."
"Is that so?"
Hathaway Hersha took a few steps forward. Seeing Jenkins's hand gripping his cane tightly, she couldn't help but laugh contemptuously.
"I know your secret."
"What?"
The man frowned. He gripped the dragon-head handle of his cane with both hands, his tone a weak attempt at bravado.
"Enchanter. What do you make of that term?"
The girl asked softly, her expression clearly showing she was eager to see his reaction.
Jenkins backed away a few steps, reached over, and untied the cord holding back the curtain next to the box's opening. The curtain slid shut, hiding them from the view of the audience below.
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