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Chapter – 06
“Again.”
“…It’s still too early—”
“Again.”
“…It’s still—”
“Again.”
“……”
“Again.”
“I didn’t say anything this time, though?”
Leo stared at Luisa with an incredulous expression.
Luisa pointed at his toes as if nothing about this situation surprised her.
“From the moment you enter, you have to be Romeo. This is Romeo’s first appearance. The man who blooms like a lone flower in Verona—torn by the war of two houses. A man who falls in love with the enemy. Romeo Montague.”
A man who falls in love with the daughter of his enemy.
Leo’s face twisted at those words.
Leo Fier.
That was his name.
Not Montague—but the next heir to the Fier Empire.
After leaving the imperial palace, he’d seen various plays, so he knew very well:
No one acts like this.
Acting didn’t mean becoming Romeo; it meant that actors who were extremely handsome, or extremely funny-looking, extremely short, or extremely tall made use of their own special traits to perform.
With peculiar accents, or signature gestures and movements.
But Luisa kept telling him to become Romeo Montague.
“On stage, you are Romeo Montague, slave.”
And yet—even after buying him for the staggering price of fifty million derk—Luisa hadn’t asked for his name in ten whole days.
She never called him by name, and when she did speak to him, it was only to say, “Hey, slave.”
Whenever he got near enough to possibly touch her, she flinched away.
‘I’m not fond of physical contact.’
That was her vague but baffling explanation.
And now she was making the bizarre demand that he become a male actor.
An actor.
What kind of new perverted nonsense is she planning?
After nine years of being bought and sold, Leo Fier eventually came to a realization:
Wow. I’ve grown into someone annoyingly attractive, haven’t I.
Around the age of fourteen, noblewomen began sneaking glances at him. Even houses that initially only used him for chores gradually tried to bring him indoors.
Each time that happened, he ran.
Not because he hated the thought of debauchery.
Selling his body to stay alive wasn’t something he could afford to be picky about.
The real problem was the risk of getting close to anyone.
If a noble saw his face up close and recognized him, or worst of all, spread rumors that reached the Emperor and his circle…
To prevent that, he ran. And while fleeing through a forest, he got lost and was sold as a slave.
Fifty million derk.
He looked into the eyes of the woman who had paid that absurd sum for him.
Her red irises sparkled, and she smiled brightly.
She’s insane.
That was Leo’s impression of Luisa.
But surviving while hiding his identity and suffering through life had taught him one clear truth:
Truly insane people were easier to use.
So he decided to become Luisa’s actor.
Running away would only lead to starving on the streets or getting captured by slave traders again.
Luisa Mecena.
He knew her name.
He had even seen her a few times as a child at imperial festivals.
The only granddaughter of Duke Mecena, loyal to the imperial family; she had once been obedient, but somewhere in her youth she snapped, gaining infamy throughout the Empire.
The Delinquent Lady of the Mecena House.
So the reason she bought him was obvious.
Take off your clothes.
From the moment she said that on the first day, he had steeled himself.
He had avoided touching any body—male or female—for years, but he always knew the day would come.
But when he opened his eyes, she wasn’t there.
Did you wash properly? Thoroughly? I can’t trust the hygiene standards here. You need to consider your fellow actor.
That was all she said the next day.
After that, Luisa never called him to her bed or forced anything indecent on him.
On the contrary—she insisted that if he ever didn’t want to go on stage, he must tell her in advance.
I don’t want you resenting me for forcing something on you. Oh, and just in case—don’t call me ‘Master.’
Ever since hearing that, he made sure to call her Master constantly.
Every time she heard it, that unreadable expression shattered and her brow twisted in disgust—he liked that.
The way her face crumpled as if she’d bitten dust, the way she flushed and snapped at his insolence—he liked that too.
If he kept provoking her like this, she would eventually explode and either hit him or force something on him—and he would enjoy that as well.
Yes. Because that was who the Delinquent Lady was.
Once she revealed her true nature, he would seduce her—use her—and grow safely under her protection.
Just a bit more time. He only needed a little more time.
Time for the Emperor to forget him completely—time to lower his guard.
Time for Leo to plunge a blade into the Emperor’s unprotected back.
But for that, he first needed Luisa to reveal her desires.
Leo snatched the script from her hand.
“The opening act is boring. Let’s jump ahead to the important part. Here—this scene.”
He pointed to the moment Romeo and Juliet share their first kiss.
Luisa smirked.
She glanced up briefly at Leo’s golden eyes, then strode forward and climbed onto the stage.
What kind of noble lady walks like that, and pins her hair with a shabby quill?
Whenever Leo saw Luisa like this, he felt bewildered.
Was this really the villainess he knew?
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
Her red eyes narrowed. Leo hesitated, then reached out toward her.
He meant to touch her cheek, or perhaps her waist—but she instantly jumped away.
Then she slipped backstage and up to the second-floor dressing room.
Poking her head out from the balcony façade, she looked down. Leo’s face twisted.
“What are you—”
“Romeo.”
Luisa didn’t look down.
She looked up.
Loose hair tumbled free from its makeshift pin, black strands spilling downward.
Leo unconsciously watched her.
For some strange reason, the moment pulled his gaze.
He had never felt this, not once, in all the tacky tavern plays he’d seen.
Unlike drunken actors shouting exaggeratedly, even her soft whisper carried completely across the stage.
“Why are you Romeo?”
A slightly irritable, sensitive girl.
Leo looked at Luisa—and at the same time, he could see the girl Juliet.
Whom did such a girl resent so deeply?
“Deny your father, refuse your name.”
And whom did she love so dearly?
Leo suddenly wanted to know.
And the moment Luisa—no, Juliet—gazed down at him with languid eyes, he froze.
“And take me in exchange for that name.”
Leo bit his lip. His fingertips burned.
This wasn’t how the original play went.
Juliet wasn’t supposed to look down at Romeo like this.
Juliet was supposed to be a naïve fourteen-year-old girl monologuing to herself, lost in love.
But this Juliet clearly knew Romeo was coming to her balcony.
On stage, you are Romeo Montague, slave.
Leo finally understood what that meant.
Luisa was Juliet now.
But not the typical Juliet from the script.
A Juliet who pretended to wait for love—while actually claiming it.
A Juliet shaped by Luisa.
With such a girl, the story of defying an arranged marriage for love doesn’t feel like the whimsical folly of a sheltered maiden.
It feels bold. Rebellious.
Leo found himself nodding unconsciously.
Now he understood why Romeo loved Juliet.
It wasn’t just romance—it was rebellion.
A rebellion against the foolish old men repeating the same stupid feud.
“…I will.”
Leo replied.
Luisa smiled.
“That was your first decent attempt.”
“……!”
Like a light flicking on in a dark room, Leo felt his immersion shatter.
And as cold reality rushed back, he panicked.
This is acting?
People actually act like this?
He had never heard of such a method of performing before.
Yes. This is method acting.
Method Acting.
In South Korea, the term became popular through comedy shows, but it originally came from actor-director Stanislavski’s system.
The idea was for the actor to behave as naturally as possible—so the audience would believe what happened on stage was real.
So how did actors perform before that?
Like orators. Like singers. Like dancers.
Shakespearean acting was the same. Macbeth had certain gestures you had to perform. Juliet also had prescribed gestures.
Audiences admired actors who executed those stylized movements beautifully—almost like dance.
That kind of expressive acting isn’t “bad”—there are plays that require it.
But the play I’m trying to create needs method.
People must confuse Juliet with Luisa. They must confuse Romeo with Leo Fier.
They must empathize with two young protagonists rebelling against the establishment—and then, inevitably, start thinking about the real people behind them.
“Maybe Luisa is just a young noble caught in the cruel politics of the duchy?”
Of course, that’s nonsense.
Luisa’s psycho personality wasn’t shaped by society—she built it herself.
But that’s the power of theatre.
Within the illusion, you can spark infinite compassion.
A girl who was forced into a political marriage at nine, lost her parents early, and grew up under a strict grandfather—just a 22-year-old kid—maybe she deserves some sympathy.
If even a seed of that thought forms, then when the audience leaves the theatre—as Arno wants—they won’t condemn me, but pity me.
And another benefit:
You.
Leo Fier, performing as Romeo right in front of me.
He will naturally engrave himself into people’s minds.
As the future emperor who will reshape politics.
“Is it still ‘too early’ for you?”
Leo blinked at me, bewildered that I wasn’t telling him to redo his lines this time.
I smirked.
“Your projection, tone, and diction were fine. Why would I say it again?”
“……”
“See? Once you immerse yourself, you improve instantly. This is my talent.”
This is my direction.
As if I hadn’t ruled the Daehakro theatre scene in Korea for nothing.
I crossed my legs arrogantly and said:
“Now—again.”
