CAR 1

Whenever the carriage shook violently, Dennis Kahler’s knee joints jumped as well. He had no idea what road they were on. It was because his eyes were wrapped in cloth, blocking his vision.

If he were to act on his usual temper, he would have torn off this cheap fabric immediately, but his hands were also bound. His own state was so ridiculous that he was on the verge of sneering at himself in self-mockery.

To think the great Dennis Kahler would end up in such a state…

After crossing his legs as usual and losing his balance in a big way, he was now quietly leaning against the carriage wall, curled up. Beyond the wall, he could feel the aura of lush vegetation, thick with moisture. It seemed they were crossing through a very rugged forest.

He couldn’t tell if the road was truly rough, or if the coachman’s skills were just terrible. The young coachman who had ‘taken over’ Dennis from that damn scoundrel, Quachi, had blindfolded him, tied his hands, and thrown him into the carriage. This was because the location of the Volè School of Dance, where Dennis was to be appointed as a teacher, was top secret.

This boarding school, which unusually trained only male dancers, was so unclear in its location and scale that one might wonder if it was secretly training soldiers instead of dancers.

In an era where female dancers had been reduced to the lovers of royalty and aristocrats, it was a school unconventionally established by the late queen, who had loved literature and art, solely to satisfy her own aesthetic desires.

The entire student body was male, and most of the students were either the second sons of noble families or had deep ties to the royal court. Recently, a few commoners with letters of recommendation had also been admitted, but their enrollment status was unknown.

The only information given to Dennis was that he had heard the atmosphere within the school was competitive, as Volè’s étoile was guaranteed absolute power and a future. It was a truly closed-off school.

And to such a place, Dennis Kahler, who knew nothing of literature except for pulp novels, was being appointed not as a laborer, but as a teacher.

What kind of man was Dennis Kahler?

It was an era when newly wealthy and influential nobles, richer than the royal family, coveted their privileges and status, giving the finger to the absolute monarchy. The Kahler family was also one of these new aristocrats, and it had been a good ten years since they had moved to the capital thanks to a father who was cunning, vile, and exceptionally quick with numbers.

But the sense of victory did not last long. His audacious father had been acting as a double agent between the aristocratic faction and the royal court. The head of the Kahler family, who had betrayed trust, was beaten to death by nobles against the wall of the townhouse he had purchased in his blissful happiness.

Dennis’s greatest misfortune was that, while watching his father die through a doggy door in the wall, he had made eye contact with Marquis Quachi.

‘The little rat died and left us a legacy!’

‘…Let me go.’

‘I think highly of your father. He didn’t even bat an eye when facing me and the king. It’s a shame he died from a few kicks like this, but I’m eager to see how outstanding his seed will be.’

‘…’

‘I will make good use of you.’

Marquis Quachi immediately kidnapped the young Dennis Kahler. He taught him etiquette, resourcefulness, lies, vileness, and heartlessness. And those things, unfortunately, were a very good fit for Dennis Kahler’s aptitude.

His ‘first debut’ was at the tender age of twelve. From then until twenty-two. Dennis Kahler was known as the tongue of the aristocratic faction. He acted like the tongue in their mouths, instigating discord and taking on trivial, dirty, or sometimes important tasks. The derogatory names they called Dennis were also… countless.

But this kind of work had a short lifespan and came with a price.

According to Marquis Quachi, Dennis’s greatest strength and weakness was that he was overly beautiful and noble, making him stand out. His features were too easily imprinted on others’ minds to be planted as a spy, and his outstanding talents were too precious to be used as a one-off agent and discarded. Therefore, he was a resource that had to be deployed with great care. Dennis, aware of this fact, would often push back against Quachi and get beaten for it.

That day, he felt something was different. Quachi, who was always at ease, seemed agitated for some reason. Marquis Quachi, who had returned home close to midnight, paced around his office in front of Dennis like a dog that desperately needed to relieve itself.

‘…There are two types of dogs in this world.’

Had he read his mind? Dennis feigned indifference for no reason.

‘When you offer a foot, there are dogs that lick the top of it… and dogs that bite it.’

‘Is that so, Your Excellency?’

‘The more uneducated the dogs, the closer they are to the latter. But Dennis Kahler, you’ve been pressing your nose to the top of my foot with the intent to suck my toes. It’s that innate loyalty and servility that makes you shine.’

‘It wasn’t to that extent, Your Excellency.’

‘So, as the dog I cherish most, I will give you a momentous opportunity.’

Quachi, catching his breath, opened his mouth. His pupils, a mix of various emotions, were seething. Dennis reflexively took a step back.

‘Succeed, and I will set you free.’

‘…Excuse me?’

‘Kill Vittorio. That nephew on his mother’s side that our incompetent, senile Majesty has managed to hide from the nobles…! The nerve of it all, the students there openly know that bastard is the king’s nephew. He should have been eliminated much earlier…’

Unable to contain his anger, Quachi threw an ashtray. In that brief moment, Dennis, who had deliberated as best he could, deliberately let it hit him. Then, Quachi screamed.

He throws a fit if I take the hit, and he throws a fit if I dodge it…

‘You will be a regular teacher there starting in one month. And you’re not even thinking of being careful not to look like a third-rate thug…!’

‘A month is far too tight. And a teacher…! Please, reconsider.’

‘You don’t have the right to refuse. As it happens, the literature teacher had a misstep nearby, so a vacancy has been secured! You must rip that bastard’s throat out and bring it to me. Kahler!’

Dennis, replaying his conversation with Marquis Quachi, furrowed his brow without realizing it. Thinking about it again, it was a preposterous mission.

Dennis had only ever acted for Marquis Quachi’s benefit. This meant that every premise came down to whether he would make a profit or not. But as if to belatedly compensate for a decade of abuse, Marquis Quachi was now talking about Dennis’s freedom.

And that was also the most tempting reward.

One month. During that period, Dennis devoured all the literature in the kingdom indiscriminately. He was confident in whoring, shooting, and tattling, but teaching was a first for him in his life. But the role had been given, and Dennis—the guard dog, the actor, the tongue—had to pull it off somehow.

“Sir.”

As soon as he was called, the carriage door opened. He must have briefly fallen asleep, not even realizing they had stopped. The young coachman pulled Dennis out carelessly.

Before Dennis could protest, the man dragged him to a nearby tree. He then proceeded to wrap Dennis tightly around the tree.

“Is this also an order from the Marquis?”

“It’s the policy here.”

“Hey, don’t tie it so tight.”

“Once you can no longer hear the sound of the carriage, you may free yourself from the ropes and go to the main gate.”

“…This is getting old. I understand.”

Once the presence of people faded away, and the noise of the old hired carriage had completely disappeared, Dennis began to move. With familiar dexterity, he undid the ropes that had been wrapped tightly around his body. Untangling twisted or tied knots was the very first skill he had mastered.

Twisting his numb wrists, Dennis also tore off the cloth that had covered his vision. He reflexively scratched at the mole under his dark green eyes. His pupils, tinged with a faint anxiety and nervousness, scanned his surroundings busily.

It was all a dense forest. A cuckoo, peeking into another’s nest, cried out bizarrely. Dennis, sweeping back his wavy black hair, spat out a curse.

He wasn’t even sure if this was territory within the kingdom. Seeing as the fog was thick and the air was damp, it seemed like the outskirts. He couldn’t be certain of anything.

Picking up the luggage the coachman had left right beside him, he walked aimlessly toward the small path that led to the school gate. It was all undergrowth, trees, and fog. Only the grim, iron school gate gave Dennis any sort of welcome.

Standing at the gate, Dennis looked up at the entire view of the Volè School of Dance. He was nearly overwhelmed by the scale and prestige of the gray building, half-hidden by fog. Dennis desperately gripped the bars of the iron gate and shook it for no reason.

“…Unfortunately, faculty members cannot pass through there.”

Dennis’s brow furrowed. He squinted, glaring at the figure beyond the gate. The man was a shabby, small old man, making his glare feel pointless.

But his back was ramrod straight, making it difficult to guess his precise age. A long piece of metal hung from the old man’s waist. He pointed to a small side path next to the grand main gate. It was a very narrow gap.

“From now on, you will come and go through this gap.”

“…Then who comes and goes through this main gate?”

“Except for the start of a new semester, it is a privilege reserved only for the étoile.”

The old man, who introduced himself as the gatekeeper, bowed his head. Dennis thought he might be able to get through to him. He quickly asked. Where am I? But the old gatekeeper only sent back a somewhat dazed look.

“…The Volè School of Dance.”

Dennis had been asking where exactly this place was in relation to the capital, but the old gatekeeper had given a nonsensical answer. The old man, indifferent to whether Dennis clicked his tongue overtly or not, led him on with a placid expression.

The gatekeeper occasionally glanced back as if to check if Dennis was following him well. Swatting away the fog that blocked his view with his short arms, he grumbled under his breath.

“Of all times to arrive, it had to be the most chaotic…”

“Things just happened that way. I’m sorry to have taken away your day off.”

He walked much too fast for an old man. Dennis was walking at almost a run. After finally passing the steep incline that led from the gate to the building he had seen, Dennis caught his breath.

The gatekeeper’s eyes fell on poor Dennis Kahler’s luggage, and he opened his mouth.

“Is that all your luggage?”

“Being a man, I don’t have much to pack.”

“…Are you aware that you cannot go outside until the fall?”

“Excuse me?”

Dennis’s pupils wavered. The gatekeeper clicked his tongue lightly, as if he knew this would happen.

“The main gate is opened only three times a year.”

“Does that apply to faculty as well?”

“Is there any doubt? …If you wish to go back now, you can tell me.”

“Go back…”

“However, the next opening is in the fall.”