CAR 8

Dennis stared blankly at Yan.

If Vittorio Bonaparte was a sadistic psychopath, Yan was entirely inscrutable. There was no way his motive for showing such incomprehensible kindness was pure collegiality. Moreover, the reason he was even giving meaningful advice to Dennis, who was suspected of being a prime suspect, was…

Dennis suddenly recalled the events of a week ago.

It was also Yan who had pulled Dennis from the mire as he was grinding his teeth, soaked in Vittorio’s urine and bizarre behavior. Yan, who had struggled to lift the collapsed Dennis, had readily offered his own shoulder.

Dennis, taking unsteady steps down the stairs, had ended up tumbling headlong down the landing. He had even hit his head on the wall as he fell, making his consciousness flicker.

He felt pathetic for habitually showing such an unsightly side of himself to the man before him. As he strained his eyes wide to try and make out his blurry vision, a hot palm covered the area around Dennis’s eyes.

‘I’ll take you to your room. So rest assured and…’

When Dennis came to his senses, he was indeed in his own quarters. He remembered Yan throwing him into the bathroom, but the disgraceful behavior that followed did not readily come to mind.

Memory is power.

Dennis had been consistently castrating unnecessary memories of the past. Why he ended up lying in bed, neat and dry without a single drop of moisture, what Yan had warned him about in the bathroom, what kind of expression Yan had on his face as he, with his sleeves rolled up, washed his body… He just wanted to forget that entire series of events.

Once all the teachers were seated, the waiting students walked slowly into the practice room one by one. They were all wearing identical leotards so that no one would stand out on the surface.

Unlike Yan, who was hunched over and looking at them impassively, Dennis was even more upright than usual. For some reason, it felt as though their tension was being transmitted directly to Dennis.

Even though he was someone who had never once striven tirelessly for achievement…

The teacher in charge of the class gave them some cautionary notes, and before he could even turn his head, the corps de ballet swept in. The dance teachers sitting near the mirror were busy with sharp critiques, but other subject teachers like Dennis simply watched their movements quietly.

The same step at the same moment. Dennis could not really distinguish between them. They were all moderately enthusiastic, upright, and diligently executing skilled movements.

The one who spotted him first was Dennis.

Vittorio, with his upper body in plain view beyond the aesthetics of the corps de ballet, appeared abruptly, clad in light-colored tights. He had instantly barged into the edge of the corps de ballet.

Vittorio, who had not noticed Vittorio’s presence and had roughly pushed aside a student who was completely engrossed in the corps de ballet, walked to the center. Dennis held his breath without realizing it.

Guiterie, the head teacher who spotted Vittorio, had the music stopped. He was a middle-aged man with a protruding belly who reflexively covered his nose as Vittorio approached. As if finding the sight quite amusing, Yan whispered to the frozen Dennis.

Vittorio, who was taken out of practice due to an injury, assaulted Mr. Guiterie. His nose was practically broken.

Vittorio was staring at Dennis. After glancing unpleasantly at Yan, who was leaning toward Dennis, he then looked Dennis up and down and abruptly stuck out his bright red tongue. It was a sudden provocation.

Dennis tried his best not to be conscious of Vittorio. He was a class apart from the mediocre dancers. His broad shoulders and pectoral muscles were like those of a seasoned hunter. His presence was so immense that it reduced all his classmates to newborn fawns.

He did not look like a dancer in the slightest. His body was closer to that of a soldier or a butcher. However, the rough jawline that connected to his Adam’s apple and his smooth features were endlessly noble and handsome.

“Mr. Bonaparte.”

Guiterie’s eyes wavered for a moment as he looked up at Vittorio. But with the firm intention of stopping his intrusion, even if it meant losing his nose again, Guiterie shook his head.

“You… you haven’t come to participate in the class, have you? I advised you to sit out of practice this semester…”

“But I have.”

“What?”

It took only a moment for Vittorio to grab Guiterie’s chin. The teachers, who were well aware of Vittorio’s splendid record of assault, hesitated and rose from their seats. The classmates, not wanting to get unnecessarily caught up in Vittorio’s fistfight, moved away from him.

However, Vittorio, the party at the center of the commotion, was simply staring blankly at Guiterie’s face.

“My, the bruise hasn’t fully faded.”

“…”

“If I hit you one more time, your jaw might just collapse.”

Vittorio, who let go of Guiterie’s chin as if brushing his hands off, stood calmly in the very center of the practice room. Guiterie, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, shook his head. Guiterie, who had gone to the gramophone himself, fiddled with it as if in resignation. The classmates, too, seemed accustomed to Vittorio’s ‘sudden antics.’ Everyone cleared the center for him.

The practice room instantly became a stage.

Vittorio, as if sneering at Guiterie’s grim face was something from a past life, quickly immersed himself in the melody of an unaccompanied cello. Without any warning, Vittorio leaped powerfully into the air.

The body that landed lightly on the ground was surreal. The knees and thighs, bending and straightening, were sensual.

He was courting a non-existent partner. Yan whispered in his ear, reminding him that it was a solo variation from a pas de deux. Vittorio, having become the perfect Conrad who adores Medora, twisted his large body to its fullest. Not just rushing to jump, but leisurely running across the practice room, Vittorio possessed his own unique, sharp technique.

The rough sinews of Vittorio’s shoulders twitched gracefully. He moved his body freely, as if gravity did not exist. Even with successive turns, Vittorio’s central axis remained firm and unwavering. Yan clicked his tongue as he looked at his ankles.

“What a pirate-like bastard.”

“…”

“I was secretly rooting for Laurent… but I guess the étoile will be that guy again this time.”

“…Are there no dancers in this school more skilled than Vittorio?”

“Mr. Kahler.”

Look at that. Even without Yan’s specific instruction, Dennis had already lost all his attention to Vittorio’s chest and movements.

Lifting his angular leg high before slowly bending it down, Vittorio was finally emerging from the dance piece. As if to say such a solo was nothing, he straightened his posture without much sign of exertion. In fact, it was Dennis who was catching his breath.

The moment Vittorio, who had leaped high from the ground, slammed down on the floor like a furious stallion and stared at Dennis, the cello also varied rapidly. It was a gaze where primal excitement lurked. He had been staring only at Dennis throughout his turns.

An obvious threat, a sharp-edged sensuality. And madness.

Even Dennis, who was ignorant of dance, could tell at once. Vittorio Bonaparte was already equipped with a complete talent.

But he would never be a great ballet dancer.

Because no one would welcome a dancer who threatened them with the ferocity to chew up even the audience’s guts…

As soon as Vittorio’s solo ended, everyone stood up and sent their praises. The classmates, who had backed away in surprise, also seemed to admire him.

Starting with Vittorio, the students took turns presenting their solos. However, some teachers were not even grading at all. The students who realized this fact stared blankly into the air with faces drenched in disappointment and murmured amongst themselves.

Next was the turn of the student called ‘Laurent.’ He was as tall as Vittorio, but had a very thin build. Yan smiled innocently, saying his nickname was ‘Volée’s Giraffe.’ He seemed to quite like Laurent.

Vittorio, too, was watching Laurent, leaning against the wall at an angle. Laurent, in a straight posture with his heels together, opened his mouth.

“Before I begin…”

“…”

“I would like to dedicate this dance to my dear Eric and Viollet.”

Dennis’s head instantly became unnatural. That boy seemed to be a close friend of the two students who had become deceased. Indeed, Laurent’s face looked grief-stricken. His face, covered in faint freckles, was gaunt.

“The culprit is probably among us. If my dance can pressure him… I could ask for nothing more.”

“Stop talking and start, Laurent.”

Guiterie clapped his hands as if to rush him. As if that clap were a signal, Laurent threw back his chest. His eyes, staring at the ceiling, were severely bloodshot. Yan clicked his tongue at his diligent and impatient dance moves.

Laurent had refreshed the room so much that the teachers who had tossed aside their grading sheets were now looking at them intently again. Laurent was like a deer.

However, Laurent’s body grew heavier toward the latter half. Yan even shook his leg, as if watching a team game that was not going well. Dennis realized anew what an amazing dancer Vittorio was.

With Laurent, who was the last in turn, the observation class came to a close to some extent. Following the direction of the head teacher, Guiterie, the upperclassmen of Volée gathered in the center.

“I did not know that just because the school is in disarray, your movements would also become disorderly and clumsy.”

Some students bowed their heads.

“And Laurent… you, of all people, the class president, I don’t know how you’ve become so much cruder than you were at the end-of-year performance. The dance Laurent showed today is no different from a dead dance. I, too, am very grieved by what happened to Eric and Viollet… but if you’re going to dedicate it to them, you’ll have to perform your movements more diligently.”

“…I will keep that in mind.”

“And Vittorio.”

Everyone looked at him. Vittorio, unconcerned by the gazes that shifted to him all at once, had a composed face. He just nodded his head arrogantly instead of answering.

“This year’s étoile is… you.”

As if he had been waiting only for those words, Vittorio left the praises and applause behind and stormed out of the practice room. Even after Vittorio had completely disappeared, the classmates did not stop their perfunctory clapping.

It was a truly strange sight.

But Dennis, who was standing face to face with them, could feel it. They revered Vittorio. He felt as if his breath would catch in his throat from the faint sense of fear that lay underneath. It was their tragedy and their sin to have been born in the same era as such a capable and beautiful dancer.

“The spring regular performance will be configured differently.”

Guiterie suddenly turned to look at Dennis. A sense of unease crept over him. Dennis unconsciously took a step back. But his final stop was Yan’s broad chest. He pushed Dennis’s shoulders forward completely.

“With Mr. Kahler’s help, you will arrange poetry into a dance piece.”

Yan let out a small whistle. Dennis, holding his forehead, glared at him. Dennis was not the only one who had been faced with an unexpected task. The upperclassmen, too, sent anxious glances, each as if trying to devise a solution.