With a single remark about the "pot calling the kettle black," Shinobu Kocho effectively stripped Horitake of his defenses and reduced him to his original form.
Being something of a philanderer himself, Horitake truly lacked the standing to mock the legendary "scumbag" Hikaru Genji portrayed on stage.
He fell silent for a long moment, though he couldn't quite help himself in the end. It was unclear whether he was muttering to himself or addressing Shinobu, but he whispered, "Compared to Genji, I like to think I still have at least some shred of integrity."
This touched upon the plot of the opera they were watching: The Tale of Genji.
The performance was based on the classic Japanese novel of the same name. While the core narrative and character arcs remained largely intact, the original novel spanned millions of words—it was an incredibly long and complex tapestry of courtly life. In its adaptation into an opera, much of the content had been inevitably trimmed and condensed.
It would be impossible to describe the intricacies of the plot here; the web of relationships was far too tangled for a quick summary. But in essence, it was the story of a handsome man leaving a trail of broken hearts and complicated affairs wherever he went.
That summary might be a bit reductive, but it captured the spirit of the thing well enough.
Horitake sighed. Setting aside his wife and sister-in-law for a moment, he returned his focus to the stage, watching the passionate performances of the elite actresses. He had to admit, their skill was superb. The plot was a rollercoaster of emotions, gripping and magnetic.
Even Horitake found himself being pulled back into the narrative. It truly was a visual and auditory feast.
As he watched, he began to understand why Shinobu and Kanao were so enthralled. It wasn't just the costumes or the production value; it was the sheer caliber of the acting and the brilliance of the adapted script.
It was a bit like...
It reminded Horitake of a television sensation from his previous life—Empresses in the Palace. The magnetic pull that palace-drama had on women was legendary, and the opera before him clearly possessed that same irresistible charm.
Well, whatever, he thought. At the end of the day, it's just an opera. No matter how captivating it is, the magic ends when the curtain falls.
With that thought, Horitake relaxed and allowed himself to be swept away by the performance.
He watched with growing interest, more and more impressed by the spectacle. However, as the play progressed, a subtle sense of wrongness began to itch at the back of his mind.
There was a faint dissonance in the performance. It was a miniscule flaw, something so subtle that it would have been undetectable to anyone without an extraordinary sixth sense.
Where was it coming from? Horitake couldn't tell at first.
Was it a mistake in the costumes or props? No, that didn't seem to be it.
Was it a hole in the script? That didn't seem right either.
Was it one of the many actors on stage?
There.
Horitake shook his head slightly, clearing the trance of the play from his mind. He forced himself back into a state of cold, analytical calm and began to scrutinize the performers one by one.
His hyper-perceptive "Sixth Sense" told him that this tiny seed of dissonance was important. It wasn't a mere theatrical blunder; it was something that required a serious investigation.
Without alerting Shinobu or Kanao, Horitake shifted instantaneously from a relaxed spectator to a professional hunter. While his expression remained a neutral mask, his eyes narrowed, hiding a sharp, piercing light as they swept over every figure on the stage.
After a period of intense observation, he finally located the source of the discord.
The feeling was emanating from the actor playing Emperor Kiritsubo.
As mentioned before, the Takarazuka Revue consisted entirely of women. Therefore, the actor playing the Emperor was a woman specialized in male roles—an Otokoyaku.
Having found the source, Horitake continued to observe the actor without betraying his suspicion. But where exactly did the dissonance lie within her?
Was it a lack of acting talent?
That didn't seem to be the case. While this actress might not have possessed the overwhelming charisma of the lead, her skill was well within the high average of the troupe. She was neither particularly gifted nor poor; her performance was perfectly adequate for the role.
If it wasn't the acting, was it the character itself?
Horitake wondered if his own innate bias against the Japanese imperial system was causing him to perceive a flaw where there was none. But he quickly dismissed the idea. Even if she was playing an Emperor, it shouldn't have felt this unnatural.
That left only one possibility: the actor herself!
A suspicion began to take root in Horitake's mind, though it seemed almost too absurd to be true.
Even if this troupe was a relatively recent creation, it still boasted over a hundred members. Safely hiding one's identity within such a large group should have been nearly impossible. Furthermore, with the actors and the audience combined, there were over a thousand people in the theater. No one would be foolish enough to try anything under the collective gaze of a thousand pairs of eyes.
To be certain, Horitake discreetly activated his Spirit Vision.
The moment his sight shifted, his brow furrowed.
Under the scrutiny of Spirit Vision, the actor's true form was laid bare. There was no denying it—she was a demon, complete with pale skin and savage fangs.
How the hell is this possible?!
If she really was a demon, how had she managed to blend into a troupe of over a hundred people? She shouldn't have been able to hide her nature from those she worked with daily.
Moreover, she was currently being watched by over a thousand people in the audience. To be the center of so much attention, to be bathed in the focus of so many human gazes—shouldn't a demon find that physically or mentally revolting?
Demons were creatures of the dark. Though they were fierce and cruel, they were ultimately products of the shadows, terrified of the sun and loathe to appear in large, public gatherings.
And yet, here was a demon, standing on a magnificent, brightly lit stage in a crowded theater.
Not only was she there, but she was playing the Emperor.
Not only was she playing the Emperor, but she was doing a good job of it.
Not only was she doing a good job, but she seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.
And most baffling of all, not a single person among the thousand-strong audience had noticed a single thing wrong with her.
This demon has some serious balls, Horitake thought, his mind racing.
No, wait... something is off.
Maintaining his Spirit Vision, Horitake continued to study the "Emperor."
This demon was different.
One might assume that this creature had simply donned a costume and applied heavy stage makeup to hide its demonic features. But that wasn't the case.
This demon had employed a layer of disguise so perfect, so "naturally formed," that it was enough to deceive a thousand spectators and a hundred fellow troupe members alike.
If Horitake hadn't possessed the supernatural clarity of Spirit Vision, even he would have found it nearly impossible to realize that she was a demon.
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