"Cough! Cough! Kheuk! Damn..."
Once the coughing had calmed down a bit, I opened the door. There stood a tall man with thick, dark brown dreadlocks.
Daniel Hartmann.
One of the only two boarders at Mrs. Schmidt's place.
He called himself a newspaper reporter, but not officially—just someone who occasionally took commissions and wrote articles. Anyway, according to Lucas's memories, he was a 'good guy!'
A friend, maybe? He seemed to listen well to Lucas's stories and hang out with him.
Which meant this guy was a nice but utterly hopeless moron too.
"You'll end up dying like that, Lucas. You should quit smoking."
"S-smoke?"
"Yeah, your lungs are shot. Be careful."
That was when I finally realized why I'd been feeling so down all this time.
More than getting dumped in an unfamiliar world, it was going cold turkey on nicotine that pissed me off!
'No wonder my hands were shaking. It wasn't the coughing?! You idiot, you should've cut back on the booze and smokes.'
I grumbled inwardly at Lucas's soul, wherever it was.
I'd once drowned in booze and smokes myself from endless company dinners and stress, but this guy? Full-blown alcoholic and chain-smoker.
The moment I realized that, nicotine hit me like a truck. My head was ringing already.
"So, what's up?"
"Oh, Mrs. Schmidt says come down for dinner."
A cozy dinner.
The potato salad, egg fritters, and pork cutlets were delicious.
To mimic Lucas's habit of endlessly bragging and praising the Leader, I swallowed my disgust and trashed the guy from the professor squad I'd seen today.
Mrs. Schmidt neither got mad nor agreed, but Daniel nodded along like I was always right.
"People need professional pride. A gardener at the Leader's residence must make a killing, but he should take responsibility."
Daniel acted like choking a guy to death over one mistake was totally justified, nodding and piling on.
But...
'This guy's kinda off.'
I'd dealt with countless clients and seen all kinds of bullshit.
With all that experience, there was no way I missed the emptiness in Daniel's smiling eyes.
'Why's he buttering me up so soullessly?'
Dumbass Lucas must've seen him as the perfect drinking buddy, but I smelled suspicion right away.
Couldn't just call him out like, 'What's your angle?' So I just grinned.
"Damn, my head hurts. Dealing with people is the same everywhere."
After dinner, back in my room, I couldn't hold out and lit up a smoke.
So sweet I nearly cried.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Oh, you're up already, Lucas? For breakfast?"
"No, just heading out for a bit. I'll eat breakfast as usual."
I'd woken up earlier than normal and threw on some simple workout clothes to stretch.
I'd quit smoking gradually, but to boost not just my lung capacity but my overall stamina, I'd decided to start jogging today.
Schupaven's summer mornings were refreshingly crisp. No smog, and with magic replacing coal and oil, it made sense.
But while jogging from the boarding house toward the square, I hadn't even gone a minute before I doubled over coughing, clutching my stomach.
"Cough! Cough! Kraek! How shitty is this guy's stamina?!"
No wonder he never made it to the army.
Even Korea's military, which drafted anyone short of a total invalid, would've slapped him with a 4-F.
No greed— I'd compromise and start with walks instead of jogs.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Long live the great Leader!"
Today's task: casting.
I skimmed the list I'd found in my room last night.
Lucas had compiled a list of acting agencies operating in Lüdelheim, the capital of Schupaven—aka this city.
I skipped the ones already crossed out with X's and, relying on memory, picked ones with decent prices and reputations.
A huge, heavy phone sat in the office hallway.
Old-school by Earth standards. Hell, dialing connected me to an operator.
Anyway, I explained the lead roles to the polite agency rep, asked for a few suitable candidates, male and female.
Not the proper way, but they'd know.
'If the government's leaning on you, you bend.'
And then another hellish lunch with Emil Hoffmann.
Worried about decay in the summer heat, the professor squad had swapped out the corpses.
Kids passing by poked and shook them, giggling.
I just wanted to eat alone in my office, forcing a grin.
"I'll hold auditions for the leads this afternoon."
"Hmm, alright. I'll join as a judge. Speaking of, that script of yours—saw it last time, brilliant! You could go pro as a playwright! Looking forward to opening night."
I plastered on a deeply moved expression.
"Hearing that from you means I have to work even harder not to disappoint, Assistant Clerk!"
"Hahaha! That's the spirit!"
Hoffmann laughed like a fool.
Soon after lunch ended, five or six actors arrived. All handsome and beautiful.
Hoffmann pulled strings for an empty office as the audition space.
I handed out scripts from the printery and stood beside the stern-seated Hoffmann.
"Alright, let's begin. Male actors, page 35: 'Leader Krüger, betrayed in his long-held dream by revolutionary comrades.' Females, page 10: 'The mother who sees Leader Krüger's greatness and offers prayers to God.' Read over, and whoever's ready, step up."
I knew zilch about theater, but leaning on Lucas's memories, I muddled through the auditions.
Hoffmann had final say anyway—stress-free.
'No responsibility dumped on me? Sweet.'
The men were stellar; even I, half-paying attention, ended up impressed.
Probably sent their best for the 'Leader Krüger' pressure.
Lucas had obsessively detailed Krüger's looks, and they matched perfectly.
'Leader Krüger has jewel-like sparkling intelligent blue eyes, glorious golden hair revered as beauty's ideal since antiquity. His skin flawless and smooth, his height towering over others...'
Reading that over the phone to the agency? Cringe city.
No wonder all the actors were blond with blue eyes.
'Jackpot. Audience won't even see eye color from the seats.'
"Bravo! Bravo!"
Hoffmann shot up clapping; I startled and joined in.
"Perfect performance. Clerk Redan, go with him!"
"Ah, I agree—elegant, captures the Leader's dignity. As you wish, Assistant Clerk."
Male lead set. Now females. But Hoffmann whispered:
"That girl in the middle—Hanna Art, was it? Save her for last."
"Yes? As you say."
The women for Krüger's spiritual pillar, the mother role, were solid too.
Smooth demos from two. Then last: Hanna Art, the one Hoffmann delayed.
Great figure, pretty face. Nothing special to me, but her acting? Jaw-dropper.
Agency called her a promising newbie—not hype.
Flawless lines, natural gestures amplifying emotion. Even this atheist felt her godly awe.
'Done deal.'
I figured Hoffmann would pick her. Waited for 'Brava!'
Instead, icy silence after she finished.
Others waited outside; room felt empty.
"Hmm..."
Hoffmann rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Assistant Clerk, didn't like the acting? She seemed best to me."
His eyes turned cold—unlike usual.
"Did you know her father's an elf half-breed?"
My heart nearly stopped.
Magic was real here. Dragons flew, knights slashed with sword auras. Even different-species races? Shocker.
'Elves.'
Long ears, long-lived, magic pros guarding world trees in forests—similar, but not.
Higher beauty rate than humans, shorter lifespans, pointy ears but not movie-huge. Magic affinity assumed, not universal.
And desert-dwellers, not forests.
Precisely: ancient great forests destroyed by climate and farming, nomads ever since.
Millennia ago, lost homeland; scattered worldwide, mostly human lands. Few in deserts now.
But different faith, clan-based wandering merchants? Despised. Many slummed it from discrimination.
...That's the objective rundown.
Krüger's Schupaven Republic pushed pure-bloodism hardest, worst race hate. Lucas soaked in elf-loathing.
'Cockroaches.'
'Worse than parasites.'
'Exterminate them all!'
Lucas's inner rant gave me a headache.
I glanced at pale, trembling Hanna Art, feigned shock, and yelled:
"What?! I had no idea! That filthy mongrel!"
Art bowed her head, holding back tears.
"Hmm, right? Well then..."
Hoffmann nodded, jerked his chin at her.
"Miss Art, you're done. Out."
Door opened; actors murmuring outside.
"So sorry. I'll call the agency and complain right away. Forgive me."
Hoffmann, face hardened watching her go, suddenly softened into his affable grin.
"No worries. Happens. I know 'cause of my connections, but how'd you guess? Just be careful next time. I can overlook, but others? Anyway, second actress. Liked her projection."
"Yes! Got it!"
I bowed exaggeratedly.
'Fuck, aged ten years...'
I ground my teeth unseen.
Walking on thin ice.
Hoffmann's Jekyll-to-Hyde switch? Chilling.
Hanna Art probably couldn't continue in showbiz. No law banned 3rd-gen elves, but exposure meant backlash.
Felt bad. For her, and me.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Days passed after that.
I oversaw rehearsals, checked the stage, tuned music—final prep frenzy.
Crappy stamina + running around = collapsing after work.
Two days to premiere, Friday night.
Checked everything last, headed home, flopped on bed. Then racket from downstairs.
Bang bang bang!
"Mr. Lucas Redan, come out. We know everything."
I'd nearly dozed off; forced my eyes open. Worried Mrs. Schmidt shook me.
"Lucas, Ossel's here for you."
My blood ran cold.