"We did it, Jenkins." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveIꜰire.net
Hathaway's voice drifted into his ear, a hazy murmur, but Jenkins wasn't fully awake yet. He really needed to get more rest, he thought.
Once the curtain fell, the gaslights overhead flared to life. The opera troupe took five curtain calls before the thunderous applause finally began to subside.
Critics gathered in animated clusters, their voices rising in heated discussion, while reporters swarmed backstage to interview the cast. As Jenkins sat in his seat, massaging his temples, a few people tried to approach him, only to be politely but firmly intercepted by Mr. Nelly's bodyguards.
"Mr. Williams, I am at a loss for words to praise your talent."
The portly merchant's excitement might have been ten percent genuine. He had surely seen the script and attended the rehearsals; once the initial thrill wore off, anything he displayed now was simply an act.
Still, the fact that he could muster such enthusiasm was a compliment in itself, and Jenkins was more than willing to indulge in a few insincere pleasantries.
"Oh, not at all. My talent would never have shone so brightly without your magnificent opera troupe to bring it to life."
While the men exchanged their hollow compliments, Hathaway and Briny headed backstage to greet the performers.
Most of the people in the opera house were now concentrated backstage, and he had no desire to push his way into the throng. Instead, he found an empty seat in the front row, deciding he would either wait for the crowd to disperse or for the two ladies to come find him.
The plan proved effective. He had waited less than three minutes when he saw Hathaway emerge from behind the stage, lifting the hem of her skirt. She bypassed the steps at the side of the stage, walking directly to the edge at its center.
There was a considerable drop to the floor from there, and in her high-heeled shoes, she clearly couldn't jump down.
The red-haired girl watched him with a playful smile. Jenkins nodded, rose to his feet, tucked the cat into his coat, and then deftly vaulted onto the stage.
That way, she wouldn't have to come down.
"Where's Briny? Still backstage?"
"She's back there talking to the lead actress. She should be here soon. Congratulations, the script was a huge success."
"Congratulations to you, too. The music was also a triumph."
The next second, he regretted mentioning the word "music," because Hathaway immediately followed up with a question.
"Have you considered my proposal from last time?"
Pretending he didn't know what she was talking about would have been the most awkward response imaginable. But Jenkins was at a loss for what to say—or more precisely, how to give the perfect answer.
"What, are you hoping I'll get on my knees and beg you again?"
Hathaway pressed on, a smile still gracing her lips, making it impossible for Jenkins to guess her true intentions.
They stood on the grand stage, the heavy red curtain at their backs and the vast, empty auditorium stretching out before them. The overhead lights were still on, and for some reason, they seemed to converge on the two of them, bathing them in a brilliant spotlight.
Jenkins felt a little warm.
If Hathaway were to kneel before him again, take his hand, and repeat her plea, the scene would be truly unimaginable.
"I promise I won't get rid of the Player. My guide told me that its appearance was... unusual, and that it would be best to keep it for a while."
Chocolate finally managed to nudge open a button on Jenkins's suit, poking his entire head out. He surveyed his surroundings warily, then fixed Hathaway with the look of a cat who's just cornered a mouse—even though he had never caught a mouse in his life.
"But keeping that ability is completely useless to you. If you can't utilize it, it will only hold you back. And from what I understand, Jenkins, your knowledge of music is about as profound as my knowledge of the divine."
As she spoke, she reached for his hand. Jenkins instinctively flinched back, realizing that if he didn't do something, the lady before him would not give up.
"Actually, I do have some rudimentary knowledge of music. I... I once received a strange revelation in a dream. You know I've had revelations before. The people at the church believe it's a sign of the Sage's favor."
It was his standard excuse, a convenient way to explain abilities the original Jenkins never possessed while also justifying the attention he received from the Church of the Sage.
"Yes, musical knowledge is knowledge, after all. My apologies, I don't mean to suggest the Sage intends to trespass on the domain of the great God of Music, but I have, in fact, heard a few beautiful melodies in passing."
He pressed on with his explanation, but felt he was treading on sensitive ground. For a moment, it felt like he had talked himself into a corner.
Hathaway just watched him, her expression making it clear that unless he produced some evidence, she would consider his words nothing more than an excuse.
"Please don't resist. Let me prove it."
Seeing that no one was around, the writer stood in the center of the stage. On the right sleeve of his black suit, two winding silver bands of light slowly began to form.
The bands of light, like trickling streams, began on his right arm and swelled into torrential rivers. Within their currents churned a maelstrom of overlapping images, words, and things far more difficult to describe.
Hathaway was not the master of these bands of light, so she couldn't discern the specific information within them. But she could at least sense their terrifying power, especially one of them. The mere act of gazing upon it and trying to comprehend its contents gave her the chilling illusion that the world itself wanted to annihilate her.
She instinctively leaned back, but remembering who stood before her, she quickly composed herself, feigning an air of calm. Meanwhile, Chocolate, with only his fluffy head exposed, widened his eyes to observe the contents of the light bands. He was particularly fascinated by one of them—the knowledge and information within it were utterly captivating.
Knowledge Bestowal was inherently an ability for sharing knowledge, yet he had always treated it as a finishing move. Besides this instance, he had only ever used it for its intended purpose once before, to purify the malevolent spirit that had been tormenting Mr. Nelly. Now, it would serve to extricate him from an awkward conversation. This was also the first time Jenkins had ever shared knowledge from his previous world with a living person in this one.
He took a step forward. Seeing that Hathaway didn't flinch, he gently flicked his fingers, sending a few silver flecks of light into her forehead. To avoid harming her, Jenkins selected only a minuscule fragment of memory, processing it through the mind of this world's "Jenkins Williams" to prevent any potential damage from knowledge born of different universal laws.
The precaution was clearly effective. Hathaway's expression shifted from confusion to one of serene understanding. As she slowly closed her eyes, there was not a trace of pain on her face.