Chapter 2 : Curtains and Cigarettes
“More importantly, what’s next on the agenda?”
“It’s Baron Theron.”
“At last… time to deal with that nuisance.”
Roche lifted his head—accustomed to the hesitation that even a benefactor’s grandson and close friend could elicit.
Arcturus had every reason to call him a “nuisance.”
First, Baron Theron held no official ties to Arcturus. And judging by his business trajectory, it seemed unlikely he ever would.
Yet he’d been insisting—relentlessly—for a meeting for an entire month.
The man couldn’t sit still for a second.
Watching the broad-shouldered Baron shuffle his feet, gnaw his nails, and stare at the door was not pleasant.
But of course, there was cause for his unease.
This was a meeting with Arcturus Clowen—set at last after months of effort.
Their worlds didn’t overlap. Arcturus had no interest in the artistic ventures of the Theron family.
To convince someone like Arcturus…
Baron Theron had rehearsed his pitch dozens of times in his head.
And then—without warning—the tall, floor-to-ceiling door swung open and someone entered.
“Duke Clowen!”
Baron Theron sprang from his chair, standing at full attention.
Arcturus Clowen walked in with his aide, looking unusually disheveled. His hair—normally slicked back with pomade—was tousled.
“You must’ve been outside for quite a while!” the baron smiled, striving for casual ease.
Though early autumn was upon them, the chilly breeze explained his windswept hair—if he’d been out testing weapons, the wind might’ve ruffled his style.
“Well…”
Baron Theron—having waited so long to initiate—expected some reply.
Arcturus remained silent. He surveyed the baron with indifference, then casually perched on the edge of Theron’s desk—blatantly comfortable as if dealing with a subordinate.
Without a shred of pretense, he lit a cigarette and puffed through thick fingers at each joint.
Though he spoke no words, the baron felt Arcturus’s gaze urging him to begin.
“I know your focus is defense—but I understand you’re quietly planning expansion into new fields. Especially since your maternal grandfather had deep ties to the arts…”
“So…”
Arcturus cut him off. He drew in a long drag, lowered his gaze for a moment, as if deep in thought.
His posture was relaxed—yet entirely uninterested in what the baron had to say. As if the petitioner didn’t even exist.
“You mean you want me to back your arts ventures, Baron.”
Truly, Arcturus hadn’t expected otherwise.
With noble lineage on both sides and battlefield fame, even his name carried clout well beyond military affairs.
Moreover, he was the only direct heir—and a living war hero. Many sought his support.
But no one had ever demanded a meeting like this before. So perhaps this was serious.
“Yes,” the baron pressed on, “my grandfather cared deeply for the arts.”
On the verge of boredom, Arcturus feigned civility and offered his prepared refusal.
“But he is gravely ill now and has stepped back from affairs. The company—and the family—are mine to lead.”
“You are well aware, Your Grace, that I do not have an interest in the arts.”
“But I hear you once did, Sire…”
“There was a time… but not anymore.”
He didn’t grant even a glance to Baron Theron, staring only at the ember of his cigarette as he exhaled.
It was time to end this tedious conversation.
“That’s all I have to say. You may leave.”
Baron Theron still stood before him while Arcturus sank into his office chair and returned to his papers as though the baron had gone.
The baron gripped his fists, recalling his weeks of determined effort. If they parted now, no second chance would come.
“Your Grace, Duke Clowen.”
Baron Theron called out, barely containing his humiliation. Arcturus looked up from his documents, his eyes silently questioning why the baron lingered.
He leaned back, waiting for him to continue.
The baron drew something from his pocket and approached the desk.
“There will be a debut performance—Swan Ballet, under my patronage.”
He laid down a ticket.
“Just attend—once. See the show. I promise it will change your mind.”
“I do admire your persistence… but my schedule is packed—”
“Come as if on an outing with your grandfather. Even bring a companion.”
It was audacious—but his assertiveness was impressive. Arcturus stared at the ticket, then at the baron.
“Even if you don’t intend to invest now, at least after seeing it…”
“…you’ll consider a longer meeting with me.”
What should he do?
Even if he attended, Arcturus’s opinions wouldn’t change. And it was already a significant annoyance.
Businessmen often sponsored dancers as mistresses—controlling rumor mills. Though such scandal wouldn’t harm his company, it would still be bothersome.
“You’re confident.”
“I have every reason to be.”
For the first time this meeting, Baron Theron’s nervousness gave way to a confident smile.
In the softly lit red glow of the étoile’s waiting room, the principal dancer was calm.
Legs extended, eyelids closed, she entrusted her beauty to her makeup artist’s skilled hands. Ironically, this moment—just before the show—was the only time Karen could truly relax.
“Perfect again today, Karen.”
Tony, her makeup artist, murmured. Karen met her reflection with an uneasy smile.
“Tony… everything’s good, but…”
She paused, studying her face.
“Can you darken my eye shadow a bit?”
Tony’s eyes widened. He had painted her face hundreds of times—but this was the first time she’d requested to be more beautiful.
“Well—never thought I’d see this day, my lady étoile.”
“…I’m sorry.”
