FPML 56

Chapter 56

By the time the contestant introductions had passed the number ten mark, Marienne leaned toward the other judges and quietly said,

“About that number three, Barrel Evergreen…”

Even his name sounded suspiciously similar to Baileon. For more than one reason, she couldn’t shake a strange feeling.

“You checked his identification properly, right?”

“Of course. We were worried we might not meet the minimum participant count, but everything was done according to the regulations.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did…”

“He’s a remarkable candidate, isn’t he? Even dressed so plainly, his charm shines through. You can look forward to the ‘Walking in the Rain’ stage later.”

The man with glasses promised that the audience would soon erupt in cheers—or possibly screams.

Marienne gave a vague smile and nodded.

Well, knowing how those northern men are, there’s no way he’d ever enter a contest like this. He’d probably scoff at the idea of showing off in front of women.

Her gaze drifted toward contestant number three, standing at the edge of the stage. His voice was similar—that was all. Once she told herself that, he started to look like someone completely different.

By the time the introduction of the final contestant, number twenty-five, wrapped up, the stands were buzzing. Iced tea and cold lemonade were selling like crazy.

The crowd refreshed themselves with cool drinks, their excitement hotter than the afternoon sun.

The next event was the “Walking in the Rain” performance—the brainchild of the man with glasses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve met all twenty-five contestants! Now we present the next event—‘You, in the Rain’!”

The handsome men on the left and right sides of the stage began exiting in pairs, crossing paths gracefully.

As they moved slowly, a temporary roof appeared over the stage that had been bare moments ago.

The orchestra shifted its tune to something bold and dramatic. Then, someone shouted,

“Look!”

That was the cue.

“Kyaaa!”

Behind the partition screens, the silhouettes of the contestants undressing became visible. Shrieks, applause, and wild cheers exploded from every direction.

Marienne’s eyes stayed glued to the stage as she called urgently to the man with glasses.

“Wait—wasn’t this event supposed to be open to all ages?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then why—”

Her eyes widened. They’re taking off their pants too?!

“I-Is that allowed? I’m pretty sure I saw a pregnant woman in the audience earlier!”

“A perfect prenatal experience,” murmured one of the female judges under her breath.

Yes, I suppose I agree with that—but still!

Marienne’s eyes grew even wider. Whatever her opinion, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the interlude.

“There’s a fourteen-year-old girl out there! Isn’t this crossing into indecent performance territory?”

“Don’t worry, ma’am. It only looks that way. They’re actually wearing proper clothing beneath. Nothing inappropriate will happen.”

“R-Really?”

She answered automatically—and then realized what he had said. ‘Nothing inappropriate’? What exactly does he think I’m worried about?

Suddenly, an image popped into her mind: one of the contestants accidentally knocking over a stage prop, a domino effect sending the panels tumbling down—

—and twenty-five exposed backsides gleaming under the afternoon sun.

“Ughhhhh…”

“Relax, ma’am. The interlude’s over. They’re heading backstage now.”

“Ugh… already? That was fast…”

Ba-ra-ba-ba-bam!

With the final note of the orchestra, the contestants tossed their shirts over the screens. The audience’s roar rivaled a battlefield. Someone even fainted, and medics rushed to the scene.

Fortunately, the young lady regained consciousness before the smelling salts even reached her nose.

Marienne didn’t question the fainting itself—only the timing of her recovery, which was suspiciously perfect.

Because just then, the music changed and a huge curtain was drawn over half the stage.

Rrrrip, click.
Rrrrip, click.

Behind the curtain, stagehands prepared the next scene.

But to an audience member with closed eyes, those sounds could easily be mistaken for contestants stepping out again.

“White shirts and black pants—simple enough. We managed to prepare all twenty-five outfits in just two hours,” the man with glasses said proudly. “And they can change quickly, too.”

He pushed up his round glasses and smiled.

There he was—a man bold enough to organize risqué performances and rain-soaked parades in front of the Second Prince and a mixed-age audience.

Marienne couldn’t decide whether to label him a dangerous lunatic or a hidden genius.

Then the main event began.

The roof and curtain lifted at once, and through the shimmering artificial rain, contestant number twenty-five appeared.

“Ah, so they’re going in reverse order this time?”

“Yes, yes.”

It was the mustached judge who replied, not the bespectacled one—who was still intoxicated by his own production.

Marienne watched the soaked men march down the runway with a stern face. Each stepped forward, struck a pose, and returned to line.

Some, like number twenty-one, knew how to work the crowd with practiced grace. Others, like number eighteen, were clumsy from the start.

But number eighteen’s shy smile—and a very shapely backside—made up for his awkward walk.

“Oh my…”
“Oh no!”
“That must’ve hurt…”

Was it really safe to walk on a wet stage like that?

The man with glasses had insisted the soles were treated with anti-slip coating. But an accident inevitably happened.

Just before his pose point, contestant number eleven slipped and fell forward with a loud thud that echoed through the hall.

As a self-proclaimed expert on kneeling, Marienne estimated that bruise would last at least two weeks.

“Gahhh!”

The shout came from the man with glasses. Until now, he’d been watching blissfully with his hands clasped to his chest—but now his face turned pale.

Then, in a dramatic twist, number eleven—still kneeling—grabbed his wet shirt and stood up, ripping open the front.

Buttons flew off one by one, revealing a broad, muscular chest.

“Oh my, oh my, oh my…”
“Oooooooh!”

He didn’t stop there. Number eleven took off the shirt completely and wrung it out, water dripping from his chiseled back.

“Nice!”
“Go, go, go!”

The audience erupted at the sight of his impressive back muscles.

Marienne, however, was more intrigued by something else—the smoothness of his armpits.

His hair was black with a bluish sheen, yet not a single hair under his arms. If he hadn’t shaved, that athletic body would’ve been overshadowed by a wild forest.

Marienne found herself deeply moved.

I may not usually go for dark-haired men… but you, sir, are an exception.

Additional points for grooming and manners.

Meanwhile, the other judges exchanged opinions.

“Was that intentional?”
“He hit the ground hard, but his final pose didn’t look awkward at all.”
“Exactly. Accident or improvisation?”
“Either way, it was well-executed enough to fool us. We’ll have to award extra points for that.”

Turning crisis into opportunity, number eleven once again flexed and displayed his pristine armpits before returning to his spot.

Marienne took a sip from her glass. The ice had melted long ago, leaving only plain cold water.

The man with glasses couldn’t bring himself to look toward the Second Prince’s seat. Marienne, however, did. She wanted to confirm the source of the gaze she’d been feeling all along.

So what? The scariest, strongest person in the empire is my employer.

Odette was terrifying—but Marienne was her chosen assistant. With the lion’s authority backing her, she basked in a fox’s pride.

Who’s staring?

She furrowed her brow and turned. Her eyes met those of Leslie Anais, the priest.

A seductive smile curled across his lips.

Lewd heretic, Marienne thought, refusing to return the smile and snapping her gaze back to the stage.

Because of that, she didn’t notice that the Second Prince looked her way the moment she turned back.

“So that’s the girl who proposed picking handsome men instead of beautiful women?”

“An honorable twenty-two-year-old aide, Your Highness. Hardly a girl anymore. And yes—though the idea was credited to Minister Beers, the source was actually that charming young lady.”

Leslie adjusted his cufflinks.

“A reliable informant told me.”

“Beers does have a habit of protecting his subordinates.”

“Calling her merely a subordinate might be underselling her…”

Leslie trailed off, smiling faintly. The Second Prince caught his meaning instantly.

“Beers switched lovers, did he?”

“Your Highness’s sister—the lady—is, shall we say, not the most warmhearted woman. Admiring her for over ten years… Minister Beers must have quite the endurance.”