RS 01

Chapter 1

Chapter 1. An Old Friend

Dolores rested her chin on the back of her hand, which was covered by a beige half-glove, and gazed at the stage with a wistful look.

The orchestra, adorning the restrained darkness, opened the door to a sweet autumn.

Onstage, the ballerina was giving the performance of her life. Amid the symphony that gathered and dispersed according to the conductor’s gestures—now high, now low, now fast, now slow—the tips of pointe shoes blended into the music.

En pointe, en pointe, en pointe.

The delicate romantic tutu fluttering with every graceful step seemed to carry love in every fold, while the ballerina’s outstretched hands, radiant smile, and spinning body were a wordless confession.

The ballerina spun, and spun again, until she came to a stop beneath the spotlight.

Finally, accompanied by a low cello note like the sigh of a giant, the curtain descended, and the lively story fell asleep once more.

Only after the lights went out would her story begin.

Before the dancers had even finished their bows, Dolores headed backstage toward the dressing rooms.

Her cane was practically worse than useless in a crowded place. Between the tapping footsteps, voices overlapped out of rhythm.

“Miss Dolores. It’s been a long time.”

The staff members of La Potske Theater occasionally recognized her and greeted her.

Even though the Dolores who had once performed on this theater’s stage and the Dolores who now walked with a cane must have looked like completely different people.

“Yes, hello.”

Dolores accepted their greetings without showing much excitement, though she wasn’t rude either, and quickly made her way toward the dressing rooms.

Light-footed dancers and theater staff were already gathering one after another.

[Principal’s Dressing Room]

When she opened the door with the sign on it and stepped inside, the faint migraine eased somewhat. Dolores unconsciously let out a sigh.

Inside the dressing room, Claudia, the leading lady of the final performance, was loosening the ribbons of her pointe shoes.

She looked even more slender as she sat on a long-legged stool.

“We have to consider the audience traveling all the way back home. Here, too. Not every audience member is as light on their feet as a ballerina.”

Claudia stopped midway through taking off her shoes and raised her head. Her eyes widened as though she’d seen a ghost, only for her face to brighten in an instant.

“My goodness.”

Still holding the untied ribbons, she practically ran on tiptoe toward Dolores and threw her arms around her.

“Dolores! You came without even replying? Were you trying to surprise me?”

“While I was away, Ana’s invitation got discovered and confiscated by my father. She only told me this morning.”

“That girl has a problem with her sticky fingers.”

“She’s my little sister, so watch what you say.”

“Anyway. Your father, too—what should I say? I’m glad to see he’s still in such good health.”

There was a subtle sarcasm in her final words, but Dolores pretended not to notice.

For now, simply enjoying the happiness of their reunion was more than enough.

“Lady Pordale’s role today was incredible. The stage and the production were both wonderful. Who else could have pulled it off if not you?”

“You make it sound like something remarkable when it’s only stating the obvious. Come here, come here.”

Claudia guided Dolores farther into the dressing room. There was a sofa reserved for the troupe members.

Claudia watched as Dolores carefully placed her cane against the side of the sofa before asking,

“You looked fine last time.”

“Yeah.”

Dolores sat down with an unconcerned expression.

“Maybe it’s because of the change of seasons. More importantly, are you really retiring?”

Claudia nodded with an indescribably complicated expression.

“You’ve really made up your mind.”

“The narrow-minded people of Hennessy don’t seem to like ballet very much.”

Dolores let out a shallow breath and smiled.

“I wonder who they are… Do you like him enough to go that far?”

“He’s the love of my life I’ve been telling you about all along. Of course, it would’ve been even better if I could keep dancing… But, well, I’ll give it a try.”

Claudia spoke with a hint of regret in her voice. Then she drew in a breath and continued immediately.

“I wish you’d met him. It’s a shame we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately.”

Claudia, one of Dolores’s fellow ballet school graduates, was the same age as her. She had turned twenty-two this year and was getting married in two months.

Her fiancé was a lawyer from Hennessy whom she had happened to meet while traveling. After relentlessly pursuing him, she had finally won his love.

They said that whoever fell first was the one at a disadvantage. Having fallen for him first, she had decided to move to his hometown of Hennessy.

“…So today was your retirement performance. It was really wonderful.”

“You can cry.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’ll be sad not to see you flying around the stage like a bird anymore, but I’m sure the younger dancers will give me new reasons to be happy.”

Dolores merely lifted the corners of her lips into a smile and changed the subject.

“By the way, didn’t your fiancé come on such an important day?”

“Unfortunately, the weather in Pomeroy was bad, so they said the ship was unable to leave.”

“Your fiancé is going to have to curse the weather for the rest of his life. To think he missed this performance.”

“You brat.”

Claudia pouted while pointing to the corners of her reddened eyes, then suddenly seemed to remember something.

“Oh, right, right. What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“There might be a party at Toma’s villa. Do you want to come?”

Dolores thought for a moment before asking,

“Toma? Pierre?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s opening up the villa in Azaria.”

Lange, where they lived, wasn’t an enormous metropolis, so once you had lived there for a while, everyone became a friend of a friend.

Pierre was the son of Baron Toma’s family and one of the mutual friends Claudia and Dolores shared.

When Dolores hesitated to answer, Claudia quickly added,

“Pierre asks about you, too, but it’s also my farewell party.”

“…If it’s your farewell party, of course I want to go, but…”

“Toma can at least claim to have some decent roots, so wouldn’t your father allow it?”

The class consciousness and old-fashioned thinking Dolores’s father clung to were well known among people their age.

Dolores let out a small laugh without realizing it.

“If it were a matter that could be solved that easily, our friendship would’ve been much more beautiful.”

“What era does he think we’re living in, dividing people into groups so inflexibly? Why don’t you ask your uncle instead? Sir Rudolph is more tolerant than your father, isn’t he? Hasn’t your uncle been coming around lately?”

“I don’t know. He should be due for a visit, but…”

Just as Dolores decided to brush the matter aside and was about to bring up another topic, solid knuckles knocked on the wooden door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“I heard this was Miss Claudia Lefort’s retirement performance. Am I too late?”

Standing at the door was a brown-haired man holding a bouquet of roses.

He was tall and slender, large enough to make the doorway look small.

Another flush of delight spread across Claudia’s face.

“Xavier?”

Xavier Bransen was the second son of the Bransen family, a household whose name was known by everyone in Lange.

They ran a massive textile company called Durand de Morton and were practically local dignitaries who had also made their mark in the arts.

…He was someone Dolores hadn’t seen in a very long time.

And it had been a long time for her, too.

“Did you get even taller?”

At Claudia’s innocent question, Xavier made a gesture with his palm over his head.

“I plan to grow about this much more.”

Even setting aside his family’s wealth, he was an impressive friend.

His dandily swept-back brown hair accentuated his prominent brow bones and sculpted nose, while his long, deep-set eyes, framed by thin double eyelids, were green.

He wore a black single-breasted coat that fell to his knees, its surface gleaming whenever it caught the dressing-room lights.

Just as the local saying went, “Women from Pruitt, men from Lange,” even among the handsome men of Lange, Xavier possessed an exceptionally striking presence.

But Dolores, seeing him again after so long, did not feel happy.

He was someone she didn’t want to meet.

A shattered admiration.

A friendship scattered to pieces.

A first love she wanted to forget.

All of those things had become words that pointed to Xavier Bransen.

What did our beginning

look like?