That night.
In Havenlight's outer district, the night deepened. Pale moonlight lay like a veil of mist over the newly opened theater on the street.
Inside the theater, there was a sea of people.
Thanks to the Fool Family's vigorous promotion, every seat below the stage was occupied, and all kinds of spectators filled the theater. Their faces brimmed with expectation, and their noisy chatter spilled out of the building, audible across half the street.
Oil lamps and candles lined the edge of the stage and filled the dome, making the nighttime stage as bright as day.
"Those useless fools were finally good for something. They managed to pull in enough people after all." Dick sat in the front row. He glanced back over the audience, nodded with some satisfaction, and said this.
Conte sat beside him. However, Conte showed no reaction to his words. At the moment, he was happily playing with the theater's flyer.
Clearly, Dick had not expected Conte to say anything. After confirming that there were no empty seats, he stopped looking around, turned back, and settled into his chair.
Perhaps because he was nervous, he suddenly picked up a chamber pot from beside his feet and held it in his arms.
At first, he had merely kept holding it because he wanted revenge—holding it at all times. Yet later, as the desire for vengeance gradually faded, he discovered that he had become infatuated with this little thing that gleamed with metallic luster. So long as he held a chamber pot and felt its icy-cold temperature, he felt especially at ease. No matter how restless his emotions were, it would slowly soothe them.
He did not dare let anyone know that every night before bed, he had to rest his hand on the chamber pot before