The Magical Holy Woman Seraphina - Chapter 22

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Magical Saint Seraphina
Chapter 22
“Wow.”
Insane talent.
I’m becoming a Rozena fan starting today.
I love you, sis.
‘To be honest, when she first appeared, I was captivated by her beauty.’
The moment she opened her mouth, her looks became invisible.
‘At that level, she could perform wrapped in a fur coat and suffer no damage whatsoever.’
How masterfully she captured a character haunted by terror, awakening with phantoms in the night!
It was far too entertaining.
But.
‘That’s that, and work is work.’
I had to move quickly now, while the audience sat paralyzed in the afterglow of the performance.
“This way?”
Slipping past the audience members who hung slack-jawed for a moment before erupting into frenzied cheers, past the Imperial Knights who tensed in unison and fixed their gaze on the stage, I made my way toward the dressing room.
At the dressing room marked with Rozena’s name, I pressed my ear to the door and listened for a moment. Confirming no one was inside, I entered.
‘Today was the premiere, and by any measure, the performance was a roaring success.’
Even I, someone entirely ignorant in such matters, could see that Rozena was extraordinary. It was hard to believe she was the same person being harassed by a journalist.
Which meant that journalist—the one blackmailing Rozena—
would certainly make his move now, when her value had peaked in the wake of the performance.
‘When you’re unwilling to release what you hold in your grip.’
I thought to myself and hid behind a costume rack laden with garments beside the vanity.
With dozens of elaborate dresses hanging there and several hats balanced on top, I became indistinguishable from the heap of fabric itself. Just in case, I pulled the uniform Arden had given me over my head.
The moment I settled into position—Bang!
“What exactly do you want from me!”
A woman’s voice rang sharply through the space.
Soon Rozena entered the dressing room, her forehead slick with sweat.
Several strands of her lustrous crimson-gold hair fell disheveled across her brow. The hand brushing it away was rough, agitated.
“I’m not asking anything of you in particular, Miss Rozena.”
Following her with a simpering smile was—
A man of small stature.
Dressed plainly in a shirt without a cravat, wearing the comfortable shoes dock workers favored, with a worn bag slung over his shoulder and a notebook wedged at his hip.
A frame so slight I could knock him flying with a finger, yet his eyes gleamed with an unsettling brightness.
Not the brightness of anything positive.
‘Is this the journalist.’
The man closed the door behind him and adjusted his bag, which seemed disproportionately heavy for his frame.
Pure delight radiated from him, and he made no effort to conceal it.
“What could there be to do? I merely wanted to inform you in advance.”
“Why are you doing this to me of all people!”
Meanwhile, Rozena looked nothing like the woman who had dominated the stage moments before. She was coming apart.
Her hands gripped her head, then wrapped around her arms, then clasped across her body in self-protection. She couldn’t keep her hands still as she asked.
“What did I do wrong to you? Did one of your favorite actors lose their job because of me? Or is it money? Do you need money? Is that why you’re doing this? If you want something, you told me to say so. You said you’d give me anything! Just stop blackmailing me like this and tell me. Right now!”
‘This feels… uncomfortable.’
Should I be seeing this.
Whatever the reason I need to know, watching someone cry out in anguish like this—witnessing her raw despair when I’m nothing to her.
‘It doesn’t sit right.’
“Oh dear, Miss Rozena. You’re laboring under a misunderstanding.”
Compared to Rozena’s distress, the journalist’s reply came almost gently.
He continued.
“I harbor no personal grudge against you, Miss Rozena. On the contrary, I’m something of a fan, personally. What I’m doing is simply in service of the Right to Know of the Empire’s citizens.”
“Right? A right, you say?”
“Yes. A right.”
The journalist paused for effect.
“The citizens of the Empire are curious about who Miss Rozena truly is—their most beloved actress. It’s my duty to satisfy their curiosity. That’s why I’m doing this.”
“That’s… the right of Empire citizens? To pry into every detail of my past?”
“Precisely.”
“Huh.”
From Rozena, who had been crying out in fury, came a hollow laugh. Covering her eyes with her hand, she asked.
“Then… do I have no rights? No right to protect the secrets I wish to keep hidden?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a right.”
“…….”
“I’ve come to see you today to inform you that the article about you has been completed and will be running on the front page of the Empire Gazette this coming Wednesday.”
“Wednesday, then.”
“Yes. Five days remain.”
“…….”
“For what it’s worth, attempting to bribe our newspaper’s publisher like you did a few days ago won’t work. I have the photographs. And if you send people to ransack my house, that’s equally pointless. I’m prepared for that sort of thing.”
“…….”
“Though there is one thing.”
The journalist continued with a smirk.
“I know a gentleman rather well, and he happens to be quite the fan of yours. If you’d consent to meeting him privately, well—perhaps I might have a change of heart.”
“…I can’t do that. It would be an insult to the profession I love.”
“Then I suppose there’s nothing for it.”
“…….”
“You’d do well to prepare yourself, Rozena. Whatever you attempt, it will all be for nothing.”
The journalist grinned as he spoke. Give up now.
Rozena said nothing.
She turned away, gripping the edge of the dressing table with both hands, her gaze fixed downward. Her delicate fingers trembled visibly as they clenched the table’s edge.
The journalist watched her reflected form in the mirror with obvious satisfaction, adjusted his bag across his shoulder, and took his leave.
“Well then.”
Without hesitation, he turned and left the dressing room.
It was at that moment that Rozena’s trembling hand seized the hand mirror resting on the dressing table.
Her nails white with pressure, Rozena’s head snapped toward the journalist’s profile.
That careless face, notebook held open with a faint smile playing at his lips.
Rozena pivoted sharply, hand mirror gripped tight.
I threw caution to the wind and lunged after her.
“!”
I draped the cloak hanging on the rack over Rozena’s head. As her vision darkened and she stumbled, the journalist—noticing nothing—closed the door and stepped out.
Click.
“Rozena, compose yourself.”
Once I confirmed the door had shut, I spoke.
“I understand how you feel, but striking someone with a hand mirror won’t kill them. Besides.”
After settling the struggling Rozena onto the sofa, I carefully pried the hand mirror from her grip.
“If you’re going to hurt anyone, why not hurt the journalist instead of yourself?”
I had seen it.
In that final moment, the mirror’s trajectory had been aimed at herself.
‘Even pushed this far, she won’t entertain thoughts of murder or burning down the newspaper building. This journalist chose his target well.’
He’d picked the right person to exploit.
“Who are you?!”
Rozena shrieked, still wrapped in the cloak.
Hmm.
As for who I am—
“Your fan?”
Though in any case, that’s not really the important part.
“What on earth is going on?”
She must have been driven to her absolute limit.
I asked Rozena, who was sitting quietly despite the fact that a stranger—one who claimed to be her fan, no less—had been hiding in her dressing room and thrown a cloak over her head.
“Tell me what this is about.”
“…I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to!”
Rozena shrieked, her voice breaking. I don’t want to! I can’t!
But.
“In five days, it will all be made public anyway?”
I brandished the hand mirror I’d taken from her, then, remembering that she couldn’t see through the cloak, carefully set it down beside her on the sofa.
“…….”
“…….”
This is rather ridiculous. One of us in a cloak, the other wrapped in a uniform jacket.
It reminds me of when we were children, huddled under blankets sharing secrets with friends.
Watching Rozena’s heaving shoulders, I spoke in a soothing tone.
“It’s not as if things will get worse just because one person finds out early. Tell me—what’s going on?”
“……”
“Sometimes it helps to talk things through. It might make you feel a little better……”
“You think I’ll feel better confiding in a stalker hiding in my dressing room?”
“I apologize for that.”
“…Never mind.”
It would all be over by next week anyway. Rozena drew in a breath, her tone tinged with self-deprecation.
After a moment’s silence, she spoke again, the words tumbling out abruptly.
“That journalist is someone called Skitter from the Empire Gazette.”
“Oh, that one?”
“Yes. That Skitter.”
I knew of him.
Skitter from the Empire Gazette’s Culture Section.
He’d stop at nothing for a story—he’d already exposed infidelity, gambling, even murder among dozens of famous actresses.
‘If even I know his name, he’s truly infamous. I’ve heard that actresses’ circles and high-society salons often invite him just to get him to spill gossip about the theater world.’
“Since you already know, word travels fast. Dozens of actresses have fallen to that journalist’s pen. And now it’s my turn. What he’s planning to expose is……”
“Expose?”
Yes, Rozena.
A sin comparable to infidelity, gambling, murder—what exactly is yours?
“The fact that I was fat as a child.”
“……”
And?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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