Chapter Text
"The Merchant of Venice"? An interesting choice for a school play, yet not unusual for Akademi's Drama Club.
Enpitsu turned the flyer he picked up over in his hands. Being a man of the arts, he wondered if this was worth any of his priceless time. He had never attended a school production before, seeing as he had nver been extremely intrigued by any; perhaps he should. Of course, it would feature Kizana Sunobu, an actress everyone with half a brain held in a high regard, as Portia, so it wouldn't be a complete waste of his time. Plus, the artwork on the paper was in good taste: a simple image of a scale, with subtle, yet profound details of crosshatching and watercolor, which Enpitsu would not have thought of using, himself. He would have to get the name of the artist (though it was probably found online).
When was the performance scheduled? The ginger boy had to closely examine the backside of the flyer; it was formatted in a strange way of little blurbs here and there, so that information was difficult to pick up. The play was scheduled for 6 pm... that night? Enpitsu had to double check, but sure enough, it was exactly that night. (Odd; he was usually good at keeping up with news at the school.) Nevertheless, it appeared that he was out of the loop and "The Merchant of Venice" was seeing its final performance that evening.
Enpitsu took a moment to consider. His mother had told him that she'd take him to get more art supplies that night, but the odds of her remembering that were... slim, to say the least. His time was better spent seeing a high-quality production.
Mind made up, Enpitsu neatly folded the poster in half and tucked it in the breast pocket of his black and red school uniform. Classes had ended an hour ago, and the Art Club just a few minutes ago, so the boy decided he would leave and bide his time until the play began; maybe draw, or maybe not, since he was in dire need of a new muse.
It was 5:40 pm when Enpitsu arrived back at the school, and the sun was already setting. He had hoped to arrive ten minutes earlier, but changing his outfit had proved to be more time-consuming than originally planned. Obviously, though, he couldn’t come in uniform; he’d look like he didn’t have a life out of his school, like he had no personality. Instead, Enpitsu had chosen an off-white button-up under blazer of a deep, royal blue color, which contrasted from his blazing orange hair and eyes. His pants and shoes, on the other hand, were a simple black, not wanting to draw attention away from the focus of his clothing. As an artist, Enpitsu knew all sorts of things about the use of color (though no one ever really commented on it). In fact, no one noticed Enpitsu at all as he made his way to the gym. A shame, the orange-haired boy thought, as he was looking exceptionally stunning that night. He passed crowds of buzzing students on the field, none of which paid him any attention. Bits of their conversations were audible, mostly about "Have you seen Kizana's performance?" or "Wow, Kizana's supposed to be really good in this one!"
"Did you see Kizana's outfit?"
"Damn, I'd let Kizana step on me any day!"
"D'you think I could convince Kizana to come... spend the night with me?"
Enpitsu couldn't help but roll his eyes at that last one. The speaker, Horo Guramu, was known to be that type. Enpitsu remembered being commissioned by the scientist to draw a picture of Akane Toriyasu, the most beautiful girl in school, and his reaction was telling of how he felt about her (and solidified Horo as one of Enpitsu's "disliked students").
It was a bit irritating, though, that the common student of Akademi High would talk about how "beautiful" a person was - they didn't actually comprehend beauty. All they did was look at a girl with big breasts and say "Wow! She's so pretty!"; without taking a moment to measure her facial features or judge her overall proportions, like Enpitsu did. He should be the only person to say anything about beauty! (Which he did. A lot.)
Enpitsu's bitter train of thought was interrupted when he arrived at the front of the auditorium. There were two fold-out tables next to the door, with two people sitting at each, selling tickets to the attendees. Enpitsu recognized the sellers as four members of the Cooking Club; apparently one of them was friends with a member of the Drama Club, which led to them doing mundane jobs such as this.
"Hello there! Are you here for the play?" asked a round-featured boy with chocolate hair and lime eyes. Enpitsu knew him as Shoku Tsuburaya.
"I can't think of another reason I'd be here," Enpitsu replied in his high-class (snobbish) voice as he looked down at the other boy.
"Right," said Shoku, clearly trying to maintain his polite and cheery disposition. "Well, that'll be fifteen dollars."
"Fifteen dollars? To see a school play?"
"Yep! It's really good, though. My friend's in it, and he thinks it's one of their better performances. Trust me, it's worth your money."
The brown-haired boy smiled cutely up at Enpitsu. The latter was irritated that he'd have to pay so much, but he'd already gone out of his way to come and dress nicely, so he decided that it'd just be more effort to argue. He reluctantly gave the money away, Shoku saying something sweet about his gratitude (not that Enpitsu was listening), and entered the gym.
The large room was bustling with even more students inside, making Enpitsu feel a tiny bit claustrophobic. He grabbed a playbill by the door and attempted to maneuver his way to the chairs in the center. Several people knocked into him before he was able to find a seat.
Checking his watch, Enpitsu saw that he still had ten minutes until the play started. He sighed and rubbed his temples; the loud atmosphere was making him feel impatient, and he had chosen to sit by a few Occult Club members, who were discussing some... bleak topics which made Enpitsu mildly uncomfortable. Shaking his head, he tried to block out the sounds badgering him.
Finally, the lights dimmed, and the curtain rose. Beautiful, classical music played as two men entered the stage, each with purple hair of different shades: one violet, one plum.
"In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: it wearies me; you say it wearies you; but how I caught it, found it, or came by it, what stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn; and such a want-wit sadness makes of me, that I have much ado to know myself," the plum-haired boy declared to the room. His delivery quite good: it at least brought focus to the stage. The playbill stated that he was the merchant Antonio, played by Shozo Kurosawa.
"Your mind is tossing on the ocean; there, where your argosies with portly sail, like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, do overpeer the petty traffickers, that curtsy to them, do them reverence, as they fly by them with their woven wings," replied the violet-haired one, his performance weaker and lacking compared to Antonio's, yet still acceptable. According to the playbill, he was Salarino, played by Riku Soma.
And so the play went on, and more characters were introduced: Salarino was politely written out and Soma took the character of Bassanio, suitor to Portia; Tokuko Kitagawa was introduced as Jessica, daughter of a referenced “Shylock” character; and finally, there was Kizana Sunobu as Portia, the wealthy and intelligent heiress. Enpitsu couldn’t help but be taken aback by her stunning performance - she’d only had a few lines so far, but she was the most convincing character of the cast.
She was also rather beautiful. Her features were small and well-defined, but also remarkably regal. Thin, crimson eyes rested in her face, sharp and smart; then they were gently caressed by vibrant, amethyst hair, like it was silk. Though not as Enpitsu himself, Kizana Sunobu wouldn’t be bad as a subject to paint.
"...Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks at the door," Portia finished her monologue, and scene two ended to loud applause. Yet again, Enpitsu overheard whispered comments about Kizana's figure, which he didn't hesitate to shush. He just wanted to watch the play, not listen to some losers' perverted ideas.
The curtain opened again, and two boys entered the stage. One was Bassanio, and the other...
Enpitsu stopped.
"Three thousand ducats, well," started the new actor, long hair a wonderful shade of lilac and eyes a shocking ruby. All of his features were strongly defined yet delicate, like a subtle note on the winds of a hurricane. He had the nose of a Greek sculpture; soft, gentle lips like roses; and the slim, feminine body of a dancer. Every time he moved, a new part of him shined. He (literally) glittered. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but the mysterious actor sparkled in anything he did. Enpitsu knew what it was though: this man was simply beautiful.
The performance continued, and the actor absolutely took Enpitsu's breath away. He enraptured his entire attention for two whole acts. It was simply impossible to stop thinking about his gorgeous face.
Despite this, as Act Three progressed, the actor found a way to wrap Enpitsu even tighter around his finger.
"...Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?" he half-shouted, full of raw emotion, capturing all of the energy of the theater and making it his own. His monologue proceeded, Enpitsu holding onto every word that slipped from his mouth like his life depended on it. His voice was ornately melodious and it was just too easy to listen to everything he said.
This beautiful voice filled Enpitsu's ears like music while the performance finished, distracting him from all else. The rest of the play was unimportant if He was onstage. Even Kizana was sub-par compared to the man, both in acting and appearance.
But who was he?
Enpitsu remembered seeing him around school, but he hadn't really paid too much attention to him. It was difficult to notice his stunning appearance without stage lights illuminating all angles of his perfection. The artist knew that he was loud and obnoxious, having a habit of speaking in a melodramatic fashion. Not that that mattered; all that did was his absolute beauty.
He flipped through the pamphlet. Shylock was played by a... Tsuruzo Yamazaki? That name did ring a bell. Its elegance matched him perfectly.
Enpitsu folded up the booklet and stashed it in his pocket. He knew that he'd want it later, something to remember that night by.
"...Well, while I live I’ll fear no other thing, so sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring," finished Soma, and the final curtain closed. After a few moments, it opened again for the actors to give their bows, and Enpitsu passionately led the standing ovation. For a moment, he thought that he saw Tsuruzo look his way. Strangely, his body tensed and he felt a jolting sensation in his stomach. It immediately subsided when he realized that none of the actors had noticed him, but he still was confused at the feeling he experienced. He didn't understand what it was, nor what caused it; he'd never felt anything like that before. He-
"U-um, ex-excuse me."
Enpitsu was jolted from his trance, realizing that he was standing and looking at his hands for quite a few minutes, not saying anything. He quickly tucked his arms behind his back.
"What?" he turned to the voice, finding that it was a boy with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes: a member of the Occult Club, Shin Higaku.
"M-my friends a-and I would l-like to get through..." Shin explained in a whisper-like voice, looking at the ground.
"Oh. Fine; I was leaving anyway." Enpitsu didn't wait to quickly slip out of their way and then the gym.
He smelt the crisp, night air and felt the brisk wind on his skin; students talking all around him. Not that he was listening, his face was still warm with awe and head filled with thoughts of Mr. Tsuruzo Yamazaki.
Enpitsu felt wonderful. He felt blessed. Inspired.
He turned and left the school, still absolutely amazed.
Tonight had definitely not been a waste of his time.