The Greatest Showman #972 - No Gun Smoke

The interview in the waiting room continued, but Ned's attention was wandering. He kept glancing at the movement outside the room door. So, when the faint sound of the door opening and closing caught his ear, he instinctively turned his head to investigate.

The journalist's professional instinct kicked in.

Through the half-open door, two graceful figures emerged from the dim light. Their elegant and poised demeanor stood out, even in the backstage corridor of the Almeida Theatre. The scene, though familiar, created a sense of mystery—a blurred image against the backdrop of the surrounding environment.

A petite woman with an unfamiliar face—someone Ned had never seen before—was walking alongside a strikingly handsome man. His face, though not one that belonged to the general public, seemed vaguely familiar—perhaps from an event, a passing encounter, or a distant connection.

As a journalist living in London, Ned was no stranger to the city's upper-class aristocracy.

In contemporary British society, beyond the royal family, the nobility had become more integrated into daily life. They worked, ran businesses, and attended performances in the West End, just like everyone else. They also shopped for everyday necessities in supermarkets. Only on special occasions—such as Prince William's wedding—did they dress in the opulent attire befitting their status.

For the past half-month, the Almeida Theatre's production of Les Miserables had been a hot topic among the upper class. The premiere had been attended by numerous VIPs, and rumors had circulated that only 350 tickets were sold in advance, with the remainder being distributed via invitation.

This afternoon, Ned had spotted numerous familiar and unfamiliar faces in the VIP seats, a testament to the show's popularity among the elite. Although Ned couldn't quite grasp the reason for the production's widespread appeal, given that the Queen's Theatre version of Les Miserables had been running for nearly three decades, he could sense its significance.

Were the two figures standing at the door part of this high society? Their demeanor certainly suggested so. But why were they here to see Renly? If Emma Feidding personally introduced them, they must hold some importance. Yet the contradiction lingered: people of real status usually wouldn't come backstage. If they wanted to meet the actor, the actor would visit them in their box.

It didn't make sense.

The journalist's mind was quickly flooded with questions. This was a common occupational hazard for him.

Then, Ned felt a gaze land on his shoulder. He looked up and met Renly's eyes—his quiet observation had been noticed.

Despite his vast experience, Ned felt a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat, preparing an excuse, but before he could say anything, Renly's lips curled into a friendly smile, one that lacked any hint of reproach or teasing. Renly simply nodded and walked forward, returning to his position as if nothing had happened.

Ned paused, taken aback by Renly's composed response. There didn't seem to be any hidden story behind it, which left him wondering: had he simply been overthinking everything?

When Ned glanced back at the door, the two figures had already disappeared. As he sat back down, a strange feeling of emptiness lingered within him—a sense of something elusive lost.

...

Arthur stood in place, the taste of the moment lingering on his tongue.

Though he didn't want to admit it, Arthur still preferred the usual Renly—the one who was playful, full of pranks, and couldn't be easily offended. The boy who stood on stage, radiating with energy, eyes gleaming with passion, a mischievous grin constantly tugging at his lips. Even if he, too, had been the target of Renly's pranks.

Half a year had passed since those rumors had subsided, but every time Arthur thought of the gossip surrounding Christmas the previous year, he couldn't help but shake his head, frustration bubbling to the surface.

But that version of Renly was full of life, not like the man he saw now—a figure who wore the mask of aristocracy.

Arthur had always thought that Renly was struggling, yet Renly seemed to live more fully than anyone Arthur knew. His vitality, the spark in his eyes, made Arthur feel almost ashamed.

Exhaling slowly, Arthur glanced at Elf.

Elf's face was unreadable, calm and composed, as usual. Arthur could sense a subtle shift in Elf's demeanor, though—something like irritation, but it was fleeting, quickly suppressed to regain his usual poise.

Arthur felt the pressure in his chest rise and sighed. "What happens next?"

"We already have a plan in place, haven't we?" Elf responded coolly. "Dinner as planned, then back to watch the second half of the performance."

The reason for visiting Renly during the intermission was clear to Arthur: it was a gesture, a show for others. The content of the conversation didn't matter—just the action of "visiting the class" itself was enough. It could be a warning from the Hall family to Renly, or a way to maintain their appearance of aristocratic etiquette.

Arthur, however, wasn't thrilled. Every conversation with Elf felt this way—lacking patience and devoid of empathy, as though Elf had no interest in Arthur's frustrations.

"Elf, do you understand what I mean? I'm talking about what happens after this?" Arthur's voice remained steady, though the urgency behind his words was clear. "I don't want to be involved. It's 2012—the prejudice against actors, the stubbornness of the aristocracy—can't that be over?"

Elf's response was short but firm. "Arthur, you're the least qualified to say that."

In the Hall family, Elf was a doctor, Edith a photographer, and Renly an actor. None of them depended on the family name for success. But Arthur, relying on aristocratic connections, was in a different position.

Arthur chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't speak recklessly. I'm planning to leave the family's privileges behind and make my own way. I'm not as foolish as Renly." He paused, the word "foolish" leaving a bitter taste. Yet, sometimes Arthur envied Renly's foolishness—the courage to be so naïve.

"I just don't want to be caught up in the conflict between father, mother, and Renly. I have no issue with Renly, nor with my parents. Let them clash—it's not my problem. But don't use me as a shield." Arthur took a deep breath. "I don't like my parents, and I don't like Renly. I just want them to leave me out of it."

In his mind, Arthur saw himself as a bystander, a spectator to the drama unfolding—like Edith, the happiest person of all.

Elf, unshaken, replied calmly, "You can say 'no' anytime. Even now." Without waiting for a response, Elf turned and walked ahead.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Always with the nonsense," he muttered. Still, he followed Elf, putting on a smile as he stood beside him. Tonight, after all, was a long one—dinner, the performance, and the unfolding drama.

Deep down, Arthur knew the truth: Renly had won. No grand gestures, no dramatic confrontations—just quietly, Renly had secured his place.

Soon, the title of "Little Hall's Son" would be replaced by "Renly Hall," and no matter how people felt about him, he had undeniably earned his position.

Even George and Elizabeth understood this. There were no explosions, no gunpowder—it was all over. The world of the aristocracy moved on, as it always did.

...

As Renly pushed open the door to the waiting room, he could feel the weight of the gazes on his back. The tension was subtle but palpable. Straightening his posture, he silently gave himself a quiet pep talk.

Today wasn't ideal for him. He needed to focus on the performance, but off-stage, he felt less powerful.

With George and Elizabeth absent, Renly felt a small sense of loss and disappointment—but also a hint of relief. He wasn't sure how he would face them if they were here. But their absence left a gap in his emotions, a space filled with both regret and acceptance.

The contradictions of human nature were never far from his mind.

As he noticed Ned's gaze, Renly flashed a small, friendly smile in his direction.

4o mini