RYL Chapter 67

Posted by Freya, Released on October 26, 2025

Chapter 67

“Nuna!” (Big sister!)

The woman who had been dancing most gracefully among the gypsies turned her head at the sound of the child’s voice.

“Laon?”

So, that was the boy’s name.

The woman looked wary as she slowly approached us.

“And… who are these people with you?”

Smiling, I answered her question.

“I think this little one got lost, that’s all.”

The woman didn’t seem convinced that her little brother had just “gotten lost,” but that didn’t matter.

That wasn’t the important part anyway.

“Actually, we met him by chance, and I realized he’s quite talented.”

“Laon?”

The woman’s expression turned more doubtful.

I probably sounded like some academy director trying to recruit a new student — but it wasn’t a lie.

Laon straightened his shoulders proudly, clearly recognizing he was being praised.

“These noonas said they want to work with me!” he announced loudly.

The woman’s expression immediately turned more suspicious, and she pulled Laon behind her protectively.

I gave an awkward smile.

“We’re not suspicious people, I promise.”

I took out a Clina Salon business card from my pocket and handed it to her.

“I work here.”

“Clina Salon…?”

She seemed to recognize the name. That place was well-known, after all.

Finally, her wariness softened a little, and she introduced herself.

“My name is Nadia. This boy is my only younger brother.”

‘Wait a second—didn’t that kid say earlier he had three younger siblings starving at home?’

When I looked at him in disbelief, Laon avoided my eyes and whistled innocently.

‘So that was a lie too, huh.’

“Laon! Where were you?”

A few children around Laon’s age came running toward us, laughing.

Laon glanced at me nervously—probably afraid I’d scold him for lying—and quickly slipped away with them.

The kids climbed up onto the roofs like monkeys, laughing and chasing each other.

They jumped across the gaps between buildings as if the whole place were their playground.

My jaw dropped at the sight.

Watching them, I couldn’t help but laugh softly — and I made up my mind.
‘No matter what, I’m going to recruit these kids for the salon.’

But first, I needed the permission of their guardian — Nadia.

I looked around the camp and asked,

“Do you live here?”

Nadia smiled faintly, then spoke calmly.

“As you can see, we’re refugees from another country. Even the poor in this city don’t welcome us.”

But despite her words, there wasn’t a trace of despair in her voice.

“Still, we’re thankful for what we have,” she added with a gentle smile.

The other gypsies were the same.
Even though they were poor, they radiated a kind of freedom.
There was no bitterness, only music and laughter.

They lived as if the pain of life was something to dance and sing through — and it was beautiful.

Watching them, I felt even more certain.

“How about working with us?” I asked.

Nadia’s eyes widened in surprise.

I met her gaze with firm determination.

“I’ll make sure you’re paid well.”

Inside the carriage on the way back to the salon.

Sabrina leaned back, fingers laced behind her head.

“What are you thinking, trying to recruit gypsies of all people?”

Then she frowned.

“You’re not planning to use them as backup dancers or something, right?”

‘Well… it’s kind of similar, but not exactly.’

“I’ll explain once the plan’s clearer.”

“Ah, so mysterious!” Sabrina grumbled.

Lilianne, sitting beside her, spoke more softly, looking worried.

“Do you think they’ll even accept? Gypsies value their freedom.”

I had offered to hire all of them — not just one or two.
I promised food, lodging, and fair wages in exchange for their work.

To them, it was a generous offer.
But at the same time, it could also feel like a chain binding their free way of life.

After all, they didn’t seem like people who cared much about money.
They were content playing instruments on the street and earning a few coins from passersby.

“I gave them my card. If they’re interested, they’ll come,” I said lightly.

Lilianne tilted her head.

“But why all of them? Not just a few?”

She and Sabrina both looked puzzled.

I smiled faintly.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

By then, our carriage had arrived in front of the salon.

As we stepped out and approached the entrance, we heard heavy footsteps — followed by a loud crash.

Someone was running toward us, clearly tripping several times along the way.

A moment later, Hans, our bassist, appeared — panting hard and clutching a letter.

We all stared at him in confusion.

“Hans, what’s going on?”

He gasped between breaths.

“M-Madam! We can’t just stand around like this!”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

With shaking hands, he handed me the letter.

The sender’s name written on the envelope was Olga Fidman.

“Olga Fidman…?”

I’d never heard that name before.

Lilianne, glancing at the envelope, spoke up.

“She’s Baron Fidman.”

‘Baron?’ I thought, surprised.

Normally, noble names had a “von” between their first and last names — meaning “of noble birth.”

If hers didn’t, it meant she wasn’t born noble.

Lilianne explained,

“She’s the only opera singer ever to be granted a barony by His Majesty the Emperor — in recognition of her talent.”

‘She must be incredibly good if even the Emperor gave her a title.’

“I heard she retired years ago and lives quietly in a grand mansion now,” Lilianne added.

‘Then why would someone like that send a letter to me?’

I opened the envelope curiously and read the contents.

It was short — just a request to meet in person if possible.

Sabrina frowned suspiciously.

“Hmm… this doesn’t feel right.”

I agreed.

Most classical singers carried themselves with ridiculous pride —
as if their voices alone made them aristocrats.
They saw popular performers like our Clina band as nothing but jesters for the masses.

If Olga Fidman had once dominated the opera stage, she was probably even more prideful.

Still… I couldn’t deny I was curious.

‘If she’s good enough to earn a title from the Emperor himself, meeting her once can’t hurt.’

Later, in Clina Salon’s reception room.

Since it wasn’t appropriate for me to appear masked in such a formal setting, Lilianne acted as my stand-in.
I watched from a hidden space behind the wall.

Sitting across from Lilianne was an older woman with snow-white hair — exuding an aura that commanded respect.

Olga smiled faintly.

“I didn’t expect the famous Madam of Clina Salon to be you.”

Then she added casually,

“Don’t worry, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Lilianne returned the smile gracefully.

“May I ask what brings you here, Baroness?”

Olga calmly sipped her tea before setting it down.
After a brief pause, she spoke.

“I’ll be direct.”

‘Here it comes,’ I thought, holding my breath along with Lilianne.

“I saw the flyer saying Clina Salon was recruiting opera singers.”

‘Of course,’ I thought grimly.
She was probably here to lecture us — to tell us not to drag classical singers into “low-class” entertainment.