[Third Person’s PoV]

Lucian trudged down the bustling school hallway, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and simmering irritation. His dark eyes were half-lidded, and his shoulders slumped forward in utter defeat, Flanking him were his usual companions: the three Fates walking in synchronized rhythm, joined by Annabeth and Bianca, who strolled just behind.

“Words cannot even begin to describe how much I loathe this next period,” Lucian muttered, rubbing his temples as if just thinking about it gave him a migraine. “Honestly, I’m debating whether it’s worth showing up at all. Skipping is starting to look very attractive.”

“Oh, come on,” Chloe chimed in brightly, practically skipping beside him with her usual boundless enthusiasm. Her golden hair bounced as she moved, a sunny contrast to Lucian’s storm cloud. “It’s the last class of the day! Once it’s over, you’ll be free to do whatever you want. It’s all too bad, in fact I even enjoy them.”

Lucian turned his head toward her with the blankest of stares. “Chloe,” he said dryly, “your relentless optimism is the last thing I need polluting my already fragile state of mind.”

Annabeth laughed under her breath, walking closer to Lucian, looking at him with a teasing smirk. “You’re only this dramatic because you got cast as the male lead in the school play. Admit it.”

Lucian groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “Why, in the name of all the gods, is theater a mandatory subject at this school? Couldn’t it just be a normal elective like woodshop or debate? Or better yet, a club—one that I could blissfully ignore? But no, not this school. This school demands mandatory public humiliation.”

Bianca snorted. “Please. You can whine all you want, but everyone here knows the truth—you love attention. You’re the biggest attention hog I’ve ever met. This role was basically handcrafted for you. It’s your natural habitat.”

Lucian dramatically placed the back of his hand to his forehead like a damsel in distress. “Oh, woe is me! Cursed be these dashing good looks and irresistible charm. If only I were hideous and unremarkable, I might have been spared this fate.”

As the group reached the auditorium, their conversation faded into a chorus of suppressed laughter. The theater space was already half-filled with students, some scattered in seats and others loitering near the stage, all clutching copies of the play’s script. Their drama teacher, Mr. Matthews, stood at the front with his arms crossed, an expectant look on his face.

“Lucian,” he said sharply, raising an eyebrow. “As the male lead, you should be setting an example. That means arriving before everyone else, not waltzing in like some kind of diva.”

Lucian waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Please, Mr. Matthews. A true star arrives precisely when he means to. The show doesn’t begin until I make my entrance, after all.”

He reached into his bag, pulled out his copy of the script, and unceremoniously tossed his bag onto an empty chair. Other seats nearby were already claimed by backpacks and jackets, signs that their classmates had beaten them there.

With exaggerated confidence, Lucian strode toward the stage and called out, “Make way, mere mortals! The star of this pitiful production has arrived!”

A collective groan echoed across the auditorium, followed by eye rolls from several students. Still, many couldn’t help but smile faintly at his theatrics.

Mr. Matthews massaged his temples as if willing away a migraine. “At least he’s got the ego of a star right down to a tea,” he muttered under his breath. Then he clapped his hands twice. “Alright, everyone! Partner up. We’ll be practicing scenes in pairs today. Focus on chemistry and delivery. And yes, that means the male and female leads will be working together.”

Lucian exhaled slowly through his nose and turned his head to see Chloe beaming up at him, already standing nearby with her script open.

Opening his own script with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man opening his last meal menu, Lucian began reading in a dull, lifeless monotone:

“Oh Juliet… how I wish I lo—”

“Stop. Stop right there!” Mr. Matthews snapped, nearly dropping his clipboard. “Lucian, what was that?!”

Lucian blinked at him. “That… was my acting.”

“You call that acting?! My dead grandmother has better delivery than that!”

Lucian tilted his head and replied with a perfectly deadpan tone, “Yes, and I’m sure she spent her entire life pretending to love you. Acting must run in the family.”

The room exploded in gasps. Bianca immediately covered her face with both hands, mortified. The Fates looked around awkwardly. Annabeth covered her mouth too—but mostly to muffle her laughter.

Mr. Matthews blinked, caught off guard. Then, after a pause, he sighed. “Okay… that comeback was sharp. I’ll give you that. But Lucian, you need to actually act. You’re the lead. You’re supposed to shine!”

“I’ve already told you,” Lucian said through clenched teeth, his patience wearing thin. “I have zero interest in this. The only reason I’m tolerating this tragedy is so Juliet over there doesn’t have to do it with another guy.”

Chloe let out a shy laugh, her cheeks pink as she swayed side to side and clutched her cheeks in mock embarrassment. “You’re so sweet,” she giggled.

Atropos and Lachesis exchanged irritated glances in Chloe’s direction, their jealousy quietly simmering beneath their composed expressions.

“If you don’t step it up,” Mr. Matthews warned sternly, “I will replace you with the understudy. I am not above making that decision.”

Lucian clenched his jaw, glaring daggers at the teacher. Then, with a sharp exhale and a fire in his eyes, he stepped forward.

“Fine,” he growled. “You want an actor? I’ll give you an actor.”

He tossed the script aside, letting it fall with a dramatic flutter to the floor. For a moment, he stood still with his eyes closed, silent.

Then the air shifted.

A palpable change washed over the auditorium. Everyone in the room—students, teacher, even his friends—felt it. The way Lucian carried himself, the tension in his shoulders, the intensity in his aura—it all shifted as if a switch had flipped.

Lucian stood still for a moment longer, letting the silence steep in the room like mist on a battlefield. Then he opened his eyes, and when he did, they no longer held annoyance or arrogance—but sorrow, raw and ancient, as if he were truly Romeo Montague, doomed by love and fate.

He stepped forward slowly, his voice low but clear, weaving through the auditorium like a song lost to time.

“Here’s to thy chamber, my love, my wife…” he whispered, his gaze drifting down to an invisible figure. “Death, that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty…”

Chloe’s eyes widened as recognition dawned. She glanced at the script, then up at Lucian again, lips parted in realization.

He was doing the final scene.

Without hesitation, she moved quietly to the center of the stage and knelt beside one of the foam props shaped like a stone slab. She lay across it gracefully, folding her hands and shutting her eyes, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep.

Lucian approached her like a man on the edge of madness and grief, his voice trembling now with the weight of love and desperation.

“Ah, dear Juliet… why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial Death is amorous? That the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?”

He knelt beside her, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear with heart-aching tenderness. The audience was silent, not even a breath heard among them.

“I’ll stay with thee, and never from this palace of dim night depart again… Here, here will I remain with worms that are thy chamber-maids.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pantomimed a vial. With shaking hands, he held it high.

“Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace!”

He bent forward, pressing a gentle kiss upon her lips.

“And lips… O you, the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death.”

He drank.

A beat passed—then his body began to tremble.

“Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!” he gasped. His knees hit the stage floor with a thud.

“Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark! Here’s to my love!”

Lucian leaned down, placing one last kiss upon Chloe’s lips.

Then, in a slow, drawn-out motion, he collapsed beside her, his hand slipping from hers like a thread being cut.

“Thus… with a kiss… I die.”

Silence.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Chloe remained still, tears pooling at the corners of her closed eyes.

Mr. Matthews’ clipboard dropped from his hand and hit the floor with a soft clatter. Annabeth was covering her mouth again, but this time her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Bianca blinked rapidly, wiping at her cheeks as if angry at herself for crying.

Even the Fates—stoic and unreadable as they usually were—looked visibly shaken.

And then, slowly, like the gentle start of a standing ovation, someone sniffled.

Then another.

The entire room erupted into quiet, reverent weeping and clapping.

Lucian didn’t move. He remained still on the stage floor, letting the weight of the moment linger.

Mr. Matthews finally stepped forward, his voice barely a whisper.

“…That… was beautiful.”

Lucian kicked himself up and growled, “How’s that acting? Is it better than your dead grandmother? Remember that next time you consider changing the actor.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep