The Freak Show Foreman

A hazy liquid sprayed out.

"Oh, this…"

With that, the trimming of the bark was ruined. Unless the inner cambium of that portion was completely cut off, that type of tree would never grow into a beautiful shape.

The blade wielded by the young man might look like an ordinary strike to an onlooker, but Gascon could tell.

It was a highly concentrated skill that required precise control down to one’s fingertips, and it wouldn’t come out without utmost focus.

In such a situation, anyone who quietly approached and disrupted that focus was bound to irritate the person. And that annoyance was bound to show on their face.

Courtesy is about considering those around you.

For someone who had entered the realm of perfect concentration, there was nothing outside.

It was only going inward.

This was a phenomenon similar to what magicians call a meditative state.

In such a situation, emotions unintentionally surfaced on a person’s face.

It was not easy to hide.

Were there no stories of such incidents?

A living saintly monk, revered by many, finally reached the end of a long period of fasting till death. But when his mischievous disciple attempted to steal his last meal, the monk, not even realizing it himself, furrowed his brows and cursed, recognizing that his own practice had gone astray, and he returned to prayer.

Even the ascetic monk who had endured such hardships found it difficult to conceal emotions in a state of perfect concentration.

Irritation. Anger. Disgust. Contempt.

Gascon didn’t doubt that the young man would show these emotions towards him for disrupting his focus.

But the old man was surprised by an unexpected sight.

"Who are you?"

He couldn’t find a single trace of dark emotions on his face as he gazed at him.

Only pure curiosity.

He looked at him with the innocent, eager eyes of a child.

"Um, sorry. I disturbed your work."

The old man unintentionally lowered his head.

If his disciples had seen this, they would be astonished.

The old troublemaker, a grumpy old man, apologizing to a young stranger.

Gascon couldn’t understand why he was acting this way.

He would have preferred it if the young man had expressed anger or cursed at him; he could have brushed it off with confidence…

"No, I just swung without any particular thought, haha."

The young man burst into laughter.

When Gascon heard his laughter, he felt as though something has pierced his chest.

Swung without any thought?

Gascon let out a hollow laugh without even realizing it himself.

Many craftsmen had reached the pinnacle of their craft. No matter how untalented someone may be, dedicating their life to a single field often resulted in producing one or two masterpieces from the ocean of devotion.

Among craftsmen, there were those who were unwaveringly dedicated to their craft and had no attachment to any other field.

However, it was difficult to find someone who had no obsession with the pinnacle of their craft, even if they were a master who had transcended their life.

Most of them hoped to create a masterpiece that they could offer in life.

But here was a kind of human he had never seen before since he was born.

He appeared to be no more than 30 years old, but the skills he had mastered in his body far exceeded those of veteran craftsmen who had honed their craft for decades, and his experience seemed equally impressive.

Despite possessing such skill, there was not a hint of arrogance or conceit in him.

Where did this fellow come from?

"Have you ever learned garden work?"

The young man hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"No. I just learned a little bit by watching over someone’s shoulder."

When he worked as a garden assistant, Gascon also used to steal techniques. He nodded.

"I saw a little earlier, and… it seems you have some talent."

"Thank you."

"But with that level of skill, do you dare to lay hands on this expensive garden?"

Gascon said with an annoyed tone. Even young people without any ambition tend to get irritated when they hear such disparaging remarks.

"I’m sorry."

"Doing it this way will ruin the garden. If you do as I instruct, you might avoid causing too much damage. What do you say? Can you follow my directions?"

Gascon tried to provoke the young man’s competitive spirit.

The young man who appeared to be quite carefree, he wanted to see his passionate performance.

It was an emotion he had never felt in his entire life.

However, the words that came out of his mouth were shocking.

"I have no intention of becoming a gardener."

"What, what did you say…?"

Gascon’s face twisted in disbelief.

He couldn’t understand what he was talking about.

And he couldn’t understand why he was so angry at his words.

"Then why did you work on this garden?"

He shouted angrily.

The young man smiled awkwardly.

"Just wanted to test my skills…"

"Test your skills? With your meager abilities? Haha! This guy is a real joke. What can you possibly test with such pathetic skills!"

Gascon was genuinely furious.

With his level of talent, he could achieve anything, and yet…

"Indeed, that’s how it is. It’s only natural that he had no ambition. If he’s a guy with such a rotten and arrogant mindset."

It was clear that he had some extraordinary skills.

Discovering the hidden pruning point earlier must have been a mere stroke of luck.

"Now, pick up the knife and scissors! I, the manager of the Tomato Greenhouse, will show you how truly difficult garden work can be!"

The stubbornness in his words made the young man look embarrassed, but he reluctantly got up and followed Gascon’s instructions.

So, under Gascon’s guidance, the young man pruned branches, wiped petals, arranged stones, and tidied up stems.

As Gascon watched the young man work, his anger melted away like snow in the sun.

He wasn’t just someone with slightly better skills.

If there were such things as garden gods, he could be considered one.

His claim of not having learned proper gardening techniques was not out of humility or deceit. It was because he nonchalantly ignored or surpassed what should have been common knowledge in the industry.

"I’m amazed, truly amazed. What an astonishing talent."

But what surprised Gascon even more was the young man’s attitude, which seemed detached from his own fate.

He didn’t show the slightest interest in the salary or benefits he was receiving, as if the matter had nothing to do with him, offering only a faint, wistful smile.

The old gardener was curious.

What had turned this young man, who was no more than his twenties, into an old man who had lived a full life?

After the young man bid farewell and left, Gascon summoned the hotel manager to inquire about his identity.

Upon hearing the old man’s explanation, the manager nodded.

"That would be Ringmaster Wonderstein."

"And who is that?"

"Didn’t you hear about the Circus Grand Prix opening ceremony in the news the day before yesterday?

"I was on a plane at that time," he said. He was then recounted about the conspiracy and trial that took place at the Rose Windmill Cabaret.

If Wonderstein had heard it, he would have pointed out that there was some exaggeration in his account.

He hadn’t even received a rotten tomato baptism, hadn’t been dragged onto the stage like a dog by angry nobles, and hadn’t been spat on in the face.

Gascon, upon hearing the story, let out an uncomfortable groan.

He had always considered Wonderstein to be a fallen aristocrat or at least a court jester based on his appearance and behavior. After all, a gardener was someone who worked for nobility or a major household. It required a certain status and formality. In practice, it was a profession bordering on the nobility.

He had never heard of gardeners who were Gypsies or wandering gardeners.

"I’m a gardener?"

His smile and the look in his eyes that appeared with it.

The old gardener now understood what that meant.

Such talent thwarted by social status.

If this had happened just a while ago, he would have felt disillusioned by his proposal.

In the midst of his heart pounding with anger and pity, the old gardener realized why he had become increasingly sarcastic and cowardly, resenting the young and finding fault in everything.

It was because he lacked talent.

Gascon, who had become the manager of a tomato greenhouse in his thirties, had not found any replacement talent in the thirty years since.

So everything had become meaningless.

He was annoyed and frustrated with everything because he constantly felt that he had invested his whole life in the garden but it would crumble when he died.

And the reason he had found pleasure in watching the young Wonderstein was the exact opposite.

Only now did he understand the true feelings that his teacher had expressed, saying he was fortunate to leave.

Suddenly, he envied his teacher.

He, too, wanted to leave like that.

A fire was ignited in his decaying heart, emitting a foul odor.

"Have my legacy."

Politics, status, power.

Suddenly, none of that was frightening at all.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he had returned to being a pure artisan.

That afternoon, rumors spread across Charlotia about Sebjeong’s support for the Vergsong family in the dispute that had spilled over among the nobility in this region.

Originally, he had maintained a somewhat ambiguous stance on this issue.

In ordinary circumstances, what Sebjeong did was his own business, but many people were disappointed in his actions in a situation where the nation’s prestige was at stake due to a major incident during an international event.

However, was his attitude all just a ruse?

He secretly dispatched Gascon Halidon, the Tomato Greenhouse gardener, to the hotel where the Vergsong family was staying. Sending the gardener was a way of conveying a message.

In conflicts among nobles, it was common for Sebjeong to subtly insert a message when he got involved.

According to Sebjeong’s usual personality, it would probably end with just restoring the garden.

Make amends and go back to his usual place.

However, the audacity continued.

In the restored hotel, a new sculpture was erected, something that had not been there before.

The meaning of it was clear to anyone, even those who had only skimmed the surface of the incident.

He had bent the rose vines into a windmill shape, and even the presence of white roses symbolizing innocence and acquittal sent a very obvious message.

The Sebjeong family was well-known for its generations of strict neutrality and a conservative attitude.

There was even a saying that the one who underestimated Sebjeong’s power the most was Sebjeong themselves.

But this Sebjeong family was acting differently.

Was the rumor that the new Sebjeong was timider and more foolish than his father distorted?

Or was it Sebjeong’s own disguise?

It hadn’t been long since he took office, yet he had lifted his head.

The nobles of Luz tried to subtly uncover clues about Sebjeong’s true intentions by inviting the gardener to their residence, but he urgently boarded an airship and returned, so they couldn’t ask him.

One thing was certain, the power struggle among the nobility in the Luz region had ended in the victory of the Lord Mustang and the Vergsong family, that much was certain.