Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking [47]
Now was a good time to focus on his own plans—like the Sunday performance he'd promised to Pela at the Goethe Hotel.
Although the owner, Goethe, had mentioned he didn't need to worry too much, it still felt right to show some gratitude for providing the stage at no cost.
Venti, unconcerned with personal fame, wasn't interested in which party might benefit more. For him, it was enough to have a place to perform, a few listeners, and maybe a cup of after-tea… that would be perfect.
Besides, he suspected Pela was now roaming the streets in search of him—the technical information he'd provided had taken him no small amount of effort to acquire.
He'd even had to pay Sampo a steep price for it, nearly losing a favor in the process.
So, if it all went to waste, he'd be more than a little heartbroken.
And with that, Venti wandered the streets of the upper district, strumming his lyre. The lively and upbeat rhythm of his music drew the attention of passersby, his cheerful mood palpable through every note.
Of course, he wasn't busking this time, so there was no need to collect money. Having an audience was ideal, but he was perfectly content to play for himself.
He played with gusto, and perhaps due to his recent use of certain abilities, his skills seemed to have reached a new level.
When he finally snapped out of his reverie, he realized he was surrounded by a crowd, among them a small figure struggling to push through.
Recognizable by her round glasses and her puffed-up, squirrel-like cheeks, Venti couldn't help but laugh at the sight.
His joyful smile drew glances from a few young women—and even some intrigued young men.
Venti's appearance was strikingly deceptive, especially paired with the rare sight of white stockings in Belobog, making him a truly arresting figure.
"—Venti! Finally found you!"
Realizing he was smiling at her, Pela's cheeks flushed slightly, but she managed to push through the crowd and stand beside him.
"Oh? Are you volunteering to be the heroine of my next song?"
The poet, fully aware of her intentions, feigned ignorance with a mischievous grin.
Pela adjusted her glasses, glaring at him with a look sharp enough to kill a whole flock of Venti-shaped spores.
"Oh, come on, why that face? Worried about the fee? Haha, I'll forgo the Shields. Just treat me to dinner and a black bread ale, and we're square!"
"...Fine. I'll treat you. But right now, I need to talk to you, so come along."
Reluctantly, Pela grabbed his hand and began pulling him away from the crowd.
Her move earned her a series of "friendly" looks from Venti's fans—some girls were even biting their handkerchiefs in envy.
She pouted, quickening her pace as she muttered to herself.
Honestly, what's so special about this wine-loving poet? Sure, he's talented, a little charming, a good storyteller, a great listener, and really good at cheering people up, but still!
Not that she was fangirling, of course. She was far too logical and level-headed for that.
When they arrived at the Neverwinter Workshop, their temporary refuge, Pela prepared to relax—only for a teasing voice to break the silence.
"Haha, I know I asked you to bring him over, but I didn't mean for you to just snatch him up!"
The voice came from the workshop's owner, a woman with light brown hair and vibrant blue eyes, dressed with a mix of mature elegance and a hint of edge.
Her name was Serval Landau.
Once, she had been known as the most brilliant mind in the Silvermane Guards—until, without warning, she'd been dismissed despite her close relationship with the Great Guardian.
No one knew if she harbored resentment or if there was a deeper reason for her change in fortunes, but whatever the truth…
She now stood openly mocking her hardworking drummer, perhaps venting a bit of the bitterness that came from Belobog's wasted potential—or maybe, something more.
"Hey, hey. I was just kidding, alright? No need to paint me as the villain here."
Seeing Pela, who was now whispering conspiratorially to Venti, Serval's matured elegance gained a faint tinge of embarrassment.
"At least leave me a little mystery, yeah? This makes me sound like some stock NPC background character."
It seemed the "tech-obsessed rock frontwoman" was more versed in certain narratives than one might assume.
"Hello, Miss Serval. I've heard much about you but never had the pleasure. I'm Venti, a humble bard."
Venti greeted her with a warm smile.
"Miss? Wow, it's been ages since I've been called that. To think a lady as 'aged' as me would still get that title!"
Serval laughed, clutching her stomach with exaggerated mirth, her gaze flicking teasingly to Pela.
Pela gave her a subtle signal, urging her not to continue on that sensitive topic.
"Alright, alright. Before our dear drummer here blows a fuse, I'll drop it."
Serval raised an eyebrow, grinning with genuine warmth.
"Anyway, it's a pleasure to meet you, Venti. I've heard a lot about you. Gotta say, you've got a real rock 'n' roll spirit, and I mean that as a compliment—I like your style."
While Venti pondered how he could possess "rock spirit" without knowing it, Pela spoke up.
"—Serval, could you maybe focus a bit on the band's image? You didn't ask me to bring him here just for idle chit-chat, right?"
After all, she'd rushed over right after work, and she'd taken on the task of tracking Venti down without complaint.
Now, after finally bringing him in, Serval had the audacity to make small talk, as if this were some romance novel and Pela was the embarrassed heroine.
She wasn't that sort of naive girl; she was a skilled Silvermane intelligence officer.
Feigning innocence, Pela let go of Venti's hand, feeling quite dignified with her reasoning.
"See? That's what she says. But really, who gets straight down to business when inviting someone over?"
Serval sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples in mock exasperation.
"This isn't Qlipoth Fort; we're not here to file military reports. We just wanted to chat with Venti over some food, that's all."
She turned toward the back of the workshop, her tone becoming more welcoming.
"And speaking of which, we're right around dinner time. Venti, why don't you stay and join us?"
She cast a quick glance toward the workshop's inner room.
"My brother's here too—he's the one who really wanted to meet you."