Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Requiem
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There is one conspicuous building in our territory.
Amidst the simple wooden houses, a chapel stands tall.
Its spires stretch high, and its windows are adorned with brilliant stained glass.
The solid, gray stone exterior even exudes a solemn atmosphere.
A starkly different appearance from the monotonous scenery surrounding it.
At first, I was surprised.
But it did not take long to learn the reason.
“The day is near. Let us prepare for the memorial service.”
In the days when my father was still called Baron Julian.
Every winter, we held a grand ceremony there.
Upon entering, one first sees large pillars and neatly arranged chairs.
At the very back is the altar.
“It is the resting place where our family’s bloodline slumbers.”
Father always said that.
Two statues were placed beneath the altar, and it was easy to guess what they signified.
My mother, Baroness Amelia Tilberg.
And my younger brother, Alphonse Tilberg.
To be honest, I have never seen either of their faces.
I possessed this body after they had already passed away.
They say it snowed very heavily that day.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The me of my previous life died in a traffic accident.
When I woke up, I was in another world.
An uncomfortable bed.
The face of a strange man looking down at me with a deeply worried expression.
I could hear whispering voices from around me.
“You must be deeply grieved, Julian.”
“Who would have thought such a thing would happen in your territory.”
It was not difficult to infer the situation.
The owner of this body was a boy named Anton Tilberg.
He had gone out to have a snowball fight with his mother and younger brother, after which they went missing.
A few hours later, they were reportedly found beneath the rubble of a collapsed building.
Most of the buildings here are made of wood.
It would have been woefully insufficient to withstand the weight of the piled-up snow.
It was a tragedy.
The two had perished on the spot, and only I was rescued alive.
Had I not possessed this body, their fate might have been different.
Regardless.
One might call it a mercy.
“Anton? Do you remember me?”
To my father’s question, I replied, “Who are you?”
“Good heavens! It seems you have lost your memory due to the aftereffects.”
That convenient excuse made it easy to adapt.
I gradually became one with the boy Anton Tilberg.
And I was able to learn the culture and etiquette of this other world without much difficulty.
Several years passed since then.
Right after the accident, Father strictly forbade me from going outside, but that day, for some reason, he said he had somewhere to go and took me out of the mansion.
It was winter.
“This is where your mother and Alphonse slumber.”
The place we eventually arrived at was the chapel.
It seemed they had built it anew to honor their souls.
In this world, there is a concept of a goddess.
It is said that when humans die, they all go to the goddess’s side to receive her protection, and the survivors hold a memorial service to entrust their family to her care.
A memorial service.
Every year, I visited that place to see the mother and brother whose faces I did not know.
“It is getting cold soon.”
And this year, as always.
“Let us prepare for the memorial service.”
Winter has arrived.
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“I would like to ask you to perform.”
“I understand.”
Until last year, they had replaced the ceremony with a simple prayer, but it seems they have decided to change the method starting this year.
A requiem, perhaps.
Certainly.
If it is possible, it is better to do so.
“Leave the rest to Theo and me.”
Under Father’s direction, the inside of the chapel became busy.
Candles around the altar were lit, and the clergyman burned incense.
Originally, I would have helped, but it seems he deliberately left me out, knowing I was busy.
I can only be grateful.
So, I must not disappoint him further.
‘Requiem.’
I returned home immediately and sat before the piano.
If it were a piece suitable for a Mass, I could name more than ten right away.
I am confident I can choose an appropriate one.
However.
My fingers would not move.
I took a deep breath.
Requiem.
That is, a Mass for the dead.
I have lived here for years under the name Anton Tilberg.
At the same time, memories of my original world gradually stopped coming to mind.
And yet.
Sometimes I think of it.
How the people I left behind in the world where I disappeared are doing.
My real family is all there.
After a very long time, I closed my eyes and recalled the past.
Moments I spent with everyone in the world where I used to exist.
Just as winter comes here, winter probably comes to that world every year as well.
I whispered a word I could never again speak to them, forever.
“Merry Christmas.”
In that moment, a single piece came to mind.
Perhaps this is not a standard requiem.
But I can be certain of one thing.
‘A comfort for all those who have lost someone in both worlds.’
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The day of the memorial service.
I moved the piano to the chapel with Theo.
It was easy thanks to a few servants helping out.
Father said nothing.
Usually, he would say something like, ‘I look forward to your performance,’ or...
He would have said something.
He simply patted my shoulder in silence.
The chapel was filled with the people of the territory.
I also saw the faces of Count Harborland and the nobles from neighboring territories.
They were the people I had seen at the previous banquet.
The light of the candlesticks illuminated the altar dimly, and I sat before the piano with a trembling heart.
And once again.
I whispered a single word softly.
Merry Christmas.
Christmas has no meaning in this world.
It is a part of the history and culture of reality.
So, I do not know what thoughts might have risen in everyone’s minds.
But that is fine.
This is music.
Music is understood through emotion.
I slowly placed my hands on the keys.
They were cold.
Light reflected from the chapel windows painted one side of my face white.
Merry Christmas, Mr. Laurent
The first note rang out softly, pulling forth forgotten memories.
The air began to change.
The low notes created by my left hand were heavy and calm, as if representing profound emotions.
In contrast, the high notes of my right hand were exceptionally clear.
Collision.
The two melodies intertwine and head toward a single point.
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This piece, created by a famous Japanese composer, is a soundtrack included in a film of the same name.
The content of the film, broadly speaking, is the collision of two worlds.
The protagonists, facing war, clash over their differing values and humanity, creating conflict.
Gradually, that boundary is torn down.
The two worlds, which seemed impossible to mix, are bound by a single medium: Christmas.
In the end, the film concludes with the protagonist speaking frankly to an enemy officer who once aimed a gun at him, saying, ‘Merry Christmas.’
There is no Christmas in this world.
I am the only one who remembers that grand event.
But that is precisely why I perform.
This is a piece to mourn the mother and brother I do not remember, and at the same time, a requiem for everyone who sent the me of reality away.
A requiem dedicated to myself.
Another year is coming to an end.
Winter always arrives, and snow still falls from the sky.
Under that sky, I have stood on the boundary of two worlds until now.
The world I left behind, and the place I remain.
If more time passes, I might completely forget the things of the past.
So, for the last time.
While a part of my heart still remains there.
I want to convey it, even if it is a selfish feeling.
To everyone, Merry Christmas.
I am doing well here.
And so, the performance ended.
I slowly rose from my seat.
No applause came.
I took a single step forward.
The world, pieced together with excuses, splits in two.
My path is already decided.
The life of Anton, the first son of the Tilberg family.
I can never turn back again.
And yet, if there is one thing I wish for.
When I introduce myself, I always put the word ‘eldest’ first.
I want everyone to remember my younger brother’s existence.
It is a little funny, though, that I do not know his real face.
Regardless.
So, I hope that somewhere, there is at least one person who thinks of me.
Because being forgotten is a sad thing.
Warm sunlight streamed into the chapel.
Morning seems to have come.
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A short while after the memorial service ended.
I met Edward at the theater.
“Has the permit been approved?”
I asked.
To construct a building in the capital, one must receive permission from either the Church or the Imperial Household.
“Well, about that...”
What could it be?
He seems to be trailing off, so it doesn't sound like the answer was positive.
“They say there is no more spare land in the capital.”
“Hmm.”
Expanding the theater means demolishing the original facility and rebuilding it.
For that to be possible, a larger plot of land is needed.
“Well, the capital is densely packed, after all.”
“Tearing down a perfectly good commercial district to build a theater is an unreasonable plan by anyone’s standards.”
In that case, I will have to find another way.
“I will ask my father for now.”
The theater does not necessarily have to be in the capital.
If there is spare land in my father’s territory, building it there is a valid option.
First, the place where I live is too small, so that won't work.
“Then I will leave it to you.”
After bidding farewell to Edward, I immediately set off.