The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#Chapter 372 The Ghost, Sirius(Sirius) (12) - Stella's Final Curtain A sudden greeting from someone who, for nearly a month, had never once spoken a single personal word to her. That she could reflexively open her mouth even in a situation where she would normally have been struck dumb and unable to answer at all, was entirely because Stella was an actress. As a woman who had all but devoted her entire life to the stage, she answered the impromptu play with the resolve that she could not let the 'drama' fall apart. 『Did you say a phantom...a ghost? My parents haven't passed away yet, so I don't believe there's any other ghost that would come looking for me.』 『Of course, I am not one who was with your parents. I am someone else entirely.』 Stella rose from the audience seats and stepped confidently onto the stage. There was no makeup, no stage costume, no lighting, yet she was someone who shone by mere existence alone. Standing face to face with Sirius, she spoke. 『Is that so? Well, even if my parents had sent you, I wouldn't have asked to be taken along, so it's just as well.』 『How remarkably composed you are. I'm quite relieved I don't have to tell you to calm down.』 There was no script. There were no set lines. And yet, if someone else had seen the two of them, they would have declared it without hesitation. That this was a play. 『You seem to be carrying a great many worries. Would you care to tell me what's troubling you?』 『Are you telling me to bare my heart to someone I don't even know?』 『It's precisely because you don't know who I am that it's a good thing. After all, you'd only be speaking to a ghost.』 Stella let out a small laugh. It was the laugh of Stella the actress, and at the same time, it was also the laugh of [Role: Actress S]. To play oneself. It was a challenge that even the industry's foremost great actors had likely never attempted. But that was exactly what made it interesting. She opened her mouth and spoke. The story of one woman. *** Dramatic. It's a word people like to use. An intriguing beginning, a heart-pounding rise, a dizzying crisis, a sweeping resolution. To things that unfold as if on a stage, people leave the verdict: dramatic. Or perhaps it's because such stories are the ones that draw people in, that the stage adopts them all the more. I loved that kind of stage. A stage more real than reality, more fantastical than fantasy, one that captivated you the moment you merely looked at it. Perhaps it was because I, of all people, was the least dramatic human being. You might find it surprising, but my life was never, to begin with, all that dramatic. I was born into a middling noble family. In some ambiguous place, far from the desperation that blooms in poverty, yet unable to draw close to the malice that dwells in abundance. I had an ordinary family history. Not close enough to call picture-perfect, nor vicious enough to call enemies. I never went through a blood-and-sweat-soaked coming of age. I simply walked the actor's path calmly, and before I knew it, I was being called the best. And now, even my hardships fail to be dramatic. Everyone says the same thing. That this much should be enough — what more could I possibly want? Many people chatter on. That it doesn't sound so bad, so why am I so discontented? Someone curses me. Calling me a woman drunk on happiness, spouting nothing but the whining of the well-fed. What do you think? *** Sirius opened his mouth and spoke. An answer directed at one woman. *** Dramatic. It's a word I'm quite fond of too. A mysterious prologue, a fierce confrontation, a violent clash, a blazing finale. Life is, in essence, no different from a single play, and so people love plays just as they long to be like other people. We are all protagonists, and at the same time, we are audiences captivated by the stories we ourselves never lived. I too love that kind of role. Someone more real than the real thing, more fated than fate itself, someone who draws people in by the mere fact of being there. Perhaps it's because I, of all things, am a ghost farthest removed from truth. So let me tell you a truth that holds no surprise at all, one that's simply self-evident. Stella, your birth was a fine one. Had you been buried in poverty, you would never have had the luxury to know the splendor of art; had you reached the height of abundance, you would have had to bury yourself in political strife just to protect it. Stella, your family history matters. Because it was not picture-perfect harmony, you learned how to express solitude; because it was not hate like enemies, you became able to express affection. Stella, your coming of age is special. Many people know that effort, patience, and diligence bring benefit, yet only a handful actually act on that knowledge. So now, let me tell you something utterly self-evident. Laugh at those who mock effort simply because they no longer wish to make any themselves. Look down on those who prattle on, asking why you alone must be so peculiar when everyone else lives just the same. To those who presume to judge another's life as they please, curse them to mind their own business. That is the answer your ghost gives you. *** Stella looked at the one before her. A deep night lit by nothing but moonlight. A ghost existing there dimly, as though its shadow had taken on substance. But it was different from before. If, the first time she'd seen him, he had stood as though devouring the darkness itself, now, though far more intense than before, he seemed somehow unsteady. "...Sirius?" The Ghost grinned, then took Stella's hand and led her along. From atop the stage, down below. Or perhaps, from a narrow stage to a far wider one. Once outside the theater, Sirius hummed a melody and spoke, just as he was. 『For the sake of your Ghost, would you sing me a single tune?』 At first glance, it was an absurd request. This place was not a stage. There was no instrument, no musician, nothing else at all. And yet, for some reason, Stella felt not the slightest pressure. This sensation she could feel now in her hand. With nothing but the presence of that grip — somewhere cool, delicate, and unreal — she felt she could accomplish anything at all. 『In the hour when all the world lay asleep, I heard his very first voice.』 『While everyone else was drunk on dreams, I drew closer to him.』 『The him I first met did not call out to me』 『Nor did he ever speak my name.』 『So that this would not become merely a dream』 『I leapt onto the ghost's stage, and took him into my heart.』 Sirius answered. 『To a stage that once held only me, she came.』 『And so, we became "us."』 『My story seeped into you...』 『...and a story bearing life and power spread out to countless others.』 『You no longer need to look back at an empty stage.』 『For the Ghost is already with you.』 Stella sang. 『People don't know what lies behind your mask, and neither do I.』 『But I feel no fear.』 『For I too have worn your countless masks myself.』 The Ghost sang. 『Then what people have seen and heard must be our story.』 From what point onward, she couldn't say, but Stella lost all sense of time and space. She could no longer clearly tell what hour it was, or where she stood. At times it felt as though she herself were singing, and at times as though Sirius were speaking. Perhaps, somehow, it was both at once. 『It's alright now. So please, now, take your leave, my star.』 『Forget everything, forget it all and go. This instant. Without looking back.』 『I will vanish from this place. So forget it all, and walk your own path.』 It was a sense of oneness intoxicating enough to be called rapture. It was the very height she had so long dreamed of reaching. If she simply ran on as given, following the script laid out before her, everything would surely resolve itself — she sensed it instinctively. ─And so, she flung it aside without a moment's hesitation. 『I can't forget.』 『My Ghost. My one and only love, my one and only life.』 『What value could my stage possibly hold, without you standing on it with me? If you're gone, who will ever lead me out of this solitude?』 『Tell me you need me. Tell me you'll stay with me.』 『Only you can give my song its wings.』 『Please, don't let this night's stage come to an end.』 Her mind, which had drifted into ecstasy, returned to reality. Since when, she couldn't say, but she found herself standing before some plaza. A faint dawn was just beginning to rise. Upon an oversized stage with the earth as its floor and the sky as its roof, a crowd numbering in the thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, watched Stella with hands clasped over their mouths, tears streaming down their faces. Most astonishing of all, somewhere among that crowd — — even the Empress, who had opened her carriage door and stepped down, was in tears. In Stella's ears, blank with shock for a moment, the many words that had until then been nothing more than a murmur finally began to resolve into meaning. Perfect. Astonishing. Heartrending. Poignant. Extraordinarily brilliant. Alone, and yet like two people. A one-woman play. ...A one-woman play? Stella looked around her. Everyone was looking at her. Everyone was offering her their praise. There was no one at all looking for someone besides her — no one searching for a Ghost who might have vanished partway through the play. ─Just as, the very first time she had watched the Ghost's play, he alone had conjured an unseen someone using nothing but acting and lines. This time, it was as though Stella had done exactly the same. Stella stood there, dazed, her mind blank. *** What followed after was smooth sailing. To begin with, quietly laying claim to an outstanding talent from some minor industry isn't, in itself, all that much of a problem. And if that secured talent could be used to help other powerholders, influential figures, and superhumans rise in their own standing, and even win their favor in the process, then it becomes even less of a problem. And if, in the process, one goes out of their way to exclude anything that could be openly nitpicked, and follows a procedurally sound method regardless, then one could even flip the accusation and claim that whoever raises the issue is the real problem. That is, so long as the person raising the issue isn't the imperial family. Early that morning, the Empress, who had been on her way to another palace when she happened to witness Stella's sorrowful, heart-wrenching "one-woman, multi-role play," became an instant fan of Stella's, and even declared that she would personally attend her next performance. And before that rumor had even properly spread, the members of House Boriel who had been quietly pressuring her found themselves prostrate, heads to the ground. "It seems a trivial misunderstanding caused a great deal of trouble. Rest assured, this will never happen again." Thwack! Thud! "Ugh! I'm terribly sorry!!" "Cough! I-I've committed a crime worthy of death…!!" ...To put it more precisely, the head of House Boriel personally seized the two men who had pressured Stella by the back of the head and slammed their skulls into the ground right in front of her. Once you reach around 6th Rank, you're practically a king in most any nation — but in this country, the Emperor is, with only slight exaggeration, a god. If you happened to have bad blood with a beloved doll that the god's wife had just taken a newfound interest in, what else was there to do but rush over and grovel with your head to the ground? On top of that, it was common knowledge among the 6th Ranks of this nation that the Crown Prince was devoted to his mother to an extreme degree. Given the Empress's soft, gentle nature, she surely wouldn't go so far as to lobby her son directly — but there were far, far too many 6th Ranks who would gladly stomp on House Boriel in hopes of currying favor with the Crown Prince and reclaiming a position as his mentor. The great mage households, who pursued mystery through their magic but had no wish to become the subject of mysterious rumors themselves, immediately moved to try their survival strategy. Fearing that they might draw unwanted glares even down the line for no good reason, they decided to freely provide, at no cost, the very benefits they had once offered to Stella and those around her; the Troupe Director who had once been driven out returned; and Stella — who had captivated tens of thousands in the street by her own power alone, without a single supporting device — became not merely "the pinnacle of a minor industry," but simply the queen of this nation's entire arts world. At long last, she had gained everything. ─Having lost the one thing she had wanted most of all. "...Sirius." Stella realized it. That she had absolutely no means left to prove Sirius had ever existed at all. The script had vanished at some point without her noticing; no one remembered the stage that had unfolded in reality; and even the final performance, everyone around her believed Stella had pulled off entirely alone, playing every role herself. No — if one thought about it "coldly," that explanation was, if anything, far more convincing. Wasn't it far more realistic to think that Stella herself, tormented by an obsession over her own growth, had simply invented an imaginary being, rather than that some transcendent existence had reached into the memories and perceptions of every single person but her? "Do you really think I'd fall for that?" And with that, Stella flung the plausible hypothesis aside without a second thought. Whether it sounded plausible or not didn't matter. That it was the more realistic explanation didn't matter either. Only one thing mattered. Stella believed that Sirius truly existed. And wasn't that, in itself, enough? "You must not know, never having properly stood on a stage yourself — but the curtain falling was never the end of it." Curtain call. If the audience offers its applause, the actor must return to the stage once more, either to carry the curtain further or to leave a final bow. Even the industry's most senior veterans never disregarded this unwritten rule — yet here he was, blithely ignoring it just because he happened to have a bit of talent. She would have to drag him back and set him straight, at once. "─Excuse me. Miss Stella Rosenberg. Might I have a moment of your time?" It was just as Stella was about to set out in earnest to search for Sirius, that some woman called out to her. Radiant blonde hair. Jewel-like blue eyes. Oddly sharp canine teeth. Had she set foot in the theater world, she was beautiful enough to draw attention on looks alone — yet what she actually wore was a rough leather coat and a deerstalker. And a pipe, at that. "……." Standing behind her was a woman with long purple hair, a violin case slung across her back — she too was a beauty, one with a strikingly sultry, languid air about her. If one had to find fault with anything, it might be the large eyepatch covering one eye. An unidentified pair. And yet, for some reason, Stella didn't find them all that unfamiliar. So she asked. "Before that, what are your names?" The two of them answered. "Isadora." "Hystia." (E/N: That arc was pretty short...But I can respect the author not abusing the occasion to add filler upon filler that adds little to nothing to the novel)