There are moments when a person's mind just freezes.
One of those moments is when you unexpectedly run into someone in an equally unexpected place.
And that's exactly what was happening to me right now.
"Um..."
"…"
Honestly, how often do you bump into an attempted kidnapper while heading to watch a play based on a story you wrote?
It seemed like I wasn't the only one caught off guard. The person on the other side was staring at me with their mouth slightly agape.
'Judging by the reaction, at least they seem to remember me.'
They say that victims remember, but perpetrators often forget. And isn't there anything more awkward than greeting someone and having them ask, "Who are you?"
Of course, I hadn't been dragged away anywhere or anything, so it wasn't exactly kidnapping... But then again, it's all a matter of perspective.
Anyway, the first thing I had to do was:
"Ah, thank you so much for the check you gave me last time. I put it to good use."
I expressed my overwhelming gratitude.
They'd donated an absurd amount of money—how could I not respond with something? I hadn't been raised to ignore such gestures.
It's basic manners in our culture to bow three times when receiving New Year's money, after all.
What's more, the land I'd invested in with that money had skyrocketed in value thanks to a redevelopment project. The foundation's financial health had improved dramatically, and I no longer had to worry about it running smoothly. I couldn't thank them enough.
"… Hmm. Is that so?"
But despite my heartfelt response, she simply replied with a calm, composed expression.
After giving away that much money, I suppose she must be incredibly wealthy. Who was she, really? I was growing more curious by the minute.
"Now that I think of it..."
"Enough. Let's discuss this after the performance."
"Ah, I apologize."
But she cut me off and turned her gaze back to the stage, where the play was resuming.
Come to think of it, we were still in the middle of intermission, weren't we? I had nearly committed a major faux pas.
Realizing this a little too late, I quickly followed her lead and turned my attention back to the play.
The actors on stage were entering the highlight of the performance.
—This is the blade of justice.
—The blue moon fills my body, and the light of the sun grants me strength!
—Begone! Alvis, King of Hell, the world you abandoned shall not grant you a place!
Peter, having broken the seal beneath Academia, overcame the trials and wielded Excalibur in hand.
—This is the calamity you fairies have brought upon yourselves!
—I shall tear the red heart of the moon and rip apart the golden wings of the sun!
—I will come! The day will come when I burn the world that has forsaken me to black ashes!
Alvis, the first Lord of Darkness, is now successfully redeemed and enjoying immense popularity as a dark hero.
The actors playing these two characters hurled sharp arias at each other, their lyrics clashing and intertwining, their harmonies clashing like swords, their chords becoming shields as they fought.
Strangely enough, the battle didn't feel discordant. The arias were precisely cut in just the right places, each one perfectly supporting the other.
Oscar Wilde and Richard Strauss—the meticulous duet crafted by these two geniuses was blooming on stage.
This is why you hire geniuses.
As I lost myself in their performance, Peter, empowered by the fairies' encouragement, pierced Alvis's chest. The fairies swarmed around him, and Alvis fell offstage, disappearing into the darkness.
And in that moment, Peter stood alone, raising the prop Excalibur high.
—Behold, the final demise of the fallen King of Hell!
—Raise your glasses, noble and beautiful fairies!!
It was the finale.
In response, the actors playing Peter's allies flooded the stage. Among them was Charlie Chaplin (age 6), playing Lys.
"And now that I think of it."
At that moment, Lady Alexandrina suddenly spoke.
"How did that little boy get cast in that role?"
"Who... oh, do you mean Charlie?"
"Yes. Six years old—he's far too young, isn't he? While it may be necessary, surely there are other roles more fitting for a child of that age."
"Well, that's..."
I gave a brief explanation about the Chaplin brothers, thinking it wasn't a big deal.
I told her about their unfortunate family situation, and how they were being cared for at the daycare center established by the foundation. And how, after losing their home due to the redevelopment, both Charlie and his older brother, Sydney Chaplin, were living in a storage room next to Oscar Wilde's scriptwriting office.
After listening to the whole story, she sighed in admiration.
"For such a talent to bloom in such lowly circumstances... truly remarkable."
To call it a "lowly place"... This old woman, if you think about it, is a born-and-bred elitist, isn't she?
It's not that she's twisted by life, but rather it feels like she was just raised that way—like she simply never considered the other side.
Anyway.
"Well, talent in people is really a matter of luck. You never know when or where a superhuman (Übermensch) might show up, riding a white horse."
I replied calmly.
Personally, I think that's the biggest strength of a democratic republic.
After all, it's the only system humanity has developed where someone can rise from humble beginnings and be judged by their effort and abilities.
Though, this isn't something you'd say in a kingdom.
"… But I see. So there were those kinds of side effects too. Tch, this is why people shouldn't try things they aren't used to."
"Pardon? What was that?"
Huh? Did she say something? Her voice was so much softer compared to the actors' lines, that I couldn't quite catch it.
"It's nothing. Anyway, how have you been? I heard you recently returned from France."
"Ah, yes. It wasn't bad."
I slowly recounted my trip to France, where I met Gustave Eiffel, Alphonse Mucha, and Jules Verne.
"France is definitely a top tourist destination. There was so much to see that even the children of my host family enjoyed themselves."
"Hooo."
But then, what's this?
I suddenly felt as though the surrounding temperature dropped.
What's with this cold… aura? The chill radiating from Lady Alexandrina's body made me unconsciously shrink back.
'Ah, right. This woman is an upper-class relic of England.'
Of course, it would annoy her to hear excessive praise for France.
"Of, of course, there were some unpleasant experiences as well. It's not like England is free from them, but France is far more blatant with its racism."
"Hm. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"No, fortunately not. I was with my host family most of the time."
Thank goodness. Judging by her response, that seemed to be the right answer, as the murderous chill coming from her subsided a little.
"By the way, I heard you were invited to the U.S. but didn't go?"
"... Yes, well."
How does she know all this? Is it possible she's bugged my ear? No, of course not. That kind of technology doesn't exist in this era.
I gave her an appropriate response to her question. Lady Alexandrina immediately looked intrigued.
"Hm. While it's fortunate from my perspective, I'm curious why. I would have thought, with your populist tendencies, America would have suited you perfectly."
"Well, yes… But I just didn't see any reason to go at the moment."
Honestly, from a practical standpoint, the UK is better than the U.S. right now.
After all, America is still very much in its early stages. There's a reason they call it the "New World" compared to the "Old World."
"Besides, the person who invited me was Morgan. J.P. Morgan, to be exact."
No matter how rich he is, J.P. Morgan? It's not a proper invitation.
Not even Mark Twain, a literary giant and senior in the field managed to bring me to America.
So why would I go all the way there just because he invited me?
"Well, I'd like to visit someday, but it doesn't have to be for such bothersome reasons."
"Hm. Surprisingly, you have good instincts."
Surprisingly? How could she say that… I pride myself on my intuition!
I was taken aback. Sure, to an expert, I might not seem all that sharp, but I've developed some survival skills over the years, having served as a butler for the upper class.
"In any case, I have no intention of leaving England anytime soon. Unless, of course, it's just for travel, like this time."
"Anytime soon… How long are we talking?"
Well… I glanced at the stage.
The play had now reached its conclusion, with Peter returning home for the holidays after completing his time at Oberon Academia.
Watching this made me think about how to answer her question.
I mean, I'm a drifter, after all.
In a way, there's nowhere in this era where I truly belong.
Maybe that's why I'm so fixated on money and success.
Even the ending of Peter Perry, where he returns to the human world with Focher, might have been a reflection of my psychology.
But am I planning to stay in England indefinitely...?
"Honestly, that's not something I can decide, so it's hard to give you an answer."
"Why? Is it because of your host family? If you're worried about being kicked out, don't be. I can always lend you a room at my house."
"Oh, no, Mr. Miller cherishes me, and I'm quite close with Monty and the others, so that's not an issue."
"Hmm, I see..."
Lady Alexandrina visibly looked disappointed.
Hmm. This is a bit unsettling. Even if I were to be kicked out, I'd go to York before ever moving into her house.
My instincts as a writer are telling me something. If I end up at her place, I might somehow find myself canned, so to speak.
"If you're not getting kicked out, then what's the problem?"
"Well... I'm still a foreigner, after all, aren't I?"
"Is it something to do with your homeland? Don't worry. There's no European power, not even one that would dare challenge the British Empire, that could take such a popular writer from us."
"What? Uh, no, it's not like I'm seeking political asylum or anything."
I scratched my head. Putting aside the idea of Redcoats protecting me, how would Joseon even know who I am, let alone try to take me back?
"Anyway, unless some strange act of God happens, I plan to settle here for about 10 to 20 years. By then, the kids will be on their own paths."
"Hmm. I see. Understood."
At that moment, the theater was filled with cheers and whistles.
I saw Sidney Chaplin and the other leading actors, along with Charlie Chaplin, bowing along with the supporting cast.
This must be the moment when they become the brightest stars in London.
"Very well. I don't know how much longer I'll live, but... for as long as I do, I'll help clear the way for you."
"Excuse me? What do you mean by that...?"
I was about to ask again, but Lady Alexandrina was already rising from her box seat, making her way out of the theater.
"Well, I'll be..."
Still as mysterious and elusive as ever. And she's so short, too.
Just then.
"Sir, writer!!"
"Mr. Bentley?"
What's this about? I was puzzled as Bentley approached the box seat to find me.
"There's a problem, sir!"
... What could possibly be going wrong now, at the end of the year?
End-of-Year Season (5) End