Resurrection of Duke Werstein ~ I Didn't Hear Anything About Being A Middle-aged Man ~

I feel my heart sounds faster than usual.

I think my mouth is drier than usual.

Because I'm a sage, I was in a strange hurry even though there shouldn't be any physical abnormalities like that.

I look into the butler's eyes.

He looks at me with a very serious, but bloody face.

I don't want to believe I'm someone else, but I want to know the truth, and I felt that emotion seemed clear.

I wonder where the hell he felt it from.

Mr. Augusto's physical specs are vainly high, so the act should be perfect.

Because of what?

Stare at the butler.

"My husband, he should certainly be there, what the hell,"

Suddenly, I perceived something in the words of the butler as if to whine (every wow).

I'm sure this comes from a bond we've been dating for years, you know.

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Rather, I also think it was a little late.

I was wondering what I would do if they asked me, but I was calm somewhere, even though I was in a strange hurry to ask.

"............... I told you, I'm not the Auguste Verstein you know,"

"What the hell do you mean?"

The butler asks me with a squeaky voice to my words as I become strangely thirsty and aware of my mouth.

I could see such sad emotions in those eyes, staring at me.

My throat is drawn to feeling sorry for me and then to the loneliness that I'm sure will change our relationship from now on.

But no matter how painful it is, I have to tell him the truth.

Breathe in, puke.

Then I stared back at the butler.

"......... Augusto Verstein is dead.

That's why I'm here. You know what this means?

"... I'm sorry, I don't know."

I turn to Deacon, who frowns at me with sincere apologies, one at a time so I don't rush, and I organize the information in my head, and then I put it in my mouth.

"This body does belong to Augusto Verstein. But I'm not Auguste Verstein."

The moment he mouthed the irresistible fact, the butler shook his face left and right, as if to deny the fact, with a crying voice.

"No, no! What do you mean, my husband is here now!

"...... I'm someone else. You know, Augusto Verstein is dead."

"Oh no...!!"

My chest is getting painful in my sad voice, but there's nothing I can do about this, so I throw cruel words at her.

"...... this is true"

I assure you so, what returned was so much silence that I might even feel painful.

I stare at the whirl hair of the butler who has leaned down.

That's all I could do.

The butler, who looked up, had a bewildered look somewhere.

He opened and closed his mouth to say something, several times so he finally uttered the word.

"... assuming you're not my husband, where the hell did he go?"

The question is as if something very bitter was in your mouth, something terribly spicy.

I answer desperately, but I can't get it to the outside, as it's about to get bitter this way.

"... where my late wife is."

At that moment, the deacon's expression distorted me crying.

Guilty, painful chest, sad, hard and I can't help it.

But this is something that needs to be done, and it needs to be done right.

"So, what do we do? Do you want to kill me?

The question is a dead one that I didn't think I could help.

I don't like to die, and I still want to live at all.

But that's about as bad as it sounds.

But what I got back from the butler was a sober voice somewhere, unlike the mess I had had earlier.

"No, even if you are not my husband, that body belongs to my husband.

I can't do that, and I don't have the option to remain unaware of your husband. "

That was a kick-ass answer, like the propagation of loyalty to Mr. Augusto.

"To tell the truth, I still don't believe in anything. The signs, the magic, the words, the deeds, everything. I just miss my husband."

"...... he died of poison then"

"Yeah, so I was reborn as a sage"

"I'm not in this world anymore."

"... I'm sorry, I can't admit it"

In contrast to me, whose stomach was about to ache from guilt, the words said with a shooting serious look were conclusive, and emotions that I could understand as well.

"............ well"

Quiet, that's all I can answer.

I don't want to admit it, and I can't.

That was the emotion I've had since I came to this world.

That's why I can understand it, and that's why I can't seem to mention it any more, exhale.

Then the butler opened his mouth to fold.

"Whether you're someone else or your husband is gone, to me, you're my husband."

With a serious look, the words uttered with a firm eye on me sting my heart.

I can't say anything.

Painful.

'Cause this isn't that easy, like I said, to change right away.

"... when you were reborn, you said you lacked memory."

"... oh, I was confused."

Often, to the inquiry of a worrying butler, when only his appearance returned a sober word, the butler at the time gave him a slight look of grin.

"I guess so......, now the memory is"

"No problem, everything is clearly remembered"

"......... well, that's good... my husband will still be there"

I am confused by the deacon's expression, which seems to reassure me from the bottom of my heart.

"......... what?

"Remembering is proof that you are my husband."

"What are you saying...?"

I didn't understand what the butler was saying.

'Cause the fact that my soul is different means that me and Mr. Augusto are different.

Mr. Augusto is Mr. Augusto, not me.

I, Yoko Takada, 23 years old, woman, as an actress, should have gone to drama next time, in such a person.

Nothing else, nothing less.

The fact that the deacon's eyes stared at me, serious, seemingly lying or not trying to fool me, applauded the confusion.

"... to dwell in this flesh is the soul of another who you do not know"

"Yeah, but I remember. Memory is a living testament and a heart."

I felt an unpleasant tingle around my heart.

"Rest assured, you are indeed someone else and at the same time my knowing husband"

Am I mistaken for something?

At the same time that I came to that idea, the thought moves visibly.

What creates man is soul, flesh, memory, and spirit.

That is what has been thought of in modern Japan, and that is why I can assure you that I am someone else.

If this idea is not common in itself, what happens?

Search common sense in this world as you rush to think.

--------------A soul is a power, a vessel, for manipulating magic.

Then what personality should be engraved on your soul?

No matter how many memories you dig back, all you have to do is that your soul is your soul, and nothing more comes out of it.

Fundamentally, I think differently.

When I came to that hypothesis, I forgot to breathe.

'Cause that, I mean.

I remember Mr. Auguste. I mean, from them living in this world, it's no different than Auguste Verstein itself.

Spirit, as the soul is another, flesh and memory are left intact.

Of what shapes man, even if half is completely different, if there is memory and flesh, it is already the perception of the person.

When I realized it, I couldn't figure it out.

Because the world is different, common sense is different and natural.

But I was shocked that what I believed might be fiction.

What the hell is a soul?

Does common sense in this world also apply to me today?

But then where the hell did this memory come from?

The only thing that makes me up is my memory of living in modern Japan for 23 years.

What about me?

My being is only foreign in this world.

Can I, the soul alone, say that I am indeed alive?

There is no way to prove me to be me.

Nowhere.

When I thought about it so much, I realized something I shouldn't have noticed.

Wait, why didn't I stop acting?

I'm not Mr. Augusto.

Stopping acting should have been the most effective way to get the butler to believe that.

And yet, why didn't you even think of changing the tone?

I didn't know why, and then the next thing I knew, I was stunned.

What, this.

Why do I even have a hard tone in my heart?

Why is Mr. Augusto acting like I'm who I am?

That's crazy.

What is this?

Why, what the hell is going on?

I don't know why, I can't breathe.

I wonder how he sucked his breath.

Am I really me?

What the hell am I?

Who am I?

I got so scared, I stopped thinking.

I feel bad because of the stress.

"Sir? how did you do?"

I don't know what look the butler is talking about and what kind of atmosphere he's talking about.

This man is believable.

But I don't know this man.

Why should I believe this man if I don't know him?

Memories, perceptions, me and Mr. Augusto, are mixed.

Frightened.

Like the butler said, am I Mr. Auguste?

You're not supposed to be, why?

Sir, your complexion... will bring you something warm.

"............ oh, I asked"

The deacon's words brought a little awareness back to reality.

My heart has been making unpleasant noises and ringing, and I haven't wiped out the fear I just felt.

But he seemed to think only a little calmly.

I feel terrible.

This is not the pattern.

Not like me at all.

But then, what the hell am I?

At that time, uh, Mr. Augusto's knowledge gave me an answer.

I'm me.

I remembered how to breathe.

Breathe in, puke.

The thought of something like Moya hanging, I felt a little sunny.

Calm down, me.

It's all right.

Here in a hurry, driven by inexplicable fear, what will it be?

Whether you mourn or make noise, nothing changes.

The flesh is Mr. Augusto, and I, the soul, remain Yoko Takada.

When I calm down and analyze objectively, I realize that I was apparently too upset to be a negative thought.

Then check your memories and current status.

When I thought of someone important to try, I recognised that your father, mother and Julia were in line, and I see, they did mix.

But I haven't forgotten one thing.

I felt that Yoko Takada (I) would disappear, and that was why I was afraid.

As it is, surely, I will change and become present as a completely different personality.

But if you say I'm me, I won't disappear.

You're in a hurry without a pattern, you're in trouble, you're negative, you're some kind of idiot already.

No, well, I don't think we have a choice.

I'm sure it was a shock.

But if you start saying that, nothing's going to happen, am I?

Fast switching is my take.

The flesh is Mr. Augusto, and the soul is Yoko Takada.

That's fine now.

Because unless you're also God, you don't know the truth.

Even if memories, habits, tones, and everything else are mixed up, there's no choice.

Because the brain has data named Memory, so it would be inevitable that it would be pulled over.

Now that I can think of difficult things, it would have been better the other way around.

Behind you, there is a sense that you are deluding.

But if I don't, I can't stay.

Collapse yourself, and then smash what Mr. Augusto has piled up?

That's no good.

That's all, you shouldn't.

I've made up my mind.

I want to live in a way that I can convince.

Breathe in, I threw up.

With all the panic, anxiety, and momentum to put everything out in my heart, I threw it out.

When you put a lot of effort into your fists, you can hear the unique sound of your fingers and palms rubbing together.

Then stretch the spine that was only slightly oblique at some point.

It's weird because that's all I feel like stretching to my feelings.

Now, that's fine.

I closed my eyes, telling myself that.