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

I expected a day like this.

But I didn't think that was so sudden.

I understand this is his kindness.

I understand, but I didn't want to convince you.

I, as declared yesterday, was taken of a document called a paperwork and was even forbidden to go to the study instead of the citation office.

Is the current time around nine o'clock in the morning when it comes to modern times?

After a simple and delicious breakfast with croissants, potage and salads, she returned to her luxurious but calm room.

Mr. Augusto's mother's attending teacher is coming at 3 p.m. today.

As usual, I had a lot of extra time because it's time to concentrate on paperwork.

The chair of the small table set provided in our main bedroom cannot be properly done, staring at the ceiling.

I have nothing to do.

No, if you want to go, you can go everywhere.

Mr. Augusto's specs, I don't have a hammer.

As a matter of fact, just now, I tried to forcibly break through, but that butler made me beg you to rest, with a crying face.

If you do that, you won't be able to say no.

...... Well, if you think about it well, if your boss works so much, even your guys can't get much rest.

I've never worked in society, but I've worked part-time, so I don't know what to expect.

But one thing, let me tell you.

Extra help, he said.

All I could feel was anger at this state of being alone in Mr. Augusto's room.

Because I've been working so hard that I don't have to think about it, this doesn't make sense.

...... The truth is, even I don't want to do that kind of work.

Originally, I'm not the right person for that kind of clerical work.

Bites were also good at the job of restaurant waitresses and those who move their bodies.

However, Mr. Augusto's specs usually make administrative work that he shouldn't be comfortable with.

I compute it to breathe, and I can write it down.

Because I've become a sage, or with an omelet that I don't feel fatigued at all.

Even the acting like Mr. Augusto until now, before he died, was played more naturally and uncomfortably than the original me who was trying so hard to be an actress.

I had confidence in my acting skills, and that's why I have knowledge of how to breathe and move my body when it comes to playing.

Some parts of me weren't done well because I was still immature, but this body is different.

The existence of a sage is probably due to the fact that every ability jumps at least five times more, because it was in the instructions.

That's why I was able to work without any pain.

I might not get tired of the reality that I could do something that I had never been able to do before, but rather, I enjoyed and lived.

That's how I managed to escape from reality.

Like being left feeling fluffy, like in a dream.

But in this situation, I think about what's going on.

Things you don't have to think about.

Why am I here, or what?

Why, did you have to die? Like that.

You shouldn't even think about that.

If I think about it, I am.

About, the floor at my feet collapsed and I felt like it was going away.

............ Oh, no.

Once you're past your head, it won't stop anymore.

I know it as knowledge, but I don't remember it at all. Because I was uncomfortable with the scenery, people, everything, so I was trying to think about it all, forced, nothing.

But now that I've got extra time to think calmly, I guess the limit has finally arrived.

As I felt yesterday, I was calmly thinking about whether this had happened or not, but the fact that I was trying not to think about it more than that makes me feel helpless and anxious.

All sorts of thoughts rushed through my head.

What the hell is this place?

Why am I here?

Why did he die?

Why, did you have to die?

Why me?

You didn't have to be me, did you?

Why is that?

Why, why, why, I don't like, I don't like, I want to go home.

I want to go home, Dad, Grandma, why aren't you here?

I want to go home, I want to go home! I want to go home!!

Moaning, grieving, angry, each comes at will, scratching inside his chest.

The laggest thing that came was guilt.

It's like eagling your heart, an unexplained guilt.

I'm sorry, it's sad, it's hard, it's painful, and still it doesn't make me cry.

That's extra, it scratches my heart.

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

He's dead, he's gone, I'm sorry.

But even I wanted to live.

I didn't want to die.

I wanted to live.

Because it was going to be.

From now on, he said he could finally be filial, be famous, make money, make you both feel better.

I have nothing but heartache.

I wish I'd been home.

Even if it stinks, I should have told him I loved it a lot more.

More, missed you.

Why didn't you do anything?

I wonder why I left it behind.

Hard, awful, painful, disgusting, sad, sorry, lonely, how could

Unclamped, terribly distorted emotions just smoke (dull) in the chest.

At least, I wanted to hear your voice.

It's like the back of my throat is cramped, like something's jammed or something, and I can't help but suffer, and the verse that's not my thing. Give me that. Standing hands, cover my face.

I wonder what the two of you are doing by now.

Your father must be crying like I've never seen him before.

Because I was your father's son.

I've said terrible things during the rebellion, but I still loved it.

I like the game and I'm indoors, but he crushed it for me on holiday and played with me in the park.

I was napping my slightly metabolic father's tummy on the pillow and his tummy sounded loud and he was laughing like he was in trouble when he complained.

I'm sure your mother, too, is shaking her face and crying out loud.

Originally, he was a big man of emotional expression.

He raised me very much, too.

When my picture appeared in the magazine as a model, he was happy as if it were his own thing.

All over the neighborhood, this is our daughter! I said I took a magazine and proudly went around, and I said stop because I was embarrassed, but I was really very happy.

She told me that if you were a girl, you'd be hotter than cooking, but your mother was worse than me.

Both of us, after a scattered cry, are so painful to look at, I guess.

Like a shell out, I guess.

I can only imagine that, but I don't know if this imagination is real, but I'm sure it is.

'Cause it's family.

It was my family.

We were both important, very important families.

I've been watching a lot of drama and stuff since I lost it, but I never thought I'd be like this.

I'm sad, I can't help it.

God is really terrible.

I can't believe I'm here right now with that godly kindness. I didn't even think it was, at all, this way.

It's a mess in my head and my emotions are bouncing around in a negative direction anyway with mourning and sadness and irresistible regret.

Since I'm already a complete sage, I shouldn't feel too much mental pain, but I still think that being this painful is inherently awesome, and that's what makes me want to die.

No matter how much I tried not to care, I expected the limit to come sometime.

So maybe it's good to be able to think about this right now when no one is around.

But it's so painful.

It's bitter, sad, hard.

...... Really, am I dead?

This is really all a dream, I guess I'm alive?

To the point where such a sweet thought came to mind, they were cornered.

I know.

This place is real, and I'm dead in that world.

I really do understand.

In all that irrational pain, I can only be convinced when they say he's dead.

I just didn't want to admit it.

'Cause you don't have a choice.

Who would want to die at such a young age?

Um, in a situation where I don't want to let everything go.

There are still things I want to do and things I left behind.

A lot, there was.

There is no reason to die.

Yet I am dead.

It's so painful and sad that I think it would have been easier if I'd just forgotten everything.

But I didn't want to forget because it's an important memory.

To my own discretion, I get a revulsion.

I wanted to wander around my chest with all sorts of emotions scratching and excess pain.

With my father laughing like trouble in his head, Ahhh! and my mother laughing luxuriously, the usual two smiles pass.

Behind my nose, I felt soggy.

...... Dad, you know, the world over here, it's magical, and it works.

I wasn't interested, but your father likes games, right?

I'm sure he'll be happy.

Mother, you know, I know, but I, I love the pork juice your mother makes.

I especially liked the one with the sweet potatoes in it.

I don't know if there is any miso over here, and even if there is, I still haven't been taught, so I don't think I can probably make something that tastes the same.

I want to see you.

I want you to meet your father, and I want you to stroke your head.

To your mother, you're not sweet because you're an adult! And then, like always, you have no choice, I want you to laugh.

Lonely, sad, painful, missed

I wish it was all, everything, a dream.

I mourned like that, but still had a calm self somewhere.

I think this is probably because I'm Mr. Augusto and I've become a wise man.

I'm Mr. Augusto now, but I'm Yoko Takada, so I guess that's why I mess up like this.

Mr. Augusto's memory will someday be mixed with Yoko Takada's (my) memory, unified, integrated with everything, and I will be Augusto's (my).

I don't know when that is, but I definitely understood by instinct that the day was coming.

That's why mourning like this was the only thing I could do right now.

Second, think.

It's in my memory that I'm not myself.

Hey, Mr. Augusto.

What am I supposed to do?

I don't even think about it like I want to replace you.

And yet how did this really happen?

If you want, I want this body back immediately.

I want you to live, like nothing happened.

I wish it had disappeared, but how could I live in you?

I wanted to live.

But I wanted to live as me.

Why was it me?

Why was it Mr. Augusto?

I feel only irritated at myself for being bitter and bitter and still wanting to live.

But Mr. Augusto in memory only wished for his own death.

I'm sure you had a hard time living.

I guess it was as good as throwing everything out and trying to get to whoever I wanted.

Then they're going to say I'll give it back, but they won't want it.

Even if they say that, I'm in trouble, too.

Hey, Mr. Augusto, I wonder what you'd do.

So hard, so painful, so sad, the tears never came out.

Maybe it's because you're a sage, but even if you want to cry, you can't really cry.

I'm good at crying acting, so if I wanted to cry, I could cry, even though I'm twinkling behind my nose, and still, I couldn't cry like my heart refused.

Oh, my God, it's painful.

Well, I felt the wind blow.

That's weird, you had a window open, or something, and you turn your consciousness to reality.

Then an unexpected sight popped into my eyes.

A woman with light green eyes and large tears.

The person stood beside me as I blended gold straight long hair and a light blue adorable dress into the air.

I can't hear you, but many times, those lips have told me, 'I'm sorry'.

"You're nothing," he muttered, melting large tears into the air.

Transparent and thin, she said how she saw it in Augusto's beloved, Julia.

I opened my horrible mouth to unexpected reality, even though I was taken aback.

"Why are you here?

My question is, has it slipped through, she just openly zeroes a large tear.

"Sorry, sorry"

Repeating one deafening, noiseless apology in her ear, neither did she notice my words, and she moves to slip swoop.

Covering his face with both hands, he slipped through the door and went outside, reflexively or for some other reason, I don't even know for myself, but I followed her.

Follow the transparent hem of her light blue dress around the corner, down the stairs, and follow with selflessness.

Second, I felt like the area was turning white.

And notice.

The exhaled breath is white.

The temperatures seemed to be quite low even though it was inside the mansion.

Wondering, my legs go back.

And to the door of a room she was sucked in.

The floor is frozen enough to make a noise of jarring.

Looking at it, it was a fantastic place to the extent that there was no exaggeration when it came to a world closed by ice.

Large ice columns that are likely to exist in the Arctic and Antarctica hang, and you can see thin mansion wallpapers, decorations, and hallways beneath the ice.

In the meantime, only the door Julia went in to keep what she was.

Horrible, hands on that door knob.

Because I'm a sage, or I don't feel cold or cold, but is that door covered in white frost frost frozen to the core?

It could just break with a little effort as it is.

Still turning the knob slowly, the rattling sounded, even though it made a pikie and small noise.

Pull, and I'm sure this door will open.

But I didn't really understand the anxiety and the noise in my chest.

Even so, I excite myself that this must be necessary, and I open the door.

And to the sight of you jumping into my eyes.

I couldn't cry at all, and the tears that were supposed to have stopped overflowed at once, like getting something back.

Adorable, but dishy conditioners.

The carpet is a rose pattern with a calm atmosphere and cute wallpaper.

It would have been a feminine atmosphere. Everything, everything, was frozen indoors.

Every single body, lying in a bed at the window.

From the back of my throat, I felt something, something I didn't quite understand, come up.

And then in a mundane moment it falls zero.

"Oh, oh, oh..."

It came out of my throat, moaning, was.

Everything, even the air and atmosphere, remains frozen at the time.

Saying it was the body of the first person to see it, for some reason, I had no fear, I just couldn't help but be sad.

The hair, which was golden, was white.

It was beautiful, smooth, brown, discolored.

The hands and feet are so thin that they're only bones and skins.

The only thing that shows that this was a person and a woman is her face and the clothes she was wearing.

Skinny cheeks so thin that I think I might have skin on my bones.

The eyeballs fell straight into the orbits.

Still, it's so vivid that I think I might still accidentally open my eyelids.

Sleeping peacefully in bed was Mr. Augusto's beloved, Mr. Julia, the man.

I couldn't stop crying.

I can't remember my feet, and I kneel to collapse near her sleeping bed.

"Ah Augusto Verstein...!"

His love was sadder than blasphemy against the dead or anything like that.

I guess he couldn't even bury him in the grave at the time.

Because you're going to admit the fact that she's dead.

So, like stopping time, I ice marinated everything and sealed it for twelve years, ever, ever.

Oh, that's why Mr. Augusto didn't come home to this house?

At the same time I was convinced that this reality was too sad, and I don't know why, but it seemed like you were telling me that I could cry here, and I couldn't stop crying.

My regret, my remorse, my grief and my loneliness were also linked to Augusto's emotions at the time and Julia's thoughts that I had to leave someone like this, and I couldn't seem to understand the translation anymore.

In the freezing room, I just, I cried.