Chapter 46
“Just stopping by to watch for a moment.”
“Of course!”
Excited, I took a spot near the front of the stage, and Arius stood about half a pace behind me.
Up close, the theater’s extremely tight budget was obvious.
Even though the curtains were drawn, the makeshift stage creaked underfoot.
Perhaps because the performance had just started, the crowd wasn’t particularly large.
Surprisingly, the presence of Arius beside me seemed to help the performance.
“Seems like there’s something interesting here.”
“Yeah. If even a noble like him is watching, it must be good.”
Rather than the play itself, Arius—clean-cut and obviously a noble—caught people’s attention. Many paused to look at him, curious about what he was watching.
‘He’s like a walking advertisement.’
That was good.
I silently thanked Arius for unwittingly promoting the performance and turned my attention back to the play.
“Oh no, what’s happening?”
“Damn it. How did it come to this?”
Throughout the performance, people’s sighs and murmurs mixed with the background.
The play told a story of love cursed by the gods, impossible to realize, and it was captivating.
Some reached for handkerchiefs, others sniffled audibly.
At some point, I noticed market-goers, busy on their own paths, had gathered near the stage, crowding around.
The play, a thrilling mix of every dramatic trope, reached its climax.
The heroine, Himena, accepted her fate and climbed the altar as a sacrifice, arms outstretched.
“I am Rosio’s only offering. When the gates of heaven open during the festival, I will return to another world, the one I came from.”
“No!”
“So do not weep, my people. My love, I will carry the memories of this place with me. I will return to the very world I so desperately desired, without forgetting anyone.”
Himena’s tearful eyes slowly closed as she looked to the sky.
At that moment, I gaped.
It was like someone had struck me on the head with a hammer.
The highlight of the Holy Week event: Concha Rosio.
After days of parading to the church for the Rosio festival, everyone began a long ritual praying for the prosperity of Napa.
One part of this ritual involved offering a sacrifice.
Or rather, “sacrifice” might be too mild—perhaps “immolation” is more accurate.
This was the moment that triggered Gabriela’s return from her first life in the play.
Gabriela had been sacrificed to Concha Rosio, then she returned.
The first chapter of the novel had described it: under the influence of drugs and drowsiness, she was tied to the dried wood on the marble altar.
Soon after, she heard the crackling of burning logs.
Receiving the cold stares of Maribel Sephardi, Arius Romero, and Pedro Esquia—those who had put her in this situation—Gabriela prayed for mercy from Rosio.
After that single death, she miraculously opened her eyes again and was granted a second chance at life by the gods.
If Gabriela in this world returned like that, perhaps I could return to my original world too.
‘I just need to become a sacrifice.’
As the worry over finding the answer lifted, I felt momentarily dazed.
But a sacrifice… not just a showpiece, but one that would burn to death?
It was horrifying—too terrible to choose even just for the sake of returning to my original world.
“Waaah! Long live!”
Swallowing my dry saliva, the crowd cheered.
From what I could gather, the emperor, persuaded by the male protagonist, had freed Himena from her role as the sacrifice for the sake of their love.
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
“Bravo!”
People waved handkerchiefs and clapped enthusiastically.
The two protagonists embraced, displaying their hard-earned love.
Amid the noisy crowd, I watched blankly, and almost lost my footing.
“Uh… huh?”
Just as I was about to fall, a solid body caught me.
A hand wrapped around my shoulder.
Startled, I turned my head and saw Arius.
“Oh, um… yes. Thank… thank you.”
As I spoke, Arius quickly removed his hand.
“Are you alright?”
“I… I was just… spacing out for a moment.”
“It’s better if you stay in front of me. The crowd is a bit excitable.”
Looking at the stage, Himena and the male protagonist were holding hands and bowing in thanks.
“Thank you all!”
Silver coins and paper money were tossed onto the stage. The applause and cheers continued for some time.
As the crowd roared, Arius again held my shoulder and subtly guided me, standing firmly behind me.
The brief warmth of his hand on my shoulder felt comforting, even in this heat.
After the play ended, the troupe bowed repeatedly.
The audience, flushed with excitement, dispersed, and the stage on the cart was slowly dismantled.
“Aren’t you leaving?”
Sacrifice. Immolation. Reincarnation.
Arius, patiently waiting for me to process these words, finally asked.
“Ah, I just want to thank the actors properly. And I have a favor to ask.”
“What kind of favor?”
“It’s personal. Could you wait a moment?”
“I won’t listen from the side, but I’ll watch.”
“Why? Do you think I’ll try to run off with the troupe?”
Even jokingly, Arius didn’t smile.
I went behind the cart; he followed a few steps behind, standing at a spot where he could watch me.
“Patron.”
Himena Rosa, just having wiped off her stage makeup, recognized me and bowed.
“Well done. I understand why you were so confident. The audience loved it.”
“Of course. We, the Bel troupe, want to thank you for your support and patronage. May we call on you?”
“Not today, maybe later. You haven’t even received the support properly yet. More importantly…”
I bit my lip, lowered my voice, and cautiously asked:
“Who wrote this script?”
“Not one person, really. We all added flesh to the legend of the Concha Rosio festival and made it dramatic.”
“The legend of Concha Rosio?”
“Yes. The legend says that if someone offers themselves as a sacrifice into the flames, Rosio takes their soul wherever it wishes. The higher-ups may not know, but it’s even in the scriptures, so it’s not completely new…”
Offering one’s body, and the soul being taken by Rosio.
This was exactly the blessing I needed.
A chance to escape this uncomfortable, allergy-prone life—and possibly return to my original world.
Of course, the process would be unimaginably painful.
As I pondered deeply, Himena’s gray eyes flickered anxiously.
“Or is it too vulgar for you to sponsor? But the meaning is important. Without the legend, the audience won’t pity the heroine. If it’s troubling…”
“I’m not troubled.”
“Really?”
“I will sponsor your troupe. I’ll give the money with a certificate tomorrow, and I’ll find a theater for the performance.”
“Tomorrow! We’re honored. But didn’t you ask us to perform again tomorrow? And what about the sponsorship contract…?”
“Yes. Sign the certificate before tomorrow’s performance. We’ll take the contract later. Not immediately, though.”
“Then where should we perform tomorrow? Until when?”
“There’s a gate near the Lion’s Garden, not the main entrance, in front of Sephardi’s Palazzo. Be there around the end of lunch, and I’ll send someone. Is that okay?”
“Ah, but there…”
Himena’s sparkling eyes dimmed instantly.
Near the Sephardi Palazzo, counts and barons had small residences. They couldn’t know when the Duke might summon them.
Ordinary citizens or vagabonds rarely approached that area. The same applied to troupes.
A single mistake could cause serious trouble.
“I’ll handle it, so you won’t have any trouble.”
“Yes, but there… I…”
Himena couldn’t continue.
Her concern wasn’t about trivial troubles.
After all, Matteo Sephardi, the duke who had treated her horribly, lived in the Sephardi Palazzo.
