CWMBR 158

Chapter 158

****

The orphanage director was a strict person. So much so that it made one wonder if it might have been the orphanage director, not the monastery abbot, who had refused the donation.

During his visits to the orphanage, the only space allowed to Ain was the playground. Iliont couldn't understand why it had to be this way, wearing a completely baffled expression, but he couldn't stop Ain. And Ain...

It struck him anew: rather than just casually handing over a large donation, struggling directly with the children face-to-face like this felt somehow better. To him, who had lived believing money could solve most of the world's problems, this time felt terribly inefficient and laborious, yet it also calmed his mind and body. 

"………………Her baby must be this big by now. Babies grow so fast, after all………………."

Although this time didn't seem particularly peaceful for Fergus, he secretly enjoyed visiting the orphanage. He seemed quite adept at caring for babies even in the New World; perhaps, unexpectedly, Fergus was born with a natural talent for looking after children.

Compared to Fergus, Ain's touch wasn't particularly attentive. In that sense, the nursery director's decision to send them to the playground to play with the children was an excellent choice. Fergus played physically with the older kids. Even when he occasionally felt melancholy, missing his distant ex-lover, he gave his all to make airplanes for the children when they clung to him. He was so enthusiastic that Iliont joked his arms had grown thicker.

"Another one! Tell us another story!"

And Ain told the children stories. Fairy tales bought from the New Continent and folk tales he'd heard and transcribed himself piled high in the mansion, so stories to tell were plentiful.

Of course, he hadn't intended to import absurd folk tales or loosely woven fairy tales from the New Continent. Yet, when he came to his senses, the ship returning home was piled high with nothing but such things. Old books he'd cherished and carefully packed, worried they might get damaged during the voyage.

How had he come to take an interest in such things?

It probably began when he eavesdropped beside Fergus as he read to the baby.

"But the baby can't even understand it yet, and already..."

"Miss Matria, all this builds up in the baby's unconscious. You must nurture a spirit of adventure from a young age so they can grow into a great entrepreneur who crosses the seas like me someday."

"………………What on earth is this man talking about?"

Matria didn't actively discourage Fergus, who diligently read old books from their home to the baby who could barely babble. She did give him a sidelong glance, thinking he was fussier than the mother, but she didn't show any real dislike, so Fergus read the books with even greater confidence. However, the house didn't have many books, so Fergus wandered around the local market and quietly bought a few storybooks, pretending they were gifts for the baby.

If it had been Bridget, she would have told countless entertaining stories even without books. She knew all sorts of tales. But did she know the story Fergus was reading now? Or other fairy tales? Were the folk tales of this place known in Alencia?

Using the excuse that he didn't want to hear the same story over and over, Ain scoured the market for fairy tale books and collected folk tales to record. How much fun would Bridget have had if she knew this story? She would have remembered it well and told it to the child with a vivid voice. Imagining that, he gathered them one by one until they piled up high.

Ain didn't have the confidence to throw himself into playing with children like Fergus did. He had no experience playing that way as a child, nor had he ever seen anyone play like that up close, so it felt daunting. In that case, reading books aloud was far better.

He had never read to anyone else, but he remembered vividly those who had read to him.

Besides, this activity seemed beneficial in the long run.

"Since things have come to this, start with that every day."

Magnus, persuaded by Iliont, diagnosed it thus. It would be helpful.

"Telling stories to the children?"

"You said you'll never be able to tell the person you really want to hear it anyway, right?"

After a brief conversation with Ain and checking the wound on his hand, Magnus sighed deeply and said they should meet regularly for a while. Though his touch was rough as he treated the hand, as a doctor, he clearly couldn't ignore Ain's condition.

"First, you must regain your mental and physical stability. So, in your case, patient... you need to take care of your mental state. No, your mental health."

Magnus said his mental state was extremely serious. Ain knew it too. If his family found out, they'd immediately try to commit him to a mental hospital. He had no intention of bringing a doctor into the mansion, even by accident. That's why he chose this orphanage's lounge. Magnus had been volunteering here regularly, and he himself had been visiting daily lately, proving his character by donating funds. While it couldn't solve the root problem, he decided to entrust Magnus with at least minimal counseling and wound care. Honestly, he didn't expect anything to be healed. 

It was just... the mere fact that Magnus was a doctor close to Bridget made him feel less guarded. He even harbored a small hope that he might mention something about Bridget, even by accident or in the most minor detail. Though Magnus never uttered a word about Bridget in his presence.

And so, this routine was ultimately established. In the morning, he read books to the children at the nursery. Around lunchtime, he borrowed the nursery's break room for a brief examination and consultation with Magnus before heading to the office. Then, in the late afternoon, he visited the Grand Theater, striving to find an opportunity to apologize to Bridget. It was a rather packed schedule.

"Uncle! No ghost stories?"

"Of course there are."

At someone's booming question, Ain flipped through the notebook he was holding. The ghosts of the New World's indigenous peoples were a topic that took up quite a bit of space among the stories jotted down in the notebook.

But even after choosing a story, he hesitated for a moment. He remembered how Fergus had tried to tell this story to the baby and ended up getting hit in the back by Matria.

"But I heard that if you hear ghost stories too young, it might shock them and keep them from sleeping."

His muttering drew a mocking retort from the boy nearby.

"Oh, come on. We all know ghosts don't exist anyway."

"Ghosts do exist."

"You're an adult. You believe in ghosts?"

"Because ghosts do exist."

Ain’s definitive answer made the boy’s mocking eyes flicker violently.

“………………Are there really ghosts?”

“Yes. That’s why fairy tales tell you to live well. Otherwise, ghosts will torment you.”

The mockery vanished from the boy’s face. Ain, who had instantly made the children's mood serious and solemn, opened his notebook indifferently. Then he suddenly looked up. He felt someone's gaze from the direction of the orphanage building.

Well, how many people were there in this orphanage anyway? He lowered his gaze again.

***

A few days later, the orphanage director suggested that volunteer activities should be conducted inside the building from now on. The reason was that the indoor playroom was easier to supervise than the open playground. It seemed the director was concerned about the children's safety, as younger kids were starting to wander around the playground following the older ones.

The change in location didn't really alter what they did. Ain told the children a few stories as usual, then sat down facing Magnus.

“There is something I’ve been wondering about,”

Magnus spoke up abruptly, pausing from his inspection of how well the wound on his palm had healed.

“Why did you suddenly take an interest in donating to an orphanage?”

“Is that something I have to explain?”

"Because it's an action affecting the patient's mental state."

Magnus replied as if it were obvious. Ain, who had been silent for a moment, turned his head slightly. Why donate to an orphanage?

“I was told that a baby who never gets to be born isn’t truly dead.”

Magnus's eyes widened at the unexpected words.

"Since God gave them souls, they'll surely be born somewhere else. Someone told me that."

It was the elderly couple who ran his lodgings who had said it.

Noticing Ain was tormented by the sound of an inaudible baby's cry, the couple advised him not to obsess over the baby's soul.

They said the baby's soul would find parents far more worthy and be born healthy. The natives of the New World believed in the powerful force of souls, believing they inhabited all things. They didn't believe that even if a life was lost, it simply found another body; they didn't believe it vanished.

In that sense, they said Ain, tormented by auditory hallucinations, was clinging to a false obsession. They said the baby's spirit couldn't find good parents because of it.

Well, Ain couldn't accept the old couple's words. If the baby had a spirit, that spirit would stay by Bridget's side, not his. He was hardly a father figure, more like a complete stranger who had never even seen the baby’s face properly.

If something was clinging to him, it couldn't be the baby's soul—it must be some kind of evil ghost. That fit him far better.

But the part about the soul being born elsewhere... Could that be true? And if it was reborn, wouldn't it be near Bridget? If it found good parents and was born happily, that would be fortunate. But what if it didn't? Many of the babies at the orphanage were newborns. What if among them...

"We don't know what body it was born into or where."

"That is... utterly irrational and preposterous."

"It's more plausible that it's belated reputation management, like the world claims. Think what you will."

Magnus gave an awkward smile at Ain’s indifferent reply. Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, he fiddled with his medical bag and muttered to himself.

"So you were aware of the rumors circulating externally."

"How could I not be?"

Ain laughed coldly.

"Doctor, I don't really think my condition will improve. What I want is just..."

Ain glanced down at his own hand. He'd always treated it casually, thinking how hard could it be to just stop the bleeding and bandage it up? But a professional medical hand was clearly different.

“I just don’t want the smell of blood to draw complaints from the audience.”

That was enough for him.