“I, um...haven’t really come up with anything that groundbreaking. I’m just piecing together things I’ve heard in the past... I don’t have your musical talent, Lord Renato,” I replied vaguely.
Renato stared at me. “I honestly can’t wrap my mind around it. You can’t play any instrument, can you?”
Uh-oh! He’d hit the nail on the head. I flushed red. “Y-You’re right. I’m ashamed to admit that I can’t.”
Music was part of noble culture. As the daughter of a ducal house, I should’ve mastered an instrument or two—enough to perform in front of people without bringing shame to my house. However, I hadn’t received the education of a noble lady, and I lacked that particular skill. My mother had taught me piano for a while when I was small, but after my grandfather died, the old hag had taken the piano away, so I’d never had a chance to progress. After regaining my memories from my past life, I’d started studying like crazy to bridge the gap with other noble kids, but the piano wasn’t something you could master overnight with superficial study.
The same went for sewing. I wasn’t very good at that either.
“And still, the melodies you come up with are bold yet perfectly calculated, innovative yet harmonious. To write melodies that polished, I have to play them again and again and go through a long process of trial and error. That’s why I just can’t believe that someone who can’t play any instrument could write them.”
“You’re completely correct! As expected of you, Lord Renato, your keen insight knows no bounds,” I practically interrupted, relieved.
He really is a genius.
“It’s as you said,” I continued. “I didn’t write anything at all. I don’t have the ability. I can’t tell you—or anyone—where I heard these melodies, so I reluctantly let people believe I’d written them. But I’m glad someone finally saw the truth for what it is...”
I’m so glad.
Every time someone spoke about my songs, cold sweat ran down my back, and I apologized again and again to the composers, lyricists, and translators whose work I’d borrowed so carelessly. But if I admitted they weren’t my songs, the next question would naturally be: Then whose are they?—so I couldn’t deny authorship too strongly.
That was why I was so grateful Renato had figured it out on his own. As a composer, he knew: Only someone who could play an instrument could have written them.
Even a genius like you has to go through trial and error, huh? A genuine smile spread across my face.
Renato chuckled. “You really don’t feel greed, do you? You seem almost detached from worldly matters sometimes.”
That isn’t true! I was so swallowed up by worldly matters that I literally died of overwork!
Obviously, I couldn’t scream that out loud, so I hesitated on how to answer.
“If they’re not your songs,” Renato continued, “then whose songs are they, I wonder? You’re not the sort of person who’d steal someone else’s hard work. Knowing you, you’d applaud them endlessly if you knew who they were and do everything in your power to get them recognition, just like you did for Olga and me.”
That...was true. If I personally knew the composers of these songs, I’d sing their praises with all my might.
“This song I just arranged isn’t something anyone could create without musical knowledge. It’s nothing like the local songs that are passed down from parents to children in some regions. It’s polished and sophisticated, calculated down to the last pause. Only someone with broad musical knowledge could have written it.”
The great detective Renato was once again absolutely correct.
“I’m sure a great house like yours has things it’d rather keep secret...” he whispered.
Oh, the great detective halted his investigation. He seems to be hesitating.
He looked like he was picturing some sort of dark secret. I supposed it made sense. If he’d actually guessed I’d been reborn with my memories intact, he wouldn’t be a detective—he’d be a psychic!
Still, this time he was completely off the mark. But I couldn’t say a thing!
“I know I’m the one who brought up the subject, but the identity of the composer is of little importance,” he finally said. “The song is a masterpiece, and it has the power to move the hearts of those who listen to it. That’s all that matters. I’m glad I get to be a part of bringing it to the world.”
His obsession with music never wavers.
He seemed to have decided to conceal the fact that I hadn’t actually written the song...hadn’t he? Olga and Flora were nodding intently, as though they completely agreed with him.
Are you guys sure this is okay?! While patents exist, copyrights haven’t really been invented yet, so I guess so...
I had the sinking feeling that, if I didn’t do anything about this, I’d eventually fall to the depths of a bottomless pit. That terrified me, but I didn’t know what to do!
BOOHOO!!! I want my brother!
“Brother!” I exclaimed.
I was waiting in front of the carriage that would take us home for the weekend, and the second I saw Alexei’s face, I couldn’t stop myself from running into his arms.
“Ekaterina,” he said, gently embracing me. His kind neon-blue eyes found mine, and I could read the worry in them. “My sweet Ekaterina. I’m glad you’re depending on me, but are you all right? I knew it—the burden of preparing for the festival is too much for you, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m just glad I get to spend time with you again. I love the carriage rides home because they mean I get to be with you,” I replied with a smile.
And being with you always makes me happy!
“The preparations for the festival are progressing without a hitch,” I told him. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing the completed costumes. They seem very promising.”
Needles were practically weapons in the race to marriage, and the costume team was super fired up. The preliminary sketches they’d shown me were so detailed and showy that I’d been a tad put off.
Although, of course, I’d approved of them.
Marina absolutely adored them, while Flora—and most of the others—had smiled awkwardly upon seeing them and blurted out a half-convinced, “If Lady Ekaterina says they’re fine, then sure...”
Poor Olga had almost passed out imagining herself in the villainess costume. In her case, the mismatch between her sweet appearance and the costume was an important plot point, so I hoped she’d get over her shock and wear it.
Interestingly enough, the Right Right Trio had actually argued that their outfits were too simple and urged the costume team to make them flashier. Despite that, they didn’t have actual roles and only appeared between acts to explain the plot. Their job was to be what kyogen was to Noh—a funny interlude—so there was no need for them to wear showy costumes. But if they wanted to so desperately, it wasn’t really an issue.
If they’re going to be showy, I want them to stand out as much as the final boss of the annual Kohaku Uta Gassen.
Regardless, I was thankful that the costume team was so driven. I wasn’t about to imitate the catchphrase of the founder of a certain multinational beverage company—Go for it!—but I did think challenging oneself was a good thing. Some parts of the sketches didn’t look physically possible to me, but I was a total amateur when it came to sewing, so I had no issue letting them try. Who knew? Maybe they’d pull it off. Or maybe they’d realize on their own that the time constraints didn’t allow for such wild designs and go for something more subdued. My years of experience told me the latter was more likely.
This reminded me of something that I’d once read online: The fiery, inspirational tennis player I sometimes thought of was actually related to the “Go for it!” businessman. Feeling a bit of a connection there, I decided to believe in the costume team until the end! Besides, we’d need lots of fabric for the costumes, and I intended to provide it through my grandmother’s dresses I still hadn’t gotten rid of!