Chapter 151

Here, there is a grain of sand.

The grain of sand is endlessly small. It gets swept around by even the slightest breeze.

At times, it floats on water, and at other times, it rolls along the sandy beach covered in countless grains of sand. Yet at other times, it finds its way among other grains of soil and sand.

It was a rainy day. The swollen river swept away the land, and the grain of sand was no exception.

Thus, the grain of sand set out on a journey carried by the water, gradually settling after being tossed around in the water.

Below the surface, in those deep depths, countless things with the same fate as the grain of sand had already piled up. The grain of sand slowly sank into that mix and settled.

As time passed, various shapes began to accumulate on the settled sand. Broken rock fragments piled up, and soil piled up…

Deep, deep beneath the surface. The grain of sand, pressed by the water pressure above it, began to change its shape. It became a larger clump of sand and, receiving the pressure from above, finally turned into stone.

One day, as usual, it was below the cold, deep surface with not a single ray of light.

The heavens and earth seemed to be coming apart. As if angered by the gods, nature twisted and tore itself apart.

The ground cracked, waves taller than people rose, and water was sucked into the gaps of the split earth, creating whirlpools.

The soil and fragments that had covered the now-stone grain of sand were swept away just like during the time when the sand grain was being carried off.

Riding the flowing water, the relatively lighter stones surfaced. Finally, they emerged into the world outside.

It was different from the past when they lay buried and undetectable under the deep, dark surface. The stones that had come up from the depths, carried by the rough waves and flowing waters, were now visible to people and other animals.

The stone, which had thus grown, silently maintained its place. It stood firm against wind and rain, and even if someone stepped on it, it did not crack. To others, it might just seem like a worthless stone.

Then one day, someone picks up this stone. They touch it, rub it, and smell it.

The stone remained hard and silent. Yet it could feel the warmth of the hand that held it.

The person who picked up the stone soon took it away somewhere. The stone merely moved along with the hand’s motion.

The name of this stone is ‘me.’

And the one who left holding the stone…

Was none other than you, who is no longer in this world.

* * * * *

“Uhm…”

The tone was heavy. With a voice as heavy as sinking below the calm surface, Professor Antorelli’s head drooped.

Still the young director of the hospital, Moritz stared at Antorelli with vacant eyes. The sight of the poor young man gazing helplessly at the ground caught his attention.

‘What exactly…’

What is up there, he wondered.

Moritz did not know what it was. Even after consulting with Priest Antorelli and carefully looking after his right shoulder, it had already been two years.

He had heard countless tales of what Priest Antorelli had experienced, albeit as complaints. At first, it was not easy for him to open his mouth, but during these two years, Moritz did not just sit idle.

Through persistent effort, he learned most of the things Priest Antorelli had endured.

‘…Indeed.’

Moritz had fought in the great war. To be precise, he did not fight directly at the front lines; instead, he worked in a rear defense force hospital made up of randomly mobilized specialists.

He had witnessed countless disabled veterans complaining of similar symptoms to those of Priest Antorelli. He had been there to treat them, listen to their stories, and encourage them, and had gained a certain degree of know-how.

But…

‘I don’t understand.’

Ultimately, there are things that humanity, a foolish creature, cannot comprehend unless they experience them firsthand.

Moritz may have listened to what Priest Antorelli went through, but he did not know the detailed feelings buried within it. In other words, deep empathy was difficult.

And because of that, Moritz did not know what was weighing down on the Priest, who had his head bowed. What is it that presses on his head, on his life?

How heavy must that weight be?

Could he even imagine? A twenty-nine-year-old young man, on the verge of thirty, a healthy man of youthful demeanor, was so crushed under such a heavy burden.

He could not dare to measure it. Moritz brings it to mind inadvertently.

The sight of the Priest, deeply bent forward, seemingly unwilling to face anything, was reminiscent of…

‘Sinking.’

Sinking into deep waters, something like a stone gradually settling because it can no longer bear the weight.

Priest Antorelli was like that.

“…Cough!”

He had been lost in thought for too long. Moritz cleared his throat, stopping himself from digging deeper into those thoughts. At the sound of his cough, Priest Antorelli lifted his head slightly.

The first to speak was Moritz.

“Antorelli.”

“…Yes.”

“Your condition has improved significantly. I don’t know how you recovered so quickly, but honestly, it surprises me a bit.”

“Is that so?”

As Moritz said, Priest Antorelli’s current condition was indeed surprising. Although it was not miraculous to the point of being medically inexplicable, it remained an unexpected development.

“There are almost no impurities left inside you. Even if there is, it seems they will be expelled as urine, mixed with waste.”

“……”

“I didn’t expect you to return so suddenly after such a short time since the last examination… But it’s not bad news; you’ve brought good news after a long time. I’m glad for you.”

“…Yes.”

As Moritz commented, the fact that all narcotic remnants from the medication previously prescribed had been expelled was indeed good news.

For Moritz, who hoped for a bright future for Priest Antorelli, and for Priest Antorelli himself, who suffered physically and mentally.

However, the expression on Priest Antorelli’s face as Moritz looked at him was…

“Um… Antorelli. Are you alright?”

“……”

His expression hardly appeared happy.

How should he express it? How could he explain his distorted, writhing expression? Moritz did not have the confidence to accurately explain that expression.

The constantly trembling eyes and the eyelids that shook in response. The emotions felt in the deep, pale eyes of Priest Antorelli were regret or lament.

The corners of his mouth shook slightly for a moment before he managed to force a smile, as though trying to put on a brave face despite the situation not being at all funny.

All those subtle things harmonized to create a peculiar expression. It was the kind of expression that, when looked at for too long, could provoke discomfort.

“…Antorelli.”

“Doctor.”

Priest Antorelli spoke. A hint of color returned to his eyes.

“Yes. Please, go ahead.”

“Was I right to…?”

Right to what? Hearing Priest Antorelli’s question, Moritz couldn’t help but cock his head.

“What do you mean?”

“That residue… they were expelled, and it disappeared.”

“What disappeared?”

“The hallucinations and the auditory hallucinations that came irregularly… The frequency of the nightmares every night has decreased, and, suddenly feeling blue, seems to have somewhat… improved.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“What I mean is not that.”

Priest Antorelli looked at Moritz. Moritz met the gaze of Priest Antorelli, looking straight back into his eyes.

‘This is…’

A strange heat flickered in his eyes. Within them, there was no longer any trace of regret or lament.

“The image of Helena no longer appears.”

“……”

Moritz was taken aback. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut.

‘This… I should have anticipated it.’

Knowing Priest Antorelli’s past well, Moritz understood just how precious the bond with Helena was for him. He felt it deeply.

However, when Moritz heard that Priest Antorelli experienced hallucinations or auditory hallucinations, he never imagined that they would be complete realities almost indistinguishable from reality. He had thought that they would merely manifest as vague shapes or passing whispers.

Moritz shouldn’t have been in that position. If he had to deal with hallucinations or illusions, the one who would suffer most would be Priest Helena. He should have kept that in mind while conducting the counseling…

‘My… mistake.’

Moritz let out a faint sigh. It was not a good action to show such emotions in front of a patient, but at least in this moment, he could not help but let out a sigh.

“The image of Helena no longer appears?”

“…Yes. Before, Helena appeared so vividly… right in front of me…”

“……”

“Her voice, too, was as if she was right beside me, delicate enough to feel her breath…”

Priest Antorelli mumbled with his head bowed. Moritz lightly placed his hand on his shoulder, silently listening to the ensuing laments.

“I have definitely suffered because of Helena’s voice.”

“……”

“The image of Helena was so clear that I could hardly believe it was an illusion. She approached me, with such a distinct, unique form… it felt so real, I could even hear her voice speaking to me.”

“That was just due to the narcotic remnants.”

“I know. I know that. But… it was because of Helena’s image that I suffered…”

Suddenly, Priest Antorelli’s words halted. He remained still, his head bowed, seemingly lost in thought.

“I finally understand.”

“Antorelli?”

“The reason I suffered wasn’t merely because Helena appeared before me.”

Priest Antorelli raised his head. A twisted smile faintly appeared on his lips.

“The reason I suffered, the reason I sank slowly… was that the traces of Helena, which I witnessed with my own eyes and heard with my own ears, were all false…”

“……”

“Because of that, it is unbearably painful.”

Tears flowed from Priest Antorelli. They were not tears of pain, nor tears of sorrow. It was simply a twisted joy that arose in his eyes.

“Please, tell me, Doctor… is there a way for me not to sink?”

“Well…”

“The narcotic remnants. So, the fact that all the residue has been expelled means… that I can no longer see Helena, right? Even the image of Helena that I could see as an illusion, stemming from my delusions… in the end…”

The horrifically twisted smile of joy did not linger long on Priest Antorelli’s face. It left just as quickly.

Priest Antorelli once again bowed his head deeply. His shoulders shook irregularly.

“I was not only… tormented by seeing a Helena who is already dead… but also…”

“……”

“It’s just that… I know too well that the Helena who appears before me is a fiction… and because of that, I wish she would disappear quickly. That’s why it hurt so much…”

Moritz stood up slowly. He walked over to the window and began to gaze blankly outside.

In the consultation room, filled only with Priest Antorelli’s sobs, the noises seeping in from all over the city began to mix.

“…Regret comes from the past.”

“……”

“And greed comes from the future.”

Priest Antorelli’s sobbing suddenly stopped. He slowly raised his head.

The figure of Moritz came into view. Moritz lifted a cup from the windowsill and added a handful of soil collected from the flower bed into the still half-filled cup of water.

“Then, Antorelli, do you know what comes in the present?”

“I… do not know.”

“Hope.”

Moritz moved slowly. He returned to sit at the examination desk, placing the cup in front of Priest Antorelli.

The soil in the cup began to settle slowly.

“Although regrets stemming from the past may settle within, like sediment.”

“……”

“However, one day, those settled regrets can be dug up. The wind blows, the currents change, and something pulls it out… With the hope that comes from the present, it may be possible to dig them out.”

So, live. No matter what.

Moritz smiled warmly.

Priest Antorelli did not respond.

Moritz discreetly prescribed him medication. He only prescribed a week’s worth of medication to help expel the narcotic remnants, while the rest was merely simple painkillers prescribed previously.

“The dosage remains the same as before. I believe that with this dose alone, you will completely expel the remnants.”

Priest Antorelli stood up. He snatched the prescription from Moritz’s hand.

“…Antorelli. Don’t hold back; you must take it.”

“……”

Priest Antorelli did not respond.

* * * * *

“Father!”

As Professor Antorelli finished his consultation, Sofia, the sub-priest who had been waiting outside the consultation room, cheerfully raised her body. The smile that came naturally looked just like usual.

“Are you done with your consultation? What did the doctor say…?”

“……”

Professor Antorelli walked past Sofia without a word. She hurriedly followed behind him.

“Father? Are you okay?”

“…Let’s go back.”

“Ah, um… yes.”

It was not a time for talking, so Sofia quickly closed her mouth. Professor Antorelli turned his head away, unable to meet Sofia’s gaze.

Sofia had many questions she wanted to ask. She was curious about his consultation results and also about the reason he had taken her to the royal cemetery just yesterday.

‘But…’

She felt that even if she asked, there would be no response, causing her mood to sink a little without realizing it.

It was just a tiny, fleeting moment, but that feeling of sinking was certainly not pleasant.

‘Let’s go back…’

Whether he meant to return to the dormitory or something else…

She could not discern the exact meaning, but at least it wasn’t anything bad. Following Professor Antorelli, Sofia gazed at him intently.

Professor Antorelli, walking silently, answered coldly, yet he walked slightly slower as usual for Sofia.

Seeing that, Sofia found herself smiling involuntarily.

Because the consideration of Professor Antorelli, which had slowly settled in her heart, was not entirely unpleasant.

“Father! By the way, listen! In the next class…”

Sofia began to speak with a smile.

It was a smile that had yet to sink.