Chapter 47 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 47 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Ding-dong.

The sound of a bell ringing from the back of a carriage.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, snuffle.

The sound of horse hooves and the horse's snorting.

"We sell cheap chicken!"

"We sell the finest leather!"

The cries of the merchants hawking their wares.

Having woken up, I always struggle to adapt to my surroundings, as usual, after being dragged into a dream. I was sitting on a sofa, but now I find myself standing on a street in some medieval era.

The tracks made by carriage wheels on the unpaved dirt road are visible, and a boy, slightly older than ten, wearing a cap, scurries around with a bundle of newspapers under his arm.

I tried to block the way of a portly middle-aged gentleman passing by, but it seemed he didn't see me from the start as he just walked right through me.

"Once again, I'm invisible to the people here."

When could this be?

What era have I come to?

Based on my experiences so far, it must be a time related to Klimt.

What kind of dream will it show me this time?

I looked around but couldn't see Klimt anywhere.

I decided to walk. Why just wander aimlessly, you ask?

Isn't it obvious? If you had the chance to go back to the Middle Ages with a time machine, would you just stand still? One must explore whatever they can.

I left the narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for a single carriage, and stepped onto a somewhat larger road.

About two hundred meters away, I saw beautiful buildings constructed along a round street.

'Ringstrae (Ringstrassen).'

The brother of Gustav Klimt.

It's only natural that he's here. After all, this company was founded by the brothers.

A man walking by throws a newspaper he finished reading onto the street. When I saw the black-and-white newspaper, I was drawn to the date written in the top right corner.

'April 1886.'

My first dream in this strange art museum was in Paris on July 4, 1939.

Now, I've fallen 53 years earlier.

I glanced again towards the bustling area, my initial destination.

It seemed a pity to stop here.

There's no guarantee I could visit that place again even if I dream again.

I looked back into the shop and saw Ernst, deeply troubled and scratching his head, then I stepped inside.

This museum showing me a dream must have a purpose beyond just sightseeing.

The real importance of this dream must lie here.

Ernst, who was puffing on a pipe, looked intensely at something and frowned. As I walked sideways through the narrow shop to his back, I realized he was looking at a receipt. There seemed to be about a dozen receipts, and he was alternately looking at them and the few banknotes left in the drawer.

'This company, wasn't it doing incredibly well? Is he worried about not being able to handle these receipts?'

It seems apparent even to an outsider.

This man is struggling with the high fixed costs compared to the revenue.

Faced with the reality of insufficient funds for urgent expenses.

It feels somewhat similar to my situation, doesn't it?

Though I think I'm in a slightly better position.

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