Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C186

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Chapter 186: Christine Nanali, No Choice

“From Greta Cliden Nanali to Christine Nanali—it should be the eighth generation.”

At that moment—

The competition had been underway for some time when Toba Jianhui finally spoke up. He hadn’t uttered a word until now, but his voice carried an unmistakable weight as he raised his piercing gaze toward the stage where Christine stood.

“If we trace the lineage back to Elias Reyes Nanali, the first cellist of the Nanali family, then by the time we reach Christine here, it’s actually the fourteenth generation,” Toba said with deliberate precision. “Truly, one of England’s oldest and most storied cello dynasties.”

“Wait, wait—what?” Yao Han interjected, clutching his head like he’d just stumbled upon a bombshell revelation. “So… are you saying that Christine Nanali is a direct descendant of the legendary Greta Cliden Nanali? The Greta Cliden Nanali?!”

Toba nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

“Oh my God,” Yao Han muttered under his breath, visibly stunned. “That’s insane.”

Greta Cliden Nanali.

Born August 22, 1801, and passing on March 25, 1864, she was one of Britain's greatest cellists and musicians—a composer whose concertos and symphonies left an indelible mark on European music history. Her name was etched into every cello textbook, her legacy immortalized in the annals of classical music.

And the Nanali family? They weren’t just known for producing a single prodigy; nearly every generation had birthed a virtuoso. Among them, seven—including Greta herself—had ascended to the pantheon of musical legends. It was no exaggeration to call the Nanalis one of England’s greatest cello families.

But who would have guessed?

This very Christine Nanali standing before them was a bloodline heir to such a prestigious dynasty.

When Yao Han first saw her name on the contestant list, he hadn’t made the connection. Now, as realization dawned, everything clicked into place.

“So, if that’s true,” Yao Han mused aloud, excitement creeping into his voice, “then this performance from Nanali might really be something worth watching…”

“Not necessarily,” He Shumo cut in coldly, his tone slicing through the air like a blade. “Her composure has already faltered.”

---

In the green room, Lin Tian also noticed the subtle shifts in Nanali’s demeanor. On the surface, she appeared calm—calmly walking onto the stage, calmly settling into her seat. But this outward tranquility felt… off. Unnatural. This wasn’t the Christine Nanali everyone knew.

Deep down, arrogance coursed through her veins, the kind that should have only grown stronger in high-pressure situations like this. Confidence was supposed to be her armor. So why did she seem so unsteady?

Was she truly shaken? Against Gan Yanyu? In this state, how could she possibly stand a chance against that otaku cellist?

Lin Tian sighed quietly. For any musician, especially a cellist, mental fortitude was as crucial as technical skill.

“Christine, I don’t need to remind you what the cello means to the Nanali family, do I?” A strict voice echoed in Nanali’s mind.

She drew in several deep breaths, her fingers trembling as they hovered above the strings. A sea of eyes waited for her from the audience below, their gaze heavy and unrelenting. At nineteen, she felt a strange haze dull the edges of her thoughts.

Steeling herself, she settled the cello firmly between her knees.

“Christine,” the voice pressed again, sharper this time. “You’re a prodigy—you know that better than anyone. Do you realize how rare it is for someone to play at your level by twelve?”

As Nanali drew the bow across the strings, images of Yun Qiuqiu’s earlier performance flashed in her mind. That pure, unadulterated passion—for both music and anime—had radiated through every note, leaving the audience spellbound. It reminded her of Gan Yanyu and Lin Tian, artists who lived and breathed their craft. Artists who inspired envy.

“Stop drawing those dresses,” the same familiar voice echoed in her thoughts—the sharp, cutting words of her mother. “They’re useless, Christine. You’re still young, rebellious—that’s normal. There have been others like you in our family’s history, but they all became great cellists in the end.”

Useless? Was her love truly meaningless?

Nanali froze, her hands hovering mid-air. Why now, of all times, did her mother’s voice ring so clearly in her ears?

Yes, hers was a story straight out of a clichéd drama—a reluctant heiress burdened by the expectations of a wealthy, illustrious lineage. Like many noble scions before her, Christine harbored a secret desire: she didn’t want to inherit the family legacy.

But there was more to it than that.

As a child, she hadn’t resented music. On the contrary, she reveled in the prestige of her surname. Back then, pride swelled within her whenever classmates whispered excitedly, “That’s her! The Nanali from Greta Cliden Nanali!” Even teachers gossiped behind closed doors, dreaming of molding yet another world-class cellist. Those moments filled her with satisfaction.

Children are simple creatures, after all.

But as she grew older, the weight of the Nanali name began to press down on her shoulders. With privilege came obligation—an endless cycle of practice sessions, countless competitions, awkward social events with other young aristocrats of the music world. Each day chipped away at her enthusiasm, draining her spirit.

And then came the day her dreams were shattered.

At twelve years old, Christine discovered Lolita fashion. To her, it was the epitome of beauty and charm. She bought dress after dress—Gothic styles, vintage designs, elegant classics—and filled her closet to bursting. Wherever she went, she wore her beloved frilly skirts, basking in their whimsy.

But soon, mere admiration wasn’t enough. She started sketching her own designs, pouring her heart into creating unique Lolita outfits. A new dream took root: studying fashion design at Vienna’s Academy of Fine Arts and opening her own boutique someday.

Until the day her mother tore those sketches to pieces right in front of her.

“These are meaningless,” her mother declared flatly.

Meaningless? If not for the things she loved, what else in life held meaning?

From that point on, Christine began to resent the cello, resent music itself. Yet, she couldn’t escape it entirely. Even when she slacked off or skipped lessons, her natural talent ensured she outshone most of her peers.

Her mother was right about one thing: Christine was undeniably gifted. Whether she liked it or not, the cello came naturally to her.

Then, one fateful evening, she overheard a conversation between her parents. What she learned changed everything.

Her grandfather, Freddie Vasquez Nanali, had once been on the verge of becoming the world’s greatest cellist. The reason he never achieved that title? One man: Gan Hua, a Zhonghua cellist who seemed destined to thwart him at every turn.

Every competition, every international stage—they were always paired together. And every time, Gan Hua edged him out. By the time of the pivotal Kölner Cup semifinal, Freddie’s defeat was absolute. Crushed, he retreated from the world, obsessively practicing in isolation, determined to surpass his nemesis. But when he emerged three years later, ready to reclaim his honor, he learned that Gan Hua had retired—to run a café experimenting with coffee blends.

Freddie never touched the cello again. His life lost its purpose, and until his dying day, he muttered the name of the Zhonghua legend who haunted him.

For the Nanali family, it was a wound that spanned three generations.

Now, with Christine showing extraordinary promise, hope stirred once more. Everyone wanted to see her rise as a world-class cellist, fulfilling the dream her grandfather could not. Fate, however, had a cruel sense of irony.

When Christine’s mother learned that Gan Hua’s granddaughter—Gan Yanyu—had become a rising star in Zhonghua, her desperation intensified. She vowed to mold Christine into a prodigy capable of erasing the shame of the past. To that end, she destroyed Christine’s drawings, locked her away, and tried to crush her aspirations entirely.

Unable to bear it any longer, Christine threw open the door, startling her parents. With fierce determination, she looked them in the eye and asked:

“If I defeat the cellist named Gan Yanyu, can I choose my own path?”

Before her mother could respond, her father stepped in. “Yes,” he said firmly. “If you win, you can pursue whatever you wish—drawing, opening a boutique, or never touching the cello again. We’ll support you.”

“Good.” Christine’s voice was steady.

From that day forward, Christine Nanali embarked on a relentless journey. For the sake of her dreams, she practiced harder than ever, climbing through junior divisions, youth leagues, and eventually reaching the professional circuit. By eighteen, she became the youngest competitor in the elite division.

When news reached her that Gan Yanyu had arrived in Manchester, Christine didn’t hesitate. She picked up her cello and headed straight for the challenge.

Fate’s gears began to turn.

Ironically, to escape the cello, she had to master it completely. Laughable, perhaps—but what choice did she have?

Standing on the stage now, Christine allowed herself a wry smile. How envious she was of musicians like Lin Tian, Gan Yanyu, and Yun Qiuqiu, who played with genuine passion and joy. For her, the cello was merely a tool—a means to an end.

After all, she was Christine Nanali.

Raising her bow, her expression hardened. Gan Yanyu, she thought, resolve burning in her chest, I will defeat you. Not just for your love of music—but for the things I love.

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