Chapter 1

001. The Past Life Came to Mind

“Your Grace, the letters from this quarter’s proteges have arrived.”

The elderly butler Ilferson placed a thick stack of papers on the desk with a thud.

He, who had been my hands and feet since my birth, slowly pulled the wheelchair to a stop in front of the desk.

Only then did the stack of papers he brought finally come into view.

Huff, huff.

Suppressing my slightly labored breathing, I smiled faintly.

The letters, sealed with various wax seals, were from the musicians I regularly sponsored.

And I, more than anything, looked forward to and loved this moment of the day, to the point where I could easily ignore the constant pain.

Squeak—

Ilferson opened the top letter and unfolded it.

“The first letter is from Thomas Broadwood.”

The workshop I discovered around a corner in London when I was invited by the British royal family.

Inside, the piano maker was sweating profusely as he carved the wood.

He was already an outstanding musician just by creating beautiful sounds, and that’s why I started sponsoring him right away.

As I recalled him, Ilferson read the letter in a calm voice, as if reading a fairy tale by my bedside.

---

To Lord Brunner Friedrich,

I don’t know what the weather is like in Baden-Baden (a city in southwestern Germany).

It’s still gloomy here. It’s not surprising, given that it’s London.

It’s raining quite heavily even as I write this letter.

“Then the wood must not be in good condition, right?”

A worried voice escaped me.

Ilferson smiled warmly, took a breath, and continued reading.

--- Many musicians come to the workshop wanting to make pianos because they are sponsored by Your Grace.

Among them were some of the famous masters Your Grace has been sponsoring for a long time!

This is all thanks to Your Grace.

Actually, I have a small gift planned for Your Grace.

I remember that when we last met, you mentioned feeling frustrated with the existing fortepiano.

I plan to modify it. I will create a new piano, one made solely for Your Grace.

If you have any suggestions, please let me know. I will do my best to complete it and present it to Your Grace.

The air has become noticeably cooler recently,

and I hope you stay healthy and free from any minor illnesses.

Sincerely,

Thomas Broadwood.

---

The protagonist of the letter, Thomas, is a skilled craftsman who makes pianos with beautiful sounds.

That alone is enough reason for sponsorship, but what kind of gift?

I know how much effort he puts into making a single piano. Creating a new one would require even more effort.

‘Even if I receive it, I can’t even press the keys...’

Just as I was about to refuse the idea of a new piano, a person suddenly came to mind.

The man who played the piano under the moonlight at the Breuning family’s social gathering.

The piano teacher who approached me in my wheelchair and discussed music and fate for a long time.

His name was...

“Ludwig.”

“Yes?”

“Ludwig van Beethoven. Do you remember him?”

At my question, Ilferson murmured and nodded.

“...Ah, yes. He was the piano teacher for the Breuning family. You saw him at the social gathering and asked to include him in the next quarter’s sponsorship list.”

“Right. Please proceed with that as planned. And in your reply to Thomas, tell him to try making the keyboard about an octave longer, but the size should be like it’s two octaves longer. Also, add that I think Ludwig would be as happy as if I received it when the completed piano is sent to him.”

Ilferson, who was dipping the quill pen in ink, looked at me in surprise at my last words.

“...Yes? Are you giving that precious piano to someone you’ve only met once?”

“He’s someone we will sponsor in the future. At the party, I noticed that Mr. Ludwig used a wide range of notes, but his finger movements seemed constrained, like they were trapped in a cage. If he had more keys, he could create even better music.”

I smiled contentedly, imagining the music that would be born from his hands.

I really wanted to hear it. I would have to try harder.

“...”

Ilferson, who was looking at me silently, asked.

“Why?”

“I’ve always been surprised, but I’m surprised again.”

“You’re trying to embarrass me again.”

“I’m being serious. And it’s the truth. The musicians you praised have all become masters. They still write to you to share their concerns. Honestly, from my perspective, you truly are a genius of music.”

His passionate words made me laugh.

“Giving advice is easy. Actually doing it is different. That’s why their talent shines...”

It’s absurd.

My limitations are clear even with a slight downward glance. My body, which can’t move as I wish, is becoming as stiff as a rock day by day.

A genius of music who can’t make music.

Does such a thing exist in this world?

Was I wearing a slightly bitter smile? Ilferson’s eyes seemed to moisten, so I quickly urged him.

“Next. Read the next letter. Who is it from this time?”

“Hmm. Ah, yes... It’s a letter from Franz Peter Schubert.”

“Ah! In his last letter, he mentioned that his hair was falling out in clumps due to stress. I wonder if he’s feeling better now?”

He was younger than me. He was only 17, I think. And he was already experiencing hair loss.

Ilferson, who has a full head of white hair, shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. It seems he is still full of musical concerns. The content of the letter is...”

I started listening to Franz’s letter with a smile, but soon had to listen seriously.

It was a letter that allowed me to glimpse his deep struggles.

I wanted to help him in some way.

“I’ll write a reply. Write it down as I say.”

“Yes.”

“I understand your concerns. Due to the nature of art songs, the focus is often on the melody and lyrics, which can make the accompaniment seem less prominent...”

Suddenly, my throat felt sore. Did I read for too long in front of the extinguished fireplace last night?

“...?”

“Ah, no, no. I’ll continue. So, how about trying to bring the accompaniment into the realm of the story, like a melody...”

“Your Grace?”

“Ah, Ilferson, sorry. But my breath...”

My airway felt blocked, as if someone was choking me.

A ominous thought flashed through my mind.

Legs, waist, chest...

Was it now time for my neck to stiffen?

...Gasp. Gasp.

No matter how hard I tried to breathe, only strange sounds came out.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!”

Ilferson’s scream echoed.

Soon, the sound of people’s footsteps approaching the corridor.

But my vision was already blurry.

The edges began to darken, as if being consumed by shadows.

It felt like the shadow of death was enveloping me.

Would I die like this?

What happens when you die?

The clergy say that the body will be freed...

Then, me.

Would I be able to make music?

At the edge of my consciousness, I thought.

Wow.

That.

‘I would be so happy.’

#

“Seoho! Han Seoho!”

...What?

An ornate desk filled with intricate patterns.

I instinctively pulled back my hand, which had reached out without my awareness.

A warning sign hung on the barrier, stating not to touch it. It’s over 200 years old and requires special care.

So... in German. How do you read this?

“You can’t touch that. It’s very important, over 200 years old. The lord who lived here... Why have you been so spaced out these past few days? Are you sick?”

“It’s your first overseas trip. There are so many interesting things, so it’s understandable.”

I slowly turned my head.

Dad, holding a film camera, was continuously pressing the shutter.

Mom, with a worried expression, approached and matched my eye level.

Sensations gradually returned.

The more they did, the clearer the sadness I felt just now became.

“Seoho, are you crying?”

“U, uh?”

I raised my arm at Mom’s words.

I wiped away the tears sliding down my cheek with my sleeve.

“Why? Are you in pain? Do you want to leave?”

I quickly shook my head. I didn’t want to leave here now.

It felt like leaving something important behind. No, more than that, it felt like leaving myself behind.

“No. I want to stay here longer.”

“Huh?”

“Can I stay here until the tour ends?”

I turned my head, putting off Mom’s puzzled gaze for a moment.

I started scanning the room to clear my mind.

Strangely, this foreign scene felt so familiar.

It wasn’t just what I could see.

The crackling of the fireplace, the sound of the wheelchair wheels scraping the floor, Ilferson’s knock and his voice calling me—everything was vivid.

Exactly...

How could this be?

It’s the third day since I regressed to my 12-year-old body.

Before the shock even subsided, I...

...remembered my past life.